I exchange a look with Butcher and Demon, a silent communication born of years working together.They nod, understanding the plan without words needed.
“Please,” the middle Reaper begs, desperation creeping into his voice.“We told you everything.We’re just foot soldiers.We didn’t know?—”
“Didn’t know what?”I cut him off, leaning in until our faces are inches apart.“Didn’t know that threatening innocent people would have consequences?Didn’t know that coming into Devil Souls territory would be a death sentence?”
Fear widens his eyes, the bravado completely gone now.“We have families,” he whispers.“Kids.”
Something flickers in my chest, not quite sympathy, but recognition.These men are soldiers following orders, just like we are.But they chose their side.They chose to threaten my town.My people.Xavier.
“You should have thought of that before you put guns in the faces of bank tellers,” I say, straightening.“Before you shot up a hospital with patients who couldn’t even run.”
I stare at the three men before me, their fear palpable in the musty warehouse air.They’ve given us what we need: the location, the numbers, the names.Now comes the part that separates men like me from civilians like Xavier.
The thought of his name steadies my hand.These men were part of a plan that would have put him in danger again.That would have brought violence back to his hospital, to the place where he saves lives.
I nod to Butcher and Demon, a silent signal we’ve used too many times before.Their expressions mirror my own, cold, resolved and certain.This isn’t personal satisfaction.This is necessary elimination of a threat.
“Wait,” the middle one starts, eyes widening as he realizes what’s coming.
I don’t wait.My weapon is already in my hand.The sound is deafening in the enclosed space, but I don’t flinch.One clean shot, center mass.His body jerks once, then goes still.
Butcher and Demon move in perfect synchronization, their shots coming within milliseconds of mine.Three bodies slump in their chairs, the zip ties now redundant.
The echo fades, leaving behind the acrid smell of gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood.I holster my weapon, my movements mechanical.
“Clean this up,” I tell Demon, who nods, already pulling out his phone to call the prospects who handle disposal.“Make it disappear.”
“And the car?”Butcher asks, checking the pulse of the Reaper closest to him.A formality, nothing more.
“Strip it for parts, then burn what’s left,” I reply, already moving toward the door.“I need to get back to the clubhouse.To Xavier.”
“I’ll handle it,” Butcher assures me, his hand briefly squeezing my shoulder.A father’s understanding of a son’s priorities.
We take turns in the small bathroom at the back of the warehouse, washing blood spatter from our hands and faces.The cold water does little to clear the fog of violence from my mind, but it’s necessary.I can’t return to Xavier with another man’s blood on my skin.
I stare at my reflection in the cracked mirror, thrilled to have some more of these fuckers dead.
Twenty minutes later, we’re back on our bikes, the warehouse locked behind us, no evidence of what transpired inside.The ride back to the clubhouse clears my head, the wind scouring away the last traces of the warehouse’s atmosphere.
The parking lot is busier than when I left, more bikes, more cars, more people seeking safety in numbers.I spot Xavier immediately, sitting at one of the picnic tables with Livie and Tiana, his head thrown back in laughter at something one of them has said.
The sight of him relaxed, smiling, and alive settles something in my chest.This is why I do what I do.This is what I protect.
He notices me approaching, his smile widening in a way that makes my heart stutter.How he can look at me like that with such open affection after knowing what I am, what I do, still amazes me.
“Hey,” he says, standing as I reach them.“Everything okay?”
I nod, not trusting myself to elaborate with the others present.“Handled,” I say simply, my hand finding the small of his back in what has become our customary greeting.
Livie and Tiana exchange knowing glances but say nothing.Xavier studies my face, those perceptive doctor’s eyes seeing more than I’m comfortable with.
“You need a drink,” he decides, his hand sliding into mine with a casual intimacy that still feels new.“Come on.”
I let him lead me toward the clubhouse, grateful for his understanding, for the way he doesn’t push for details I’m not ready to share.As we approach the door, a young woman I don’t recognize steps out, her eyes widening at the sight of our joined hands.
She’s wearing the tight clothes and excessive makeup of a club hanger-on, someone looking to catch a member’s attention.Her gaze flicks from me to Xavier, then back again, her lip curling in obvious disapproval.
“So it’s true,” she says, voice pitched low.“Slaughter’s got himself a boyfriend.”
