“You’re late,” Ghost said with a smug smile from his place at the table. Of course everyone was already there. Fucking great.
“Is it okay with you if we get started?” Venom asked and gave a sarcastic lift of his brow as I dropped into my seat.
Slouched in my chair with one arm hooked over the back and one resting on the table where my fingertips tapped incessantly, I shot him a glance. “Sorry” was all I could mutter. There was no damn way I was copping an attitude with my prez—he’d likely beat my ass.
When we were done discussing the job we had scheduled tonight, everyone broke up and went their separate ways. Chains headed to the tattoo shop while Angel went to the infirmary to do inventory. Ghost followed Voodoo out to the shop. They were working on some modifications for Voodoo’s bike. I thought about tagging along, but I knew I’d be shit company.
“Hey, Phoenix, wanna play a round?” Raptor asked, motioning to the pool table before he chalked his cue.
“Sure,” I said as I picked a stick and set it on the edge of the table. “Rack ’em. I’ll be right back. I gotta piss.”
Three games and as many beers later, and I’d mellowed out. Not that I’d told anyone what had happened. Hell no. The last thing I wanted to hear was a chorus of “I told you so.”
“Let’s hit the road,” Angel said as he walked through the main entrance. Raptor and I laid our cues on the table, and I headed outside. While everyone loaded up, I took a few drags from a cigarette, then stubbed it out and slid it back in the pack. Despite saying I’d changed my mind, I needed to quit, but this wasn’t the time. I figured maybe I could try to cut back.
With Blade’s playlist pumping through the speakers, we rolled out of the gates. He was singing along to the newest release by Straight Wicked. Angel was laughing, and I stared out the window from the back seat.
“What’s up with you? You’re unusually quiet,” Blade remarked, drawing my attention. Our gazes met in the rearview mirror.
One shoulder lifted before I returned my attention to the fields that we flew by. Unspoken questions hung in the air, but I didn’t pay attention to them. They chattered like old women in the front seat as I passed the miles, stuck in my head.
By the time night fell, we’d crossed into Illinois in the unmarked cage. Facet had slapped a clean set of plates on it before we’d rolled out. There was another set in the back tool compartment for after the job was done.
At around bedtime, dressed head to toe in black, we stealthily rounded the house and noiselessly slipped through the gate. We dropped the masks over our faces so all that was visible were our eyes. Using the key we were provided, I opened the back door with gloved hands. Single file, we entered the house and cleared each room. We’d been assured no one else would be home, but shit happened. The last thing we wanted were casualties, nor did we want to get caught.
Angel cautiously looked around the corner as we approached the home office that faced the front of the house.
“Clear,” he mouthed and motioned us forward. Angel and I each held a 9mm, but they were strictly for intimidation. Not because I wouldn’t have used it, but because this job required discretion during its execution.
Without so much as a squeak of the door to announce our arrival, we walked in to find our target exactly where we were told he’d be. He jolted when he realized we were there, which was a good thirty seconds after we’d entered.
When he made a move to close the laptop, I shook my head and pointed the laser dot between his eyes. “Don’t fucking move.”
“Who are you?” the asshole had the nerve to question. His eyes darted nervously from me to Angel, as we were the ones holding guns to his head and chest. Little did he know, the one without a visible weapon was the one he should’ve worried about.
Blade approached with a sick grin. “Well, well, well… what do we have here?” His grin quickly dissolved when his gaze flickered over to the computer screen.
“I-It’s not what you think,” the guy stuttered.
“Really?” Blade deadpanned. “So you don’t have child pornography pulled up on your computer, and your dick wasn’t in your hand. Is that what you’re telling me?”
The man sputtered, but he had no argument. Blade had him dead to rights. The slide and click of Blade’s switchblade echoed in the room; the only other sound was the ticking of a clock on the wall.
“This is for Frankie, Pedro, Tony, Samuel, and Terrance,” Blade whispered ominously.
“What—” was all he got out before Blade’s palm covered his mouth, and the silver blade was thrust into his neck and quickly pulled out. Reflexively, the man slapped a hand over his neck as a muffled scream escaped Blade’s hand, but not in time to prevent the blood from spraying out and hitting the wall. Blade ripped open the front of Father Kirkpatrick’s shirt and carved the symbols Voodoo had given us into the man’s chest while he quietly chanted the rest of Voodoo’s instructions.
He removed his hand from the guy’s mouth. The gurgling sound accompanied blood running over the man’s lips as his eyes drained of life. Blade casually dipped a gloved finger in the dark crimson and wrotepedophileon the man’s forehead.
Disgust curled my lip as we ensured we left behind no evidence that could trace back to us. We would’ve been happy to clean up the place and make it look like he ran off, but that’s not what the client wanted. The man had gotten away with so much already, having been disgustingly cleared of all charges. The client wanted to ensure his guilt followed him to the grave.
“Fucking disgusting,” Blade snarled as he turned his face away from the laptop’s display. “Let’s go.”
Blood droplets ran garishly down a framed image of the Virgin Mary that hung on the wall next to dead man. The formerly white square in the front of his black collar was now stained deep red.
Happy fucking Valentine’s Day.
By the time we arrived back at the clubhouse, the sky was still dark, but the night was waning. I showered, then crashed in my room, too tired to go home. I’d have to run to my house in the morning to make sure Yvette had gotten all her shit, and for a change of clothes. Everything I had in my room at the compound was ratty or dirty since I hadn’t stayed there in forever.