“This it?”
Grey pulled the car we borrowed from underground parking in town up to a neat white house with blue shutters, a doubtful frown turning down the edge of his mouth. “Thought that asshole lived down on Freemont, near the trailer park. That’s where we picked him up the last time.”
Rook chewed his lip ring in the backseat, already hedging to the door, his hands twitching.
“Yeah, I’m fucking sure,” I growled, cutting Grey a look. “What? Shitty people can’t live in nice houses?”
He inclined his head, knowing that all too well himself.
I inhaled deeply to calm down, knowing I was ornery as fuck. I’d have preferred to plan this little visit over at least a few days, if not a week, but we were running out of time.
Tomorrow was the monthly full moon party down at the docks and we needed to be there. The location, though it was perfect for parties, was right on the edge of our territory. The one time we didn’t go, a group of junior Aces crashed and almost drowned a chick. We couldn’t have that in our town.
If we didn’t do this now—for Rook—then we’d have to leave him behind. I hated that idea almost as much as the idea of bringing him with us when he was like this.
“What are we waiting for? Let’s fucking go,” Rook gritted out, his tatted hand poised on the door handle in the backseat.
“Hold it. We need to scope it out. Julia said the kid usually leaves around this time to sleep out with a friend. We got to make sure he’s gone.”
A muscle in Grey’s jaw twitched and Rook kicked the back of the seat, cursing.
I’d already gotten everything else into place, this was the one moving piece that I wasn’t sure of, and it made my fucking skin itch.
“Stay here,” I said, slipping out of the car and around the side of the house, skirting the hedges. It was a quiet rural street, and all the lights in the neighboring houses were out. Silent as the grave.
Except this house.
Around back there was a light on in the kitchen and the radio playing on low inside.
I crept to the sliding door and peered within, finding the whitewashed kitchen empty save for the row of empty brown bottles by the sink.
Soft footsteps drummed down the steps after two minutes of waiting and I lowered myself next to the door, crouching to be hidden by the deck’s banister.
A boy, no more than eleven, rushed into the kitchen on quick, quiet feet, his runners in his hands. A fresh shiner bloated the flesh around his left eye and what looked like a fresh cigarette burn sat angry and red just below his jaw. I’d seen enough just like it on Rook, though his asshat of a step-uncle preferred cigars. His new tatts hid the scars well unless you knew where to look for them.
The boy’s name was Thomas.
He’d called the number on our flier three times in the last six months after calling the cops did nothing to help him. Twice, we’d given his joke of a father very straight forward warnings about what would happen to him if he didn’t stop. But apparently a broken arm and five cracked ribs weren’t enough.
First warning, we scared them. Told them what would happen if they didn’t comply.
Second warning got them at least five broken bones. A burned appendage. Maybe some missing fingernails. Depended what kind of mood Rook was in.
But three strikes…
He’s out.
The same rule didn’t apply to child molesters though. They didn’t get second chances.
Better no parents at all than ones like Thomas’.
We knew from the helpline that Thomas had an aunt he could live with, who’d been trying to get custody of him. But the ones who had no one else…we saw to it that they had the right connections in the system. That they weren’t hurt anymore.
We weren’t heroes.
We were just boogiemen who developed a taste for the flesh of villains. Someone had to sate that need. Who better than pieces of shit like Frank?
I vanished into the shadows beneath the deck as Thomas eased the patio door open and pushed through, his breaths coming quick. His shoulders up to his ears. Inside, a loud thud made him jump and gasp before he took off like a shot into the dark, sprinting through neighboring backyards until he disappeared over a low fence and was gone.
No better time than the present.
I walked back to the side of the house and nodded to my brothers in the old Camry before tugging the ski mask from my back pocket and pulling it over my face.
Rook’s breath clouded in the cool night air as he came around the back of the house, his chest wide and heaving.
I nodded.
“We take him,” I ordered before setting him loose. “I don’t want to clean up a crime scene here.”
“Fine.”
“No blood.”
“Fine.”
Rook went into the house first, and Grey and I followed, double checking the yards and area for anyone who might see.
All clear.
Even if the name Saint was enough to ensure we wouldn’t be bothered, at least on our own turf, I liked the added layer of security. The residents of Thorn Valley may not go to the cops, but a few had tried blackmail in the past. Didn’t work out for them the way they hoped, but I’d rather not deal with that shit.
“No!” came a shout inside the house, and my jaw locked tight as I followed Grey inside and shut the door behind us, flicking off the lights.
“Rook,” I hissed, following the sounds of struggle through the kitchen. “Too fucking loud.”
A second cry was abruptly cut off with an oof of breath, and I heard Rook breathing in through his nose like he was snorting a line. He liked the smell, he said. The smell of a man’s fear.
I had to admit, it was a favorite of mine as well. Almost as nice as the smell of a woman’s.
Rook dragged the guy into the kitchen before Grey and I could get any deeper into the house, his bulging biceps cutting off poor Frank’s air supply.
He struggled, his bloodshot brown eyes going wide as he took in the sight of Grey and me standing in his kitchen. Recognizing us masked faces from the last two times. Knowing what it meant that we’d returned.
The fucker doubled down his efforts to escape, tucking his chin to bite into Rook’s arm like a feral dog. He got free, rushing forward like he actually thought he could get through us. Stumbling on his drunk ass feet.
Rook’s blood spurted onto the tile floor, and he bared his teeth, rushing forward after Frank.
What a goddamn mess.
I shoved Frank back as he ducked in an attempt to slide through Grey and me and the fucker ping ponged off of Rook and then the kitchen fridge, making it pop open.
Rook got a hold on him again, but the damage was done.
Grey stared at the bare refrigerator, his eyes glinting venomously in the blue tinted light as he took in the empty shelves. Two slices of processed cheese and six beers.
Nothing else.
“Grey…”
His fists clenched.
Rook licked his lips.
“There he is,” Rook whispered with excitement, his tongue sliding over his teeth as he took in Grey and held Frank steady for him.
My youngest brother shook as he turned his fury on Frank, and I stood watch as Rook shoved the asshole forward, giving Grey his turn.
The crack of his fist against the bastard’s cheekbone was sweeter than any music I could create.
Grey hit him again and again, mute, his face a mask of stoic calm with only the barest glint of rage. He didn’t stop until Frank was unconscious and lying in a puddle of his own blood on the floor.
“How hard is it to buy a loaf of fucking bread, you piece of shit,” he seethed, getting one more good kick in before he began to settle, his shoulders dropping as the rage went out of him. He wiped the sweat from his upper lip, panting, and Rook stared down at Frank with glee.
There was a difference between inflicting pain for business—on orders from Diesel—and doing it for pleasure. This?
This was all fucking pleasure. For all of us.
“You finished?” I asked Grey with a raised brow. If he’d killed him, we’d need to find another asshole for Rook to play with. Luckily, he was just knocked out. Fucker would have one mean ass headache when he woke up. But not for long…
“Yeah,” Grey said on a breath, slamming the empty fridge closed and rolling his shoulders back, a calmness stealing over his features.
“Good. Go find the bleach. You’re cleaning that shit.”
