SCREAMS COMING from Stanley’s wife can be heard from where I’m standing above ground. She’s talked, cried, and punched him a few times, and now she’s shouting at the top of her lungs.
I’m waiting rather impatiently for Mr. Cross, Riley’s dad, to decree my new assignment. This is a special one—a personal one—and I’m thankful it’s being handed to me and not just some other member whose punishment will be a life of misery. Stanley Crane doesn’t deserve a life, period, but it’s only with Maddox and his mom’s approval that I will fulfill my oath and punish Stanley to the fullest extent.
With the gun in my back pocket, I walk toward Mr. Cross as he, too, closes the space between us. “Is it finalized? Do I get the assignment?” The anticipation is eating away at me. There’s a chance The President of my chapter will handle this a different way, even if Mr. Cross voices his reasoning on why the assignment should be given to me.
The second he says, “Raise your right hand,” I release all the air I’ve been holding in my lungs.
I do as I’m told, lifting my right hand in the air with my fingers pressed tightly together. I’ve taken this oath three times, so I know the drill, and I begin without him telling me what to say. “I, Lev Pemberley, solemnly swear to keep the secrets, oaths, and promises of The Society. To protect our antiquity and to abide by all rules. I understand that failure to do so will result in my abolishment, never to enter The Blue Bloods’ society again.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pemberley. I trust you won’t let us down.” Mr. Cross hands me a notebook with my name engraved on the front. Without hesitation, I flip to the first page to read my assignment.
Punish Stanley Crane. Report any pertinent information found during your investigation to The Elders.
I close the notebook and bite back a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Cross.”
Mr. Cross steps closer, slaps a hand to my shoulder, and whispers, “Off the record…make that son of a bitch pay.”
“Will do, sir.”
My eyes land on Maddox, who’s sitting on a log with his elbows pressed to his knees and his face in his hands. I walk toward him slowly and the sound of me approaching has him lifting his head. “You got it?” he asks, pain and betrayal lacing his voice. I know it’s not aimed at me, but it still hurts to see him like this.
I pat the notebook in my palm. “Yeah.” Taking a seat beside him, I allow the silence to engulf us while waiting for him to speak first. Maddox is the gentle one. Ridge and I talk with our fists or we yell. Maddox, on the other hand, needs patience.
He grabs the notebook from me and opens it up to read the passage in the front. “If you’re seeking my permission, you’ve got it.”
“You’re sure? Because I can handle this in a different way. There are other options.” I don’t like those other options. Any option where Stanley leaves this place breathing makes my body actually want to vibrate with anger. But Maddox is my boy. I have to make sure this won’t break him.
He hands the notebook back to me. “The man on that floor is already dead to me. I feel nothing toward him. Go do what you have to do. And if you don’t, I’ll do it for you.” My fingers graze over the gold letters of my name, biding time as I wait for him to recant what he said. To tell me not to do it. But he doesn’t. “Well. What are you waiting for?”
“Once it’s done, there’s no going back.”
“Then you better hurry your ass up.” He shoves me forward and I see the resolve in his eyes.
I smile widely, finally having the reassurance I need. “All right. Guess I’ll see you in a bit.”
“I’ll be here.”
The climb down the ladder is indescribable. Everything is falling into place and happening at exactly the right time. Had this all happened last year, or even a month ago, I wouldn’t have the emotional capacity to even understand why I was doing what I was doing. Now, my mind is clearer than ever and I’m feeling an array of emotions surface.
Heartbreak for my family who left too soon. Sadness that I lost so much time with them because of a ridiculous man and his vendetta. Relief that I can finally pay back the fucker who took them from me. I feel it all, aside from a few emotions that one might have in a situation like mine—remorse, empathy, and regret.
Standing on the middle of the ladder, I see Mrs. Crane knelt beside her husband—who’s on his back. She’s gritting out profanities and shouting about how she hopes he goes straight to hell when he leaves this earth. I leap down from where I’m at and my boots hit the ground with a thud.
Mrs. Crane’s eyes lift. “Please tell me it’s time.”
I’m a bit surprised she’s so adamant on her husband meeting his maker. Not that he will where he’s going.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I tell her. “If…you are ready?” It’s a question more than a statement because I need to be certain she wants this, too. I’m not a good man, but my empathetic bone has fused back together for the people I care about. Since Maddox is one of those people and this is one of the few family members he will have left after this, I need to be sure this isn’t going to break something between the two of them.
She stands up, sweeps her hair off her shoulder, and says, “As far as I’m concerned, you’re late. He doesn’t deserve to breathe our air for another minute.”
It’s true that The Society members are ruthless, but I’m beginning to realize just how ruthless we all are. Secrets, lies, murder. None of us are innocent. Not even the woman in front of me who, on any other day, I would describe as warm and gentle.
Mrs. Crane walks toward me with tearstained cheeks and bloodied knuckles. She stops at my side, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Make him hurt.” Then she disappears up the ladder.
I watch Mr. Crane for a second, waiting to see if he begs for his life. His cold eyes are dead set on me. Every couple seconds he blinks, making it known he’s still alive.
I take a step toward him, then another, still watching. Still waiting. He finally opens his mouth to speak. “Well. What the hell are you waiting for?”
I shrug my shoulders, one hand gripping the gun in my pocket. “Just trying to decide if I wanna make this quick, or torture you a bit first.”
He turns his head and hacks up some blood, then spits it straight out in front of him. “Or maybe you’re just too much of a coward.”
I pull the gun out, my hand trembling as I raise it in the air.
“Go ahead,” he taunts me. “Pull the trigger.”
With a jerky finger set on the trigger, I count down in my head.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
A raspy laugh climbs up his throat. He coughs and spits again. “Seems I forgot the most cowardly Pemberley member of all when I took the others out. Always knew I should’ve tracked you down and put a bullet between your eyes.” The venom in his tone is enlightening. It settles any question in my mind I could have had about my decision here. He means every single word. They aren’t out of desperation to die; they are out of a sickness within him.
With the cold steel gun in my trembling hand, my arm stretches outward, pointing directly at his heart. I’ve killed before, but never with such a personal connection. “Too bad you missed your chance.” My tone is stoic—empty of any emotion.
One.
I watch as the bullet fades into his chest, a pool of blood spilling out onto his shirt. His eyes go wide before settling into a blank stare. “How’s that for a coward?” I ask his corpse.
It’s finally over.
