12. Threx Worst-Case Scenario #2
“What is your name?” I asked, taking out the rolled set of knives and choosing my favorite. It was small, with a little hook I liked to run through my teeth.
“What does it matter?” he asked, spitting on the ground.
“Because Piece of Shit looks rather ugly on a tombstone, no?” I popped my neck.
“We both know I’m not getting one of those.”
Yes, we did.
“Look. You’re seasoned, and I respect that, but unless you want five knives driven into your flimsy excuse for a dick, you’ll tell me your name.”
Silence.
“Fine. I tried to be nice.”
“You really did,” Wolfe crossed his arms behind me in a slow shrug.
The metal felt cold, and this was the part I had to block Daphne from. Not the literal her, but the parts of her that lived inside me. She was all babies and first breaths, but I was none of those things.
“Here we go!” I bounced my brows at him, driving the icy blade into his squishy, old man nuts.
“FUCK!” The piece of shit lurched because you never know how much pain the body can really feel until you realize it can be endless. “Fuck you. It’s Matterhorn.”
I made a face, shifting my eyes to Wolfe, who only shook his head.
“That is a ride at Disneyland.”
“It is still the one they gave me,” he groaned.
“Whatever you say, Captain Bobsled. Why the hell were you tailing us tonight?” I asked.
“Karsten released a new list.” He swallowed, choking on the pain. “Some face with no name, but we all think it’s Wolfe’s new queen. Lyla or Layla, or some shit like that.”
My eyes swept to Wolfe, who breathed too loudly to be natural.
“And you thought what? She was in the trunk?”
“No. We had an idea to corner some of the lesser ones. Make them talk.”
“Lesser?” Jessie laughed, stepping forward to beat the hell out of him, but I sent him back with a look.
“Yeah. Wear them down, get them to tell us who she is.” His eyes started to roll, so I dug the knife a little deeper. “Fuck, man,” he moaned, and not from pleasure.
“How much is she going for?” I cocked my head to the side.
“50K, but landing the killshot for a prince of the Underworld is worth way the hell more than that.”
“Why target someone who doesn’t even have a crown yet? Why not go after Wolfe, or I don’t know, the man who took the shot?”
“Shit,” he let out a wry laugh. “That would be too clean, and Karsten likes things messy. You shot something he loved, so payback’s a bitch.”
“By shot, you mean getting nicked in the ankle after a bullet pinged off one of his overpriced big-dick metal tables?”
The man’s eyes quivered shut before they drooped low.
“There is no logic here. You stole his guns and fucked with his son, so he went for your queen.”
“No. We took our guns,” I corrected. “We didn’t steal shit.”
“Semantics!”
“You honestly want to play finders keepers with me right now?” I pulled his head aside. “You have a knife in your balls.”
“A stupid way to die, really,” the guy laughed, and I almost felt sorry for him, but then I remembered he was going to kill my girl, so! I punched the fucker in the ribs because that is what he gets for going after my bloody, fucking heart.
“Before you pass out, I need you to do a little something for me, Disneyland. I need you to accept that contract.”
“It will not stop the hit. When I don’t report in, someone else will take it,” he said as if this were my first day at school.
“Thank you for that. Your check-in is done by fingerprint, right?”
All hits demanded 48-hour check-ins to keep the dead from holding up someone else’s cash flow. Karsten did his by fingerprint. Marianne wanted video evidence, and Shade Cross, the heir to Tyrian’s empire, only fed contracts to the Reapers.
Matterhorn’s head slumped forward, dripping his dick blood all over my shoes.
“Yeah,” he choked out.
“Accept it,” I ordered, and the fucker did. He punched in the numerical code, swiped his fingerprint over the claim, and just like that, Daph’s face was off the list for at least forty-eight hours. Maybe more if we could hold it.
“Thanks so much,” I smiled. “I just need one more thing before you go.”
I stalked over to his hand and pulled back his finger. “You don’t need this, right?” I glinted, taking the dull Swiss Army knife Daph had given me when we were seven, and wrenched at the skin. We’d need the prints, and I needed the memory.
The man screamed, sending a stream of piss into the air.
You think I’m the monster? He was killing for clout, like one of those big-game assholes who stalk lions on preserves and believe they’ve won because there was a picture and everything.
“Put this on ice.” I flung the finger at Blade, who caught it with a gag.
“This is fucking gross, Threx,” he gagged again, holding it in the air away from his body. “Also, where in the hell am I getting ice? Do you think I occasionally stash some in my back pocket for later?”
“Figure it out,” I growled, motioning to Nathem to take care of the rest. “They think she’s Lyla,” I said to Wolfe, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it when…
BANG!
“Anything public happening?” he asked, reaching for a puff after I took a slow drag.
“There’s that dinner with the three crews on the sound tomorrow,” Blade explained, still holding the finger in midair before dropping it in his Mega Gulp. “I think the Hives are naming a new queen or some shit.”
“Right,” Wolfe nodded, pulling out his phone. “I hate being trapped on water with those assholes.”
We didn’t text much, even on burners. Trails made us nervous.
“Hey,” he said when Lyla answered. “We’re going out tomorrow night. It’s black tie, so use some of the money in my desk and make sure you’re ready by eight.”
My chest blazed, and I paused, staring at him.
He didn’t call to ask if she was okay.
He didn’t send any men to protect her.