9. Micah
“Boss,” Stovic rumbles into the phone, his voice deep and serious. “We’ve got a problem.”
I turn out of my closet and head into my apartment-sized bedroom. On one side is the bed, and on the other, a living space with a sofa, television, computer and desk, and even a mini kitchen, so I never have to socialize in the main areas of the house on days I don’t want to.
It’s a perfect setup, really. A self-sufficient studio inside the massive home I share not only with Felix and Christabelle, but with the soldiers we keep on staff.
It’s the only life I’ve ever known: a home brimming with extroversion and gangsters. But my room has always been my space. For me only. Not for my brothers. Not for the dog. Nor the soldiers.
And, to this point, not even for my lovers.
If I want to fuck, I do it elsewhere.
Not that that’s on the agenda at the moment.
Snatching my knife from the table near my TV, I slip the weapon into my pocket and leave my hand wrapped around it so I feel the cold steel beneath my fingers. So I know I’m ready for whoever the fuck wishes us harm. Finally, I angle out of my room and charge into the hall in search of my brother.
“I’m heading out now,” I tell Stovic. “What’s the problem?”
“Wilkes’ people are making noise over in the Bronx. He considers himself a pimp, boss. One of his girls didn’t do as she was told last night, and Wilkes’ man slit her throat in the street to make a point.”
I jog onto the stairs and start down. “What does that have to do with us? Wilkes is making a mess, and he’s doing it in public. The Feds are gonna notice and put a pin in it. Sounds like a positive situation for us. Keeps both sides busy and off our backs.”
“Well… in theory, yeah. But the guy, Conlon, said he was coming to purchase Ms. Cannon next.”
I skid to a stop mid-flight and almost pitch over the banister before I catch myself, my other hand tightening around the phone until I’m sure it’ll crack.
Christabelle!
I look up, back the way I’ve come, in search of Felix, maybe… or Christabelle, to make sure she’s alright. But neither of them are up there. So I look down at the stairs and start moving again. “Conlon said her name? Specifically?”
“Yes. Some kid filmed it live for socials. It’s gone viral.”
“For fuck’s sake.” I speed my steps and descend two, three, four flights, until my feet touch the bottom. “Have you told Lix?”
“No, sir.” I hear Stovic’s voice in stereo, both through the phone and as he stomps along the hall, coming closer to where I’ve landed. Slowing on my right, he kills our call, then quickens his pace again when I resume walking. “He and Ms. Cannon have gone into the city. Left about five minutes ago.”
“And you let them?” I change direction and spin back toward the front door. “Christabelle has been threatened, and you think now’s a good time for them to go shopping? Why the fuck did Lix leave without me?”
“I only just caught wind of all this a minute ago, boss.” He blows through the front door a single step behind me, then whistles, loud and shrill, so soldiers straighten and a car rolls up to wait for us. “And Lix took Michaels for security. He was happy to let you sleep in.”
“Well, now we’re chasing his tail all the way to Manhattan. Fuckin’ hell.” I swing the car door open and slide in. “Find Lix,” I bark to the driver. “Follow him.”
“Yes, sir.” He pushes the car into drive a mere second after Stovic drops in on my left, and our wheels spin against loose gravel as we take off.
“What do you suppose you’re gonna do?” Stovic grumbles. “Wilkes’ man could just be blowing hot air.”
“His kill was filmed?” I unlock my phone screen as we tear out of the long driveway and onto paved road. “Conlon’s. It’s public?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is he in custody? Did the Feds pick him up already?”
Stovic drops his gaze, his chin almost resting on his chest. “No, sir.”
“Exactly.”
I select Felix’s name on my screen and hit dial. Bringing the device to my ear, I glance across to my guard. “Conlon’s on borrowed time already. He’s feeling loud, and he’s made a direct threat. That means he’s ready to make a move. And now Lix and Christabelle are heading into the city without us.”
“Hey.” Felix answers the phone, his voice a balm on my already pounding heart. “Christabelle and I are taking the day. You’re not invited.”
“Wilkes’ man has threatened Christabelle,” I state, cutting through his shit.
I know the exact moment his brain processes my words, because the air within our call changes. Tempers turn glacial, so I know, even though I’m not with them, Felix’s jaw will be clenched. His hand, already wrapped around hers.
Which is a new development, considering, before her, he would always wrap his hand around the grip of a gun.
“Conlon was going off on the street last night,” I explain. “Killed a sex worker, and mentioned Cannon.”
“Where is he?”
“I’m not sure. But Stovic and I are in the car and heading your way. Where are you?”
Silence hangs for a beat as he presumably takes stock of his surroundings. “Only about three miles from the house. We stopped for a minute because Christabelle wanted to steal.”
“A flower,” she calls out impatiently, clearly none the wiser to the rest of our conversation. “I saw a whole bush of these pretty, purple things last time we drove past a house out here. I wanted to drop by and grab some for you to propagate.”
“I’ll deal with it,” I promise her. Then to Felix, “Tell your driver to slow down—not too much,” I amend. “Don’t make it obvious. You’re just out for a scenic drive. That’ll give us time to catch up.” I angle to the side and look through the windshield to the street outside. “Once I have you in my sights, I can watch your six. You and Christabelle go about your day, and I’ll keep watch.”
“You know you’re not actually my security guard, right?” Then, away from the phone, “Slow it down a little, Smith. Micah wants us to take the scenic route.” Finally, he brings his focus back to me. “You’re my brother. You’re supposed to be one of the protected ones.”
“I have my place in this world. Go a little faster,” I tell Garth, my own driver. “We’re going to tail Lix’s car into the city. We want him in our sight, but keep enough distance that others won’t know we’re moving together.”
“Yes, sir.” He places a little more pressure on the gas pedal and speeds us up.
Satisfied, I ask my brother, “Where are you heading today? And did you broadcast that information?”
Lix snorts. “Do I ever? We’re heading to the funeral home, actually.”
“The funeral home?”
Instantly, Stovic looks across and meets my eyes.
“Why the fuck are you heading to a funeral home?” I demand. “No one we like is dead. And those who are dead are that way because we made it so.”
Felix scoffs, soft and not-quite-playful. “Christabelle wants to do something for her sister. A headstone,” he clarifies. “She wants to mark Charlotte’s final resting place.”
“Fuck.” I drop my head back and groan. “She okay?”
“Yeah. We’re working through it together.”
“She moving the body?”
“No. Leaving things where they are, but creating a little something in her honor. So we’re heading to Carson’s, in case you wanna tell your driver.”
“Boss?” As though he knows Lix was talking about him, Garth draws my attention. When I look to him, he nods ahead so I catch a glimpse of a familiar, shiny, black SUV. “Found them.”
“Alright. Lix, I’m on your six.” I chew on my bottom lip and watch the SUV like I’m afraid it’ll simply disappear. “Go about your business, head to Carson’s. I’ll keep watch. If shit turns bad, I’ll call you back.”
“Alright.”
He ends our call. No goodbyes, no see ya laters. Nothing. He just goes back to Christabelle to help her adapt to the life she’s choosing by loving the fuckin’ don.
“You think they’re gonna make a move today?” Stovic strokes a Glock 17, holding it against his thigh. “In broad daylight?”
“I think Wilkes is new to this world and fumbling his way around. And Conlon is a wannabe baddie who clearly has no issue with video documented kills. That makes him a grenade, and the pin has already been pulled. If he doesn’t make an attempt in the coming days, I’ll be surprised.”
“Moving into denser traffic,” Garth announces.
Instantly, my gaze jumps to the four lanes of cars heading north.
“I can keep my distance, boss, but it’ll mean more risk of losing them.”
“Stay a hundred yards back. Give them space.”
My phone rings, the chime bleating in my hand and bringing my eyes down.
It’s not Felix’s name flashing back at me. Nor Christabelle’s. Not even Archer’s. Minka Mayet, my sister-in-law and resident doctor, commands my attention.
And because she so rarely does, I accept her call and bring the device to my ear while I keep my focus on the surrounding traffic. “Is Archer alive?”
“Yeah. He’s still sleeping.”
I envision the doctor padding around her apartment in the dark, in skimpy pyjamas; not to be seductive, but because it’s filthy hot, from our side of the country to theirs. And their apartment is older than the universe itself, which means the cooling they have is pitiful at best.
“Why are you up so early?” I ask.
“Because I’m hungry. And since I’m up, I was thinking of you.”
“How does Archer feel about his wife scamming on his brother?”
She snorts, dismissive and cruel, yet the sound elicits a genuine smile from me. “I’m exhausted with the Malone I married. I live next door to another. I’m babysitting a third. And Felix has yet to stop flirting with me, despite his commitment to Cannon. I assure you, I’m not interested in adding another Malone to my tally board. How’s your hand?”
I look down at the appendage, taking stock of what’s left after a prick took garden cutters to it. “I have a fuckin’ stub where my finger should be. It’s the ugliest shit I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Not the ugliest I’ve seen.” She opens her fridge, sending bottles rattling in the otherwise silent background. “I’ve seen a lot of bad shit in my life. Your finger doesn’t even rate in the top fifty. Healing?”
“Coming along.”
“Functional?”
I lift my hand and flex my fingers—all but the one that no longer exists. “Nope. It’s dead.”
“Necrotic?”
“No. Like, the skin is pink and healthy looking, I just meant?—”
“Then it’s not dead. Pain?”
I exhale through my nose. “None in the stub itself. But I get stabbing pain in my palm most days. It burns all the way up my arm when that happens.”
“Could be a nerve thing,” she ponders. “Fixable, maybe, with proper surgery. Is the rest of your hand functional?”
“Yeah. Things are still a little tender, so I defer to my right side often. But I make sure to do those exercises you told me to.”
“Boss?”
I look across to Stovic, then out the windshield when he peers that way.
“That white one,” he nods. “They’ve taken every turn Lix has for the last three minutes.”
“What’s going on?” Minka’s voice turns hard. Controlled. “Is there an issue?”
“None we aren’t handling. My hand is fine, I’m not dying of sepsis. And you can stop checking in on me now. I’m okay.”
“You don’t want me to call?” She clicks her tongue in disappointment. “Seems you’re the only Malone not obsessed with me.”
“Just keeping you humble.”
I narrow my eyes as, ahead of us, Lix’s driver takes an unnecessary turn. A test.
And the white sedan does the same.
Shit.“I’ll check in with you later, Mayet. I’ve gotta go for now.”
“Wait—”
But I drag the phone from my ear and kill our call. Then I dial Felix.
Instantly, he answers. “You see that guy too?” he growls. “No one is driving this way unless they’re lost.”
“Yeah, I see him. You’ve got a visitor. How do you wanna handle it?”
“Smash-and-grab. It’s always,” he grits out, “a smash-and-grab. We’ll go all the way to Carson’s, circle to the parking lot out back. It’s kinda hidden, so no one will see what goes down there. Then we’ll ask our tail a few friendly questions. You ready?”
“Yeah. We’ll be about fifteen seconds behind you. Keep your doors locked till I roll in. Then I’ll take care of it.”
“And I’m just supposed to let you have all the fun?” He snickers. But at least he doesn’t suck back half a cigarette.
It’s odd that that’s the sound I expect to hear. But he’s working. And despite his easy laughter, I know he’s stressing. Because Christabelle is in the car with him, and his job, above all else, is to protect her.
But maybe his declaration to quit was real. Maybe he meant it.
“You know I don’t like being the damsel, Micah. I wanna hang out with our new friend, too.”
“Fifteen seconds,” I murmur, unsnapping my seatbelt even though we’re still moving. “If it’s Conlon or Wilkes, then I figure it’s a shoot-first kinda situation. You won’t have time to play, Lix. So sit your ass down and wait for me. Let me do my job.”
“Your job,” he scoffs. “Your fuckin’ job is not to step in front of me every time someone else thinks they can go toe to toe! Your job is to stand beside me.”
“Semantics.” I check the clock in the car dash and note the time. “I have somewhere I’ve gotta be this afternoon. Let’s get this done and put it behind us.”
“I’m way ahead of you.”
He kills our call for the second time, cutting off any argument I might like to throw his way. Then his car turns left a whole block ahead of ours, disappearing around the corner, and just two seconds later, the white sedan follows.
“Fuck. Move faster,” I command Garth. “We’re no longer hiding from that guy. Bring us in quickly, and keep the engine running.”
“Yes, sir.” He speeds up and tears around the corner behind our target, ignoring the honk of dissatisfied commuters as we cut them off on their way to work.
Preparing myself for what’s coming, I leave my knife in my pocket and extend my hand to accept a Nineteen from Stovic.
“Clip is full,” he rumbles. “Ready to rock and roll.”
“Good. Figure out the scene once we pull up. Count heads. Then I need you to cover Christabelle. Michaels is likely to have Lix’s back. If he’s on Christabelle instead because Lix ordered it, then you switch. Either way, they’re both covered.”
“But you’re not. I see the chink in your armor, boss.”
“My armor is fine, so long as everyone else is safe.”
I release the magazine, a habit instilled in me long before I even graduated high school, and check my rounds, despite Stovic’s assurances. Then I shove it back into place, finding my calm when steel clicks against steel.
“Shit,” my driver hisses.
We race into Carson’s parking lot so the entire car bounces, but ahead of us, Felix is already out of his car, his arm extended in front of him, and a gun pointed at a man I’ve never seen before in my life.
“For fuck’s sake!” I grab the door handle, but wait… wait… wait till we’re closer. “Is that Conlon?”
Stovic nods, just one short, sharp jerk of his head. “Yes, sir.”
“Hit him.”
Fifty feet separate our hood and the motherfucker in jeans and an unbuttoned shirt.
“Do you understand me?” I lean forward in my seat and tap my driver’s shoulder. “Hit him. Don’t kill him.”
“Yes, sir.”
He races us across the parking lot, so fast our wheels squeak against the smooth concrete, and just twenty feet from the duo, he hits the brakes and sends us skidding.
Tires scream. Then the car jolts, Stovic and I lunging forward with the momentum, as we collide with a guy who can’t be much older than me and Lix, and send him slamming up onto our hood.
His legs crunch from the impact, and his gun flies to the ground, steel clattering on concrete.
The car skids to a stop, and Stovic and I thump back against our seats, but Conlon bounces off the windshield and forward again, sprawling to the ground. While he’s at risk of being run over, I shove my door open and dart out, my own gun raised, and kick his pistol with my boot so it slides beneath the fucker’s car.
“Head count!” I charge toward the white sedan and try to peer inside, but the windows are tinted, and opening the doors is risky. “Stovic?”
“Just one,” Felix grumbles, lowering his weapon and sliding it into the holster at the small of his back. He stands over Conlon in a suit more appropriate for the opera. Or a boardroom. Not so much for parking lot bullshit.
I move to the front of Conlon’s car and look through the windshield, since it’s not tinted, and check to ensure the vehicle is empty. Just to make doubly certain, I put two rounds through the glass.
Then a third.
A fourth.
Bullets pass through the headrests, sending stuffing flying throughout the car’s interior, before my nine-millimeter slugs embed themselves in the back seats.
“Oh my god!” Christabelle scrambles out of Felix’s car, skinning her knees when she drops down beside Conlon.
She’s a bit like Minka, I suppose, in the way she runs toward the wounded. But Felix wraps his palm around her bicep and pulls her up again. “No, Darling.”
“Felix! He’s hurt.”
“He’s gonna hurt some more before the day is out.”
He hands her off to Michaels and turns to kneel by Conlon’s writhing body. After transferring his pistol from his right hand to the left, he slaps Conlon’s cheek—and grins when the man on the ground groans.
“You didn’t expect that, did you? You little bitch.”
“Fuck you, Malone.” Bleeding already, Conlon whimpers and tilts his head, his glassy eyes locking onto mine. “Fuck you both.”
“Why are you coming for us?” Felix grabs his jaw and yanks him back around. “Why?”
“Fuck you.”
“That wasn’t an option.” He pushes up to stand as police sirens ring out through the air.
It’s possible they’re not for us. But then again, maybe someone heard the collision and the rounds I put into a car.
The risk is too great, so Lix looks to Stovic and tips his chin. “Put him in the trunk. We’re taking him for a little chat.” Then to Michaels, “Put her in my car. You’re taking her home for safekeeping.”
“Felix!” Christabelle fights her guard’s hold. “I’m not going anywhere without you!”
“You are, Darling. But I’ll be close by. And I’ll be with you for dinner.” He looks my way and meets my stare. “You ready?”
“Yeah.”
It takes us mere minutes to get moving again, once Felix’s car is loaded up with Christabelle and Michaels, and mine, with me and Lix in the back, Stovic in the front passenger seat beside our driver, and Conlon in the back. The far back.
We’re only ten minutes from home, and another five or so after that, we’ll reach a small cabin-like space surrounded by thick trees on the outer edges of our property. We call it the bunker, though it could be described as a hut. Most importantly, it’s secluded, and even if not soundproof, the dense canopy and countless tree trunks circling it provide a barrier.
No one other than us will hear a man scream.
“You came out of nowhere, Conlon.” After we arrive at the bunker and drag the bleeding prick from the trunk, Felix sheds his jacket. His tie. Even his shirt, since it’s so fucking hot today. He paces a half-circle in front of the chair we long ago attached to the concrete floor. The bolts, almost as thick as my thumbs. The chains, heavy enough to make a man reconsider his life choices. And he carries a tire iron so heavy, it surely belongs in a truckyard.
Though, in his defense, I’ve never seen him actually swing it; not in all the times we’ve brought men out here.
“Wilkes hops a boat and sails into my country, into my fuckin’ city, and makes a mess of things straight outta the gate. And you thought, Shit, that looks like fun. I might try it?”
“I need a doctor.” Conlon slumps in his chair, his thigh bone jutting out high enough to lift his jeans, while blood drains down into, and from, his shoe. Oops. “You need to put me in a car, Malone, and send me to the hospital.”
“Yeah? Well, you need to not speak our name.” Slowly, I push my jacket off and hang it on a peg by the door. Because we’re classy and organized, and dropping our things on the floor is unsophisticated. “You slit a woman’s throat last night. And mentioned another woman who matters to me.”
Felix looks over his shoulder, his brow quirking high with curiosity.
“You didn’t have to do either,” I continue. “The sex worker was doing her job. And Ms. Cannon is off-limits for you.” I unbutton my cufflinks and set the gold squares in my pockets. “But I will admit, I’m genuinely intrigued by your intentions. Did you want Felix’s attention, all so you’d end up right here? Sitting in a rat-infested forest, where the animals will pick your bones clean by morning? Or did you think you’d shoot him in the head outside a funeral parlor this morning, and start a war?”
“Hospital,” he sneers. Then he spits out a mouthful of gunk, blood and snot hitting the floor in a lumpy, gross pile that makes my nose twist. “I’m not talking.”
“I’m not sure you’re reading me correctly, bud.” I roll my sleeves up, one slow fold at a time, until the fabric stops at my elbows. Then I saunter to the back wall and peruse my options.
Blades. Cradles. Forks. Fire.
I select a simple pair of scissors, since I like to begin with a clear playing field. Then, turning on my heels, I meander closer and eye the bone, pressing against his jeans. “What was your intention, Conlon? Regardless, it was a kamikaze mission. So what did you want out of this?”
“Fuck you!” He rattles his chains, squirming in his chair. But the seat doesn’t move. We’ve had larger, stronger, better men in this room over the years, and not once has the structure budged. “Wilkes is gonna cut your cock off!” he seethes. “He’s gonna destroy you.”
“That’s a start, at least.” I grab the leg of his jeans between my thumb and pointer finger, and pulling up, I start cutting away the fabric and reveal the bone already piercing through skin. “We’ve confirmed you’re Wilkes’ man.” I make slow slices, absorbing the sound of the sharp blades passing through stiff denim. “And you slit a woman’s throat last night—on Wilkes’ orders?”
“She tried to rip us off. So we made an example of her.”
“Alright.”
I continue around his thigh, pulling the scissors away and starting on the side closest to me. “But then you spoke Christabelle Cannon’s name.” Behind me, Felix bristles. “That was the Bat-Signal, bud. So now I’m gonna ask you really nicely,” setting my scissors down, I carefully pull the released denim along his leg and down, to pool by his bound ankle.
Blood gushes from his wound: it’s possible the bone has nicked a pretty important artery. It’ll make a mess, but he won’t bleed out just yet.
Unbothered, I look up into his eyes and wait. “Why’d you call her out like that, knowing it would get back to us?”
His gaze burns with hatred. With fury. And, for a brief moment, with fearlessness. “Fuck. You.”
I grab the section of bone protruding from his leg and give it a tug, stealing his courage and eliciting a high-pitched scream.
“Why’d you call her out?”
“Stop!” He squeals like a baby pig, thrashing in his seat and making his pain worse when my hand remains still so it’s him moving the bone. “Fucking prick! Stop.”
“What are Wilkes’ plans?”
“Screw y?—”
I tug again, tearing his skin, and lean to the right when he whips to my left, spewing nasty liquid to splash on the concrete.
“What are Wilkes’ plans?” I soften my voice. Engage in psychological warfare as I release his leg and smile.
So few men get to see my lips hitch. If they knew the circumstances for which I save my best ones, they’d be thankful for what they’ve missed out on.
“Your injuries are flirting with your femoral artery, Conlon. Which means if you keep fighting me, the vein may open completely. Once that happens, you have about thirty seconds till it’s lights out. So,” I leave his leg alone and push up to stand, accepting a rag when Felix offers it. Wiping my hands, I back away and leisurely stroll the small room. “What are Wilkes’ plans?”
“To fuck you in the ass and remove you from this city.”
Felix chuckles, stepping forward to fill the space I’ve left. “It’s not that I’m against ass play, Conlon. A little tickle every now and then is good for everyone.” He sets the sharp edge of his tire iron on top of the guy’s knee. “But I like to choose my bed buddies. And you?” He pushes down on the steel, slowly but firmly, pulling a guttural scream from Conlon’s throat as the iron dislocates the kneecap from the rest of the joint. “You’re not it. And neither is Wilkes. Now try again: why us? And why Wilkes?”
“Because you’re the last standing family before Cordoza!” he cries. His face is beetroot red, veins throbbing thick beneath his skin. “Because you’re fucking scum, but control too much of the city. It’s time for new management.”
Pop! Felix tears his kneecap straight off, the detachment audible. But skin still holds everything in, making the guy’s knee a useless sack of meat.
“I guess this is gonna be one of those agree to disagree things. Because I don’t think we should be punished just because a new motherfucker wants to play in our sandbox.” He releases his tire iron, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter that echoes through the mostly barren room. “Now, that’s not to say we wouldn’t be open to sharing a small portion of our sand—ya know, with the right person.”
He turns to the wall and takes down a pair of garden shears. The kind a man might cut an inch-thick branch with. Spinning back, he grins when Conlon releases his bladder, and piss runs along the legs of the chair.
“Unfortunately for you,” Lix wanders forward again, and slowly, torturously, opens the blades, until they’re approximately the thickness of our guest’s thigh bone. “You’re not worthy. And neither is Wilkes. Because in New York, the name of the game is to remain discreet.”
He lowers the shears to position the blades on either side of the protruding bone. “The business, in this city, is about remaining classy. Of course the Feds know what we do, but we’re elegant enough to keep our streets clean. You understand?”
“I don’t?—”
Felix closes the blades, squeezing the bone between them. But they don’t slice through the way the same action would remove a limb from the frangipanis I have at the house. It doesn’t give that same satisfying snip I covet so much.
“You are not being discreet, dickhead. You and Wilkes are like the store-brand version of what we do. You have the weapons, the balls, and the ego, but none of the class. And that’s why,” he opens the blades, only to squeeze them shut again, cracking the bone and destroying another man’s ability to walk. “We won’t share with you.”
“Stop!” Conlon screams. He pukes. And cries. And pisses himself. “Please stop!”
“You’re gonna die today, stupid.” I drop my hands into my pockets and take out my knife. It’s my go-to. My favorite tool to work with. Then I walk forward and gently shuffle my brother aside. “You had to know this was how your day would end. No way you can do what you did last night, wake up today, point a gun at my brother, and expect to get away with it.”
“I was putting you on notice.” His eyes are swollen almost shut. His cheeks, ruddy and bright red. “Wilkes is putting you on notice.”
“Consider us notified.” I flip my blade open and bathe in the sound of steel against steel. “But Wilkes has sacrificed you.” I clap his cheek when his head lolls back, and wait patiently for his eyes to flicker open. “He set you up, knowing this was exactly how things were going to turn out for you. Hey!” I slap him again, and grit my teeth when pain lances along my arm.
“Believe it or not, we’re not a violent bunch. Until forced. But Wilkes…” With a chuckle, I explain, “Wilkes tossed you to the fucking lions. He bloodied you up, slowed you down, and threw you to us just as easily as a man threads a worm onto a hook before casting into the sea.”
“Fuck you,” Conlon garbles, his voice drawling and slurred.
“You’re the worm, don’t you see? We’re the marlin he’s trying to catch. But you could tell us his next move, ya know? Share his intentions, since you owe him no loyalty.”
“Fuck you!”
I open his shirt and reveal six-pack abs. The dude is underfed. Undernourished. But his lean physique makes it possible for me to count his ribs.
“I’m gonna play a little game with you, okay? An anatomical game, if you will.” I press my fingers to his ribs and search for the gaps between. “Our ribs were created to protect our organs. Because, of course, all the organs that sustain you in life are hidden right here, behind this cage.”
“Well, except his brain,” Lix inserts, reaching up and tapping his own temple. “But certain behaviors today have shown he lacks one.”
“I’m gonna slide my knife into your lung.” I set the tip of my blade on his skin, nicking the flesh just enough to draw a droplet of blood to the surface. “And then I’m gonna take it out and put it back in again. Three times?” Playful, I look over my shoulder to Felix. “Three sound okay?”
He snorts, lifting his shoulders in submission. “It’s more than two, less than four. Whatever works for you, bro.”
I nod. “Three.” I bring my focus back to an already floating Conlon. “Which means your lung will collapse, but it’ll also fill with blood. It’s a two-fer, really. And that’s when the game begins. Will you drown first, or suffocate?”
“Wait…” Felix moves in my peripherals. “We have two lungs. Can he not switch Engine One off and use Engine Two?”
“I… I dunno. But it’s not often I get a chance to work on a real-life body. So instead of reading up on that, how’s about we just learn from experience?”
Slowly, I slide my knife between Conlon’s ribs, my hand steady despite my subject’s screams echoing from wall to wall. “What is Wilkes’ next move?”
“I don’t—” He heaves, his breath cutting off, and the sound that comes from his throat turning to a rattle. “I don’t?—”
“Wilkes’ whereabouts?” I pull my knife out and get to work on the second slice. “Where is he laying his head at night?”
Tears stream from Conlon’s eyes, dribbling over his cheeks and down to plop on the floor. But he shakes his head.
I’m not sure if he can’t speak, or simply chooses not to. But I interpret the gesture in goodwill, and assume he means he doesn’t know.
“What about Tiia Hale?”
At that, Felix’s eyes snap my way. But I remove the knife and change positions, then I slide it in for the last time. “Nod your head if you know her name. Nod if you’ve worked with her.”
He shakes his head instead, choking and desperately searching for air. Already, his wounds bubble, and blood fills his lungs.
“Is she Wilkes’ employee?”
He shakes his head.
“Is she on his payroll? Is she Wilkes’ girl? Is that who she had dinner with last night?”
“He can’t possibly know that, Micah.” Lix sets his hand on my shoulder and squeezes just tight enough to draw my attention. “And even if he did, he’d be inclined to say no.” He nods toward our captive, firming his lips as disappointment washes over his face. “He’s already gone. It’s done.”
“He’s still breathing.” I remove my blade and use the cloth to wipe blood from the sharp edges. “He’s alive.”
“He’s already gone.”
Leaving him to suffocate—or drown… we can’t know without a coroner’s report—and turning on his heels, he crosses to the door and opens it wide to reveal Stovic on the other side, standing guard and keeping us safe.
“Wait for his heart to stop, then deal with the body.” Looking to me, he raises a single, daring brow. “You ended it too soon.”
“He had nothing for us.” I close my knife and slip my hands into my pockets. “He was the bait, Lix. Wilkes had no love for him, or he wouldn’t have set him up the way he did today. And since he thought so little of him, there’s no way he had information we could coax out of him. He was just the lure.”
I pass Stovic and step outside into barely-there sunlight. The thick canopy of trees overhead, stopping most of the sun’s rays from hitting the ground, even this late in the summer months. “He was useless to us.”
“And now Wilkes is down a man,” Felix grunts. “I suppose if Conlon popped me, then it would have been considered a successful day. But if he was caught and killed, like he was,” he glances back when Stovic walks out of the bunker with the dead man thrown over his shoulder, “then it was a small price to pay. Low risk, potential of high reward. And no physical danger for Wilkes at all.”
“Whereas we now have blood on our shoes, and another body to not tell Arch about. For nothing.” I set my hands on my head and inhale fresh, filtered air, filling my lungs as I move to the edge of the small clearing. “Wilkes reeled us in, but for what? To keep us busy? To keep us out of the house? Conlon spoke Christabelle’s name purely to piss us off?”
“I’m calling the house, just in case.” He takes his phone out and dials, bringing it to his ear.
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until my diaphragm aches and my pulse thuds harder. But then my brother speaks, and the oxygen in my lungs comes barreling out.
“Christabelle. Where are you?”
She’s safe. She’s alive.
“Stay with Michaels,” he continues. “We’re done here, and I wanna see you.”
“Stovic.” I move in his direction, but I give him plenty of room to work as he sets Conlon’s body on the mossy ground. “I want a security sweep of the house and grounds. Check in with the team, ensure the property is secure. Perhaps Conlon was just a distraction for the sake of distraction, but maybe he wasn’t.”
“Yes, boss.” He looks across and raises a questioning brow. “You heading to the city apartment?”
“Yeah. I’m gonna take some space for an hour, then I have an errand to run. I’ll be back at the house tonight.”
“Keep the dog close, Christabelle.” Felix’s voice turns playful, verging on silly. “He’s big and stupid and useless, kind of like me. That means he’s exactly what he needs to be, and he’s protective of only you, which makes him the best fuckin’ guard I could have on the team. I’ll be home in about twenty minutes. Then we’ll try the Carson’s thing again. I’ll bring them to us; save us the commute.”