Chapter 36
“How many? Tell me.”
Tom shakes his head, saying something that sounds like, I don’t know, but it’s hard to make out on account of his own bandana smothering his mouth. Not the most appetizing, I’d guess, but I’m not terribly concerned about his comfort.
“You do know,” I say, crouching in front of him as my heart beats a rapid rhythm in my chest. “Someone like you? I have no doubt you’ve kept track.”
Tom shakes his head again, flinching away when my eyes narrow at him. Yet another mistake he makes, because it puts his friend John back in his line of sight, along with the pool of blood expanding out from beneath his unconscious, but likewise restrained, companion.
Tom’s frantic gaze returns to me, but since it’s nearly impossible to understand what he’s saying, I’m mostly spared from whatever pleas come along with it.
“Will you yell?” I ask him. “If I take the rag out?”
He shakes his head.
“Promise? Because no one will hear you but me, and I don’t really care to. Understand?”
Nod.
“All right. Don’t make me regret my hospitality.” I reach forward and yank the end of the bandana, letting it fall out of his mouth. Fortunately, he doesn’t yell, although he does cough a bit before getting the words out.
“Name—name your price.”
My head tilts. “My price?”
He nods adamantly, trying to adjust his position on his knees though his hands are still tied behind his back. “I can get you money. Lots of it.”
“Ah, I see,” I say, understanding now. “You mean that if I let you go, you’ll pay me with the cash from under the bed in your room?”
His eyes widen.
“Yes, regrettably, that is a very poor hiding spot. Especially for that much money. Perhaps you should have spent some time coming up with something a bit more creative rather than being a disgusting excuse for a human being. Did you consider that?”
His mouth is open but he’s not saying anything now.
“Thought not. Now, where were we…” I reach for the revolver in my right shoulder holster. “Hang on, better if I kill you during the next chorus. It’s louder.”
“You are fucking psychotic, you know that?” Tom says, trying to shrink away from me again. “You’re insane.”
“Sticks and stones…” I tell him, shrugging as I give my gun a fun little twirl. “While we wait, I did ask you a question. How many?”
“I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never hurt no women.”
“Ah, finally, a confession.”
“What? No, I said I haven’t.”
“Actually…according to your statement…”
“I haven’t hurt nobody.”
“Well, that is likely correct. However, as much as I appreciate you being more truthful—”
“You’re the one,” he snarls, interrupting what would’ve been a useless lesson in proper grammar given that he won’t be talking for much longer. “You’re the one who attacked us. Without reason.”
“No,” I say slowly, my anger seeping back into my voice.
“I attacked you because you followed a young woman with the intention of attacking her once she walked into this room. Already had weapons in your hands and smiles on your faces when you opened the door, and I have to tell you, the degree of comfort you felt in doing that makes me believe this was not the first time. So I will ask again, how many?”
“What…what the fuck does it matter? She your girl or somethin’?” he asks, still evading. “Look, I’m sorry. If we’d have known—”
“If you’d have known what?” I give the knife that’s been resting in my right hand a spin now as well to remind him that it’s there. “If you’d thought she belonged to me? That’s the distinction for you? Her being my property would allow her more rights than she has on her own?”
Tom doesn’t immediately answer, seeming to understand that his last statement might have been another misstep. “That’s not…no. All I’m saying is, we didn’t know she was yours. We didn’t know this was your place. We thought you was with that one fella. The gunslinger.”
I sigh, my head falling forward for a moment.
“One, that’s a sore subject at present, so I’d advise you to tread lightly.
Two, this place does not belong to me. However, it is run by a group of women who would very gladly tear you limb from limb, so you really ought to count your blessings that you and your friend ended up with me instead. ”
“Bless—blessings? You want him to count his blessings?” Tom complains, jerking his head in the direction of his partner. “You fuckin’ stabbed him. John’s probably dead.”
“He’s being a bit dramatic if he is,” I say, brushing the concern off…though I had hit the other one’s leg pretty deep. “In fairness, he did try to stab me first.”
“You ambushed us,” he stammers, trying to blame me again as if this is all some misunderstanding for us to clear up. “People got a right to defend themselves.”
“I could not agree more,” I tell him, and for a brief moment, he looks relieved. “People do have a right to defend themselves. But if they don’t possess the disposition or the means…I’m glad to step in.”
No doubt sensing his impending peril, Tom tries to scramble back, but instead loses his balance and falls forward, the wooden boards and the sickening crunch of his nose conveniently muffling the sound he makes.
Unfortunately, the floor’s interference appears to have been useless based on the way the bedroom door promptly flies open behind me…
then closes again with a few quiet and familiar murmurs of blasphemy.
“Now you’ve done it,” I tell Tom, standing and giving him a light kick with my boot. “Better roll onto your side. I’ll be upset if you suffocate before I can kill you.”
He does as I say, likely more due to the pain in his face than my request. Or simply because he also wants to look at the figure I can feel hovering right inside the doorway. Given how much I like to do the same, I honestly can’t blame him.
“You have to help me,” Tom starts, appealing around me to Aiden. “He’s a madman. He’s crazy. He—”
“Shut it,” Aiden barks, and I hear the distinct click of his gun’s hammer as he steps farther into the room.
“Cypress.” Reluctantly for once, I turn to face him, watching as he aims his gun at the man tied up at my feet, then looks to the one in the corner and then to me. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Well…” My eyes take the same path through the scene he just had, and given the evidence, I decide, as usual, honesty remains the best option. “Currently, I’m either at the beginning or”—I glance at John’s unmoving form—“halfway through a double murder. How about you? What have you been doing?”
When Aiden only stares at me rather than respond, his brows knit together in concern, I really begin to worry. “You did say you understood some men need killing.”
Aiden blinks. “What?”
“Earlier. You said—”
“I know what I said,” he snaps, voice coming out rough. “I also said it didn’t have to be you, didn’t I?”
“You did,” I hastily agree, despite the cold rage still simmering beneath my skin. “Feel like maybe we have a differing opinion there, but then, no one sees eye to eye all the time.”
“Christ,” Aiden mutters, apparently not ready to agree to disagree as he switches to his deity’s full name. “Jesus Christ. At this point I’d settle for half the time.”
“Please, you have to—” Tom starts again, believing now to be his potential opening, until both Aiden and I respond with a sharp, “Quiet.”
“You see that?” I say to Aiden when the man immediately falls silent. “We agreed there just fine. All hope isn’t lost.”
I could swear that the corner of Aiden’s mouth twitches before he reflexively adjusts his hat, uncocks his pistol, and places it back in its holster. “What’s the plan here, Cypress? Besides ruining Dolly’s rug?”
He nods at John, and I note how the blood has now unfortunately spread to the edges of her Persian rug. “Well, she’s not going to be happy about that.”
“She will not,” Aiden confirms. “Even told me to remind you.”
“I’ll replace it again.”
“Again? How many times—never mind. Don’t tell me.”
“This particular rug? Only—”
“I said don’t tell me. Not tonight.” Aiden sighs, sounding worn out, before he nods his head toward Tom now, who is still breathing but who appears to have passed out, too. “You really were just going to kill them both here?”
I shrug. “That was my plan.”
“Then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“Then what would you do with two bodies on the second floor, Cypress?” he says, and not even the blatant irritation in his voice is enough to overshadow how good it sounds when he says my name. “You kill them and then what? You walk back out the front door?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?” he asks again, scoffing when I angle my head over my shoulder. “Oh, I see. You wait for someone to catch you while you are fumbling about with the window.”
“It’s really not a concern,” I tell him.
“Because?”
“Because I am not the type that fumbles about,” I say, holding his gaze until his cheeks start turning pink. “Are you?”
In response, Aiden clears his throat, adjusts his hat again. “Always so fucking arrogant.”
“I prefer self-assured,” I reply, putting my back to him as I turn once more toward Tom.
“Wait.” Aiden is suddenly at my side, all my focus moving to the spot where his hand grips my upper arm as soon as he places it there. “Don’t.”
“Don’t?” Once the word has a chance to sink in, I meet the intensity in his eyes. “What do you mean don’t?”
“I can’t—” His jaw tenses, teeth grinding together. “We can’t kill him.”
“Why the fuck not?” I ask, sounding more like him than myself, though it does nothing to help me understand his reasoning. “He and his friend followed Lula up here. Who knows what they would’ve done. What they’ll do to someone else.”
I almost start to move again, but Aiden’s grip holds firm. “Cypress, I can’t…”
“You don’t have to. I’ll do it.”
He looks down, refusing to meet my gaze now. “Please.” He huffs out a breath. “I’m asking you not to either.”
Slowly, I nod as I reholster the gun, his single plea far more persuasive than the many that came from Tom. “All right, then what’s the alternative?”
“I’m thinking,” Aiden replies, still not releasing my arm as his other hand reaches for the knife. Without concern, I let him take it, let him wipe it clean with a handkerchief from my pocket and slip it into his boot.
“He’s seen our faces,” I remind him. “So has his friend, if he’s still breathing.”
“Pretty sure he isn’t.”
“But not entirely sure…”
“I know what dead looks like, Cypress.”
“Fine, but Tom is a danger to others. We can’t simply take him downstairs and let him loose.”
“No,” Aiden replies, tone thoughtful. “Suppose we can’t.”
I quirk an eyebrow at him. “So, any ideas?”
“As it so happens,” he says, glancing once more in John’s direction. “I think I do. Although, I think you might have to replace more than one of Dolly’s rugs.”