Chapter 7 Kane #2
“Is anyone following us?” Zane takes a quick breath before popping his head up to check. “We need to run. Pack our bags.” I can see him start to calm down as he forms a plan. “Mine’s already halfway packed. That’s good. Really, I only need my computer. We can pick up everything else on the road—”
I slam on the breaks, and he nearly faceplants into the dash. “Kane! What the fuck!”
“We aren’t running.” I clench my fists around the steering wheel.
“We have nothing to run from! We’ve killed dozens of people!
That asshole from last night is no different.
” That last part is a lie; the asshole from last night is way different than anyone else I’ve ever killed.
He fucking deserved it and worse. But for the sake of this argument, they’re all the same. “I’m not leaving.”
Zane huffs. “You’re not leaving her.” He glares out the window. “Great. We’re risking our lives so you can get some.” He spits out the last few words like a poison. “Samuel Wright cleans up his messes, and what exactly do you think a couple of black market dealers are to his empire?”
“We’re not a threat.” It’s not like we sell a lot of things on the black market.
A few untagged organs, some macabre paintings, that’s all.
“Besides, the Baranovas would protect us if we asked.” If push comes to shove and I ask really nicely, they might.
But our contacts within the bratva aren’t exactly high up on the chain of command.
Ever since Zane and I declined their invitation to join the mafia, they only contact us when their own guys are too busy to clean up their messes.
We’re contracted for dead body extraction on a case-by-case basis.
It’s not like they’ll roll out the red carpet for a couple of grunts who aren’t even official members.
I doubt they’d spare the resources to help us at all.
Even then, it’s not like we’re in any real danger, right?
I try to understand Zane’s panic. I really do. But I just don’t see it. “Samuel Wright won’t come after men like us. We’re ants to him.”
“Exactly.” Zane blows out a breath. “We’re nothing. Sam—our Sam—would be happy to have us killed and out of the picture.”
“So he can have Mercy to himself.” Like hell, that’s gonna happen.
A beat of silence passes before Zane speaks. “I’m not so sure about that.”
I roll my eyes. “Please. Sam would love to stash Mercy away somewhere as his secret little wifey.”
“He might—but would his dad allow that? The heir to the Wright fortune, keeping a pet chained up in the basement?” Zane lifts an eyebrow.
“At best, Mercy’s an eyesore to her classmates.
You know how important networking is in this city.
Do you really think that Samuel Wright will let his son marry—breed—whatever you want to call it—someone without pedigree, money, or social status? It’s easier to just—”
“Get rid of her.” Anger flares in my veins. “Get rid of us.”
We’re the complication keeping Sam from ascending to his rightful place as King of the Dicks—or, well, King Jr. His father wouldn’t give up the throne that easily. With the right leverage, he could pry Sam’s fingers from Mercy’s cold, dead body and finally bring his son to heel.
Zane and I would be collateral damage.
…like Sam’s fraternity. If the local chapter hasn’t been disbanded, I bet all of its members are on suspension, or at the very least, paid off with fat wads of cash in their pockets.
But to do that in, what, twelve hours? Daddy Wright must have people working within the college.
Hell, maybe even higher up than that. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s planted individuals on his payroll not just within Greek life but all major systems in the city for the sole purpose of sticking his fingers where they don’t belong.
Zane might call it tactical, but I call it splooging all over the map to lay claim on everything his cum touches.
What a fucking d-bag.
“I’m not running,” I tell Zane, finally turning onto the road that winds around the city towards Mercy’s house.
“And I’m not letting Mercy get fucked over by some twat trying to control his son.
” I never thought I’d call Sam a rebel, but the day is full of surprises.
“We need to get Mercy away from Sam.” How we do that when the man is practically glued to her at the hip is…
well. Surprisingly simple. Glancing at Zane, I study his face to gauge his reaction. “We have to kill him.”
Zane sighs. The weight of it drags his body down until he slumps in his seat. “We can’t kill him. That’s like throwing gasoline on a dumpster fire. We’d never get away with it.”
The prospect of prison doesn’t scare me like it scares Zane.
I’m not sure if it’s the criminal record part or the tough guys behind bars part that gets to him, but either way, he’s never liked the idea of either of us getting locked up.
It’s hard for him to make friends, but his skillset would be invaluable to a prison gang.
I know it would work out if we had no other option.
But I don’t think that’s what’s tying him in knots right now. “You still think we’re gonna die.”
I feel like I’m bashing my head against the wall.
The caffeine I chugged this morning is hitting a nerve and giving me a headache.
No matter what happens, Zane only sees one outcome: our deaths.
It’s like the Grim Reaper is following him around, hiding in his shadow, taunting him before the grand finale.
Fuck that.
“I’m not dying.” I jab my finger at him. “You’re not dying. Mercy’s not dying.” I leave Sam out, because killing him isn’t off the table for me. As for Mercy… A frown tugs at my lips. Watching her life slip away is only fun if I’m the one stealing it. And even then, I—
I’m not sure if that’s what I want anymore.
Shaking my head, I tune out the seed of uncertainty in the back of my mind and focus on what I do know.
Mercy’s in danger. Zane’s in danger. Shit, we might all die if Zane’s gloomy prediction is right.
He might want to run away and live on borrowed time while the enemy hunts us down, but that’s not my style.
I’d rather live free, fight hard, and fuck even harder.
We might as well make the most of what time we have left.