46. Cupid
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CUPID
I’ve just parked my bike outside when I hear the faint sound of a gunshot.
The air stalls in my lungs. No, no, no, no, no!
Out of my mind with worry, I sprint up the porch steps, ramming my shoulder into the old Victorian door. The door gives way, crashing loudly on the ground, followed by screams of panic.
My eyes land on Vanessa and Romy, huddled on the floor. They’re wrapped around each other with their heads buried into each other’s shoulder like they’re bracing themselves for some fresh horrors.
“Butterfly!” I shout, dropping to my knees in front of her and yanking both women into my arms.
Crypt flies into the funeral home a step behind me.
He homes in on Romy, his eyes wild. It takes a minute to untangle the two women from each other’s embrace, but once Romy is free, she wraps herself around Crypt, sobbing so hard I don’t know how she can breathe.
He holds her to him as if he has no intention of ever letting her go again.
As the rest of my men file into the funeral home, moving throughout the first level to make sure there is no danger, I’m peppering Vanessa with kisses, my heart going a mile a minute. Vanessa clings to me, hyperventilating.
“I got you, Butterfly. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I ask between erratic kisses, trying to calm her down with my comfort. “I heard a gunshot.”
“D—D—Downstairs,” she stutters, still struggling to breathe normally.
Clearly, the threat is in the basement. I lock eyes with Cookie across the room. “Stay with her.”
“Cupid, no!” Vanessa cries when I pull away from her, handing her over to the young prospect. “He has a gun!”
“It’s okay, Butterfly,” I say, giving her another kiss before I turn and head for the basement. She screams for me to come back while Cookie holds her tight, shushing her softly.
Oaks, Ruger, and Drift follow me to the back door labeled Do Not Enter. I shove the door open, my gun out in front of me as I descend the dark stairwell with my brothers.
A woman wails somewhere beneath us, making the hairs on my neck stand on end. I do not know whether she's injured or not. Whichever it is, it’s got her worked up.
Guns drawn, we creep along the wall of the hallway leading to a back room where the cries grow louder the closer we approach. I brace myself for what I’m about to see.
Not wanting to announce our presence, I slowly crane my head around the doorframe to see who’s inside the room.
Riley sits on the floor near the far wall of the mortuary prep room, cradling Boden in her arms. She runs a bloody hand over his still face and in the other hand she holds the gun.
Boden’s body is limp in her arms, his eyes vacant of life.
Blood pools around his body on the concrete floor beneath him from what looks like a chest wound.
“Why?” she cries loudly, hiccupping. “Why did you have to fight me?”
The woman is grief-stricken, but she could still pose a threat. Going in without my firearm would be unwise when I don’t understand the circumstances that led to Boden being shot dead. I take half a second to decide what to do before stepping into the room with my gun at my side.
Riley’s eyes meet mine, not really seeing me. “I didn’t mean it. The gun went off in his hand when we struggled.”
“It’s okay,” I say, trying to calm her down. “It’s not your fault.”
“It is!” she wails, snot and tears wetting her anguished face. “I made him mad because I was hurt. But he didn’t deserve to die.”
The fuck he didn’t. He sold my woman to the Black Market Railroad, getting her nearly abducted, and lured her here to this funeral home to do fuck-all knows what.
Boden deserved death, and he got what was coming to him. My only regret is that his death was quick, and I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger.
As much as I want to spew hate, I keep my thoughts to myself. Anything negative I say about Boden will cause Riley unnecessary pain or send her toppling over the edge. She still has a gun in her hand—I can’t risk her firing at will.
“I loved him,” Riley says, staring down at Boden’s lifeless face. “I loved his good, his bad, and ugly. No one else accepted him as I did.”
That I believe. No other woman would love a man who trafficked others. Only another trafficker would understand Boden.
For a moment, I feel awful for her. Riley was as much a victim in all of this as the other women Kirill took. The only thing separating her from the rest was that the boss preferred her. She got a taste of freedom and did whatever was asked of her to stay free.
But then I remember the price of her freedom was to make other women lose theirs. She worked with Boden to track down and spy on my ole lady, standing by Boden’s side when he baited Vanessa into his trap.
She’s not a saint, and she needs to pay for her sins. I don’t like hurting women. Sometimes it’s necessary. But this isn’t one of those times. Riley needs psychiatric care, not death.
“Riley,” I say, softening my voice and trying to get her attention.
She ignores me, pressing her lips to Boden’s as if it were a last goodbye.
When I step closer, her eyes dart to mine. “I won’t go with you. I won’t go anywhere he’s not.”
“You have nowhere else to go,” I state plainly. “It’s time to let him be.”
“I can’t,” she says, rocking him in her arms. “He’s all I ever wanted. I gave him everything I had, but all he wanted was Vanessa. No matter how hard I tried when he was alive, he never picked me. Maybe now in death he will.”
Her words make my stomach sink to my feet, sensing she’s about to do something reckless and permanent.
Before I can react, Riley points the gun under her chin.
“Riley, no!”
Too late.
She pulls the trigger, and the blast echoes around the room, vibrating through my chest. Blood bursts out of the top of her head, hosing the ceiling and wall behind her in crimson rain. Her eyes close and her head slumps forward, the gun tumbling from her hand with a clank on the concrete floor.
I stare in shock, my ears ringing from the discharge and the screams coming from upstairs.