Chapter 7
Seven
Ike
Michael Smith was a disgusting, scrawny bastard with more money than brains. Enough research had shown me that Merit wasn’t the first guy he’d purchased and abused in every single way he could, but Merit was the only one he hadn’t killed yet.
I shoved my hands in my pockets as I stared at the graves in front of me. The only thing that marked them were crosses made from sticks and vines that were beginning to rot. There were seven graves, all of them lined up neatly in a row.
“How much time do you think Merit had left before he was put in one of these?” Wraith mused, glancing around the forest surrounding us.
“Probably not long.” I turned, facing toward the direction Michael’s house was in.
We’d run our plan by Pops, who approved it, but only because of Dad.
This was to be Merit’s kill, and Pops hadn’t like it.
Didn’t want someone inexperienced getting their hands bloody.
Every son of a bitch we tracked down that had harmed Merit would be Merit’s kill if he wanted it, and Michael was just the start.
Pops just needed to suck it the fuck up. “We saved him probably just in time.”
And had we lost him, Pops would have had to put both of us down.
We would’ve become feral and uncontrollable.
Pops let us slide with a lot of shit he probably shouldn’t, but no longer bowing down to his control and going on a murderous spree would draw the line.
Once we crossed that line, there would be no turning back.
We would be the monsters many people thought psychopaths were.
Wraith tugged his phone from his pocket, then raised the device to his ear. “You here?” He waited a beat. “Give us about thirty minutes. We’ll send a call when we’re ready.” He ended the call, then looked at me. “Vargas is ready when we are.”
Vargas had been salty as fuck about not being included after overhearing us tell our plans to Pops, so this was how Wraith had decided to include him so we could get him to shut the fuck up.
He was the delivery driver, so to speak.
I hadn’t been happy about it, mostly because I only really worked well with Wraith, but Wraith had told me to just suck it up so we no longer had to hear his mouth.
I grunted in response, then took off through the woods, making a mental note to tell Pops of what we found while traipsing through the woods.
The bodies would need to be uncovered, and once identified, the remains would need to be anonymously given to law enforcement, who would then either notify the victim’s next of kin or raise money to give them a proper burial after being identified.
We were silent as we made our way through the woods toward Michael’s house.
Based on our months of stalking Merit, the bastard should have been asleep, passed out drunk since about five A.M. It was a routine he had, and neither me nor Wraith thought that routine would be changing just because Merit had gone missing and some of his men had been killed that same night.
For all he knew, Merit was responsible for it and had run away.
I paused at the outskirts of the yard, taking stock of the surroundings.
It was silent—eerily so—like even the bugs had decided to avoid this place.
I could practically taste the despair in the air, the fear that had settled here from Merit and Michael’s previous victims. It was the kind of fear that never left a place, even after its people had left.
Wraith made a motion to show he was going in through the front door.
I nodded and separated from him, making my way to the back door.
After picking the lock, I made my way inside, bypassing the room he’d kept Merit locked in.
Wraith and I entered Michael’s room together, the stench of an unbathed man, alcohol, and cigarette smoke burning my nostrils.
Pulling the syringe from my pocket, I uncapped it, then slid the needle into his arm. The fucker didn’t even budge.
What a waste of fucking space.
Once all the sleeping medicine was in his system, I tugged my burner phone from my pocket and called Vargas. As agreed upon, he let it ring twice, then sent it to voicemail.
Wraith screwed up his nose as he glared down at our man’s abuser. “He smells like he’s rotting.”
“He is rotting,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. “His soul has been dead for a long fucking time.”
And now, Merit would take the last beat of his heart, and I couldn’t wait to see our man bathed in this mother fucker’s blood.