Chapter 7 The Hunter #2
It actually only took twenty minutes to get ready.
I was putting minimal effort in tonight, already worn down by all my fun little activities.
The most time-consuming task was pulling my unruly red hair up into space buns that were not completely wonky.
Checking the retro black-and-white kitty clock in my kitchen—the one where the eyes and tail move side to side with the ticks—showed just past eleven o’clock in the evening.
“Shit,” I drew the word out. “I’m gonna have serious eye bags tomorrow.”
Sighing, my hand snatched the bundle of keys up from where I tossed them on the entryway table, plodding my way down the hall from my condo. Taylor was leaning against his car parked at the curb in front of my building.
“Going for military chic?” He appraised my simple outfit—green cargo pants with a white tank top and black bomber jacket with matching Timberlands—and stood to snuff the butt of his cigarette out on the top of a nearby trash can before tossing it in.
I blew a loose piece of hair out of my face and nudged past him to open the passenger door.
His annoying chuckle was cut off by the loud slam when I shut it on his teasing face. “I’m shocked you don’t have pink camo.”
I was short enough to pull a foot up and brace it on the dashboard, knowing it would annoy the shit out of him in return. As expected, his smirk quickly turned to a scowl. “Do you mind?”
“Nope,” I popped the ‘p,’ scrolling through the fucking avalanche of texts from different underbosses about their assigned deals or whatever bullshit arose from them.
One resulted in two dead bodies on the buyer’s side, and I struggled to repress a tired groan.
“Get Sergeant Albrook on the phone tomorrow morning, preferably not at the ass crack of dawn.
One of the arms deals went bad, and I don't need the police breathing down my neck about it.”
“The wolf shifters?”
I scoffed. “Shockingly, no. One of the human mobs, thinking they can get some more territory. My money is on that Italian group that came in last year. I should have Jerel manage that one. I hate dealing with humans on principle.”
“Italians…” his voice trailed off in thought. “Wasn’t that who that guy worked for? The one who came to the club looking for you a few days ago?”
My cheek pressed against my fist, the many rings adorning it warm against the skin, as I propped my elbow against the window.
“Yeah, but I don’t think there’s a connection.
That guy was some kind of shifter, and the only other shifter mob I can think of in this part of the states is Andrea, over in Chicago.
And he would have to be completely doolally to pull that kind of shit here, especially after he sent his little minion to try to play nice.
Oh, shit!” I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed again.
“Speaking of, I totally forgot to call that guy. Damn… I’ll get Jerel to do that too. ”
“Why don’t you do some of your own legwork?” Taylor teased, even as his eyes stayed glued to the road. It was still pretty busy even this late. “Poor Jerel needs a break from being your bitch.”
I scoffed. “What’s the point of being the boss then? Damn, Taylor, you act like I don’t do anything. And I think he secretly likes being bossed around.”
He scoffed sarcastically. “My mistake. I don’t wanna know how you got to that conclusion.”
I narrowed my glare at the side of his head, where his ever-growing smile peeked around from the front of his face. “For your information, my phone said I burned a hundred and two calories disassembling that asshole Gabe. So I'm not a total bum!”
“Oh yeah? What did you put that exercise under, light jog?”
Taylor pulled around to the back of the club, sliding into a spot in the small staff parking lot. “Ha, feckin’ ha,” I retorted. “Anything else you wanna gripe at me about before I go to work?”
He scoffed. “Work? I’d keel over the day I actually saw you work.”
“You’re an ass, you know that?” My hand yanked the handle to open the passenger door, when his clasped the back of my neck and shook me. “Get off, you boor!” I complained.
“You know I love you, right?” Taylor laughed when I dodged him, trying to muss up my hair. “You got your vest? Your gun?”
“Yes, yes,” I grumbled. “Everything is behind the bar, mother. Can I go now?”
He chuckled again, but finally let me loose. I slammed the door shut behind me as he rolled down the window. “I’ll be back in an hour, popping over to the warehouse real quick to check on the last shipment. Don’t be startin’ shit, you hear me?”
“Fine, just get outta here, you hen! Stop peckin’ at me!”
Taylor’s bright laughter followed me all the way to the staff entrance of Masked Merrow, and I turned to flip him off—lovingly, of course—as he backed out of the spot and took off the opposite way we came.
Despite being younger by two years and technically a half-brother, his protectiveness over me had no limit.
Deep down, I appreciated it. But sometimes, like tonight, I could see the sympathy in his matching green eyes when I murdered another man for his unforgivable sexual offenses, and I couldn’t stand that shit.
It took me almost fifteen years to build the world I wanted to live in, one where I was the boogeyman those lechers were afraid of, and I’ll be damned if anyone pities me for turning into a monster of my own abuser’s creation.
One day, I was going to catch up to Elio Messina again. When I did, Taylor would be there to watch me take my revenge on that vile excuse for a man.