Chapter 9
ARCHIE
Walking across the yard, I get lost in the sound of the leaves crunching under my feet. There are a lot of noises around here that I hate. Most of them are so uncomfortable they cause me physical pain.
But not this sound.
When I was little, I could sit in the yard during autumn and crunch leaves in my hands for hours and hours.
It was one of the first things my father noticed about me that was different from my brothers.
He thought forcing me to conform and obey would cook those things out of me, but all it did was teach me to mask better so he’d stop looking at me like I was nothing more than a walking disappointment.
But the soothing nature of my stims exists today exactly as it did back then, and I’m grateful to be with my brothers now because they understand me. It makes being with them easy. It makes it impossible to say no to things like tonight, when Percy called and demanded I be here to handle a problem.
The shed sits across the lawn at the edge of the property, just to the right of my coffin garden. It’s soundproofed, and the windows have been blackened, but there’s the barest strip of light under a split in the wood along the side.
I know Percy and Milo are waiting in there for me.
Reaching into my pocket, I touch the case with my knives, grounding myself. I don’t know if we’re spilling blood tonight. Milo told me to be prepared, but he didn’t say prepare to bury a body, so I don’t think we’re killing the arsonist who went after the gym.
And luckily, Percy will do all the talking. All I have to do is stand there and then put the tip of my knife in whatever flesh he wants me to.
It’s easy enough. I can do this in my sleep.
Hell, I have done this in my sleep. By accident, of course, but some of the scars Milo bears are mine from those moments when I couldn’t contain my unconscious body.
He’s never hated me for that though. Milo understands more than anyone how quickly we can lose control.
Taking a breath, I reach the door and type the code into the little black box above the handle. When it clicks, I step up and glance behind me. There are headlights coming up the drive that turn on a few feet from where the road turns onto our property, and I freeze, my heart skipping a few beats.
I remind myself we have no enemies here, but I also know that Percy or Milo wouldn’t be foolish enough to order something for delivery, which can only mean one thing: my little rabbit has been following me.
And now he’s found me.
His car rolls to a stop not too far from the driveway, and I know he can’t see me from where I’m standing.
I hear the engine cut out and then the lights dim, and I take a moment to imagine what he looks like sitting behind the steering wheel.
He’s probably nervous, debating whether he should sneak onto the property or wait there.
His hands will be shaking, his dick a little hard, his heart pounding. I know the feeling too well, and all I want is to climb onto his lap and rock my dick against his until we both come. But I can’t let myself get distracted.
I have business to attend to, and then I have to speak with Nico. I’ve neglected a lot of my duties lately in my pursuit of Denver, and while he is my hyperfixation—and one that I don’t plan on getting rid of anytime soon—I do have to focus.
For now.
Besides, if I let him sit and watch the house, he’ll feel accomplished, and I know my orgasms are always better when I feel like I’ve done something good for the day.
Rolling my shoulders back, I push my way inside the shed and come to a stop, still encased in shadows. There’s a man in the center of the room, and as I expected him to be, he’s tied to a chair. He’s got blackout goggles over his face and a pair of noise-canceling headphones tight against his ears.
I’ve used them before, so I know they don’t cut out all noise, which means he’s likely aware that there’s more than one man in the room.
His head keeps turning from left to right like he’s trying to track what little sound he can hear, and I fight off a small snort because he’s never going to get the upper hand on us.
He’s shaking with nerves, and he keeps clenching his jaw, and while he hasn’t pissed himself yet, he probably will by the time we’re done here.
Looking up, I make brief eye contact with Milo first and then Percy before I drop my gaze to my brother’s chest. He sighs when he sees me, making a come over gesture with his unoccupied hand.
It’s obvious Percy doesn’t want to be doing this.
I’m not sure if this was his plan or not, but he’s absolutely not dressed for a murder.
He’s wearing loose pajama pants with trains on them and a white T-shirt that’s so threadbare I can see the barest outline of his dark top surgery scars that sit like half-moons beneath his pecs.
“You’re late,” he says.
I grunt. I have nothing to say to that, so I don’t bother because excuses here don’t matter.
I turn my gaze back to Milo, who’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, staring at the captive’s shoes.
They’re very shiny and pointed at the tips.
The kind of shoes insecure men wear when they want to show off that they have money and power—and that’s almost always an illusion.
“Don’t you think this is a little over-the-top, Perce?” Milo asks, sounding bored. “I mean, all for what? Damage to the gym you like?”
Percy shakes his head. “He doesn’t get to hire me to take someone out and then draw attention to the mark by setting a fucking building on fire.” His voice rises at the end, and the man in the chair jumps.
That answers my question about who the arsonist is. I almost never give a shit who we’ve been hired to take out in the past, and even with this being our last job, that hasn’t changed. When Percy finds his mark, he will tell us, and then Milo and I will follow his orders.
But this hit has been more complicated than others, and not in an interesting way. While we ended up liking this little town, it wasn’t somewhere we initially wanted to be, and the little worm who thinks he’s calling the shots has gotten quite bold when giving my brother instructions.
This is probably going to be very satisfying.
Percy walks forward and yanks the goggles off his face. I’ve never actually seen this man before, but he looks exactly like I expected him to the first time I heard his name: Charls Bastian.
He’s a guy who knows a guy who knows my father, which was how he was able to use us to place his hit. He’s a corporate asshole whose extended family is a lot like mine. Arms dealing, occasionally drugs, a lot of taking people out who run their mouths.
Charls isn’t part of any organization, but he’s adjacent enough that he was able to use a family favor to hire my dad, and he pawned it off on Percy as a bargaining chip for leaving that life behind.
And things I know about this hit make it seem so small and petty it’s almost not worth it.
Charls is a cheating dick. His very rich, politically connected wife hired a PI in town to find out who with. The PI figured it out, sent her the evidence, and she went public.
Charls was forced to resign from his company to save face. He still has all his money, but his reputation is in the toilet. I overheard Percy talking about the fact that Charls was mostly pissed his mistress dumped him to avoid getting named in the whole scandal.
He’s a lonely, sad little man who probably has dick envy and decided someone needed to die over his pride.
Part of me is wondering if maybe we should kill him and tell our father that while the hit didn’t go as planned, the whole thing is over. I’m fairly sure he’ll accept that as a job finished. And frankly, it seems silly to take out a PI because of this sad little man’s ego.
But before I can suggest that, Percy pushes off the wall and heads toward Charls. He pulls the headphones off him, and Charls gives a muffled moan through his obvious gag. I can’t see it, so I’m thinking maybe Milo glued his lips shut?
Whatever he used, it’s creative and effective.
Percy holds Charls by the chin. “I think you know better than to fuck with us.”
He makes another plaintive noise and nods against Percy’s hold.
Percy sighs. “And yet, you decided to take matters into your own hands and burn down the fucking gym?”
Charls makes more noise, so Percy holds his hand out to me. “Knife.”
I pull my little case out of my pocket and hand him a very small, very sharp blade. I can see Percy isn’t careful when disengaging the glue because Charls cries out, and there’s a dribble of blood on his chin.
“Repeat yourself,” Percy says, handing the blade back.
It clicks back into place, the sensation satisfying. It’s better than paying attention to Charls, who’s crying now, which makes me very uncomfortable.
“I didn’t realize he wasn’t in there. And it was taking so long,” he sobs. “I thought maybe you’d given up on the case. I wasn’t trying to offend you or step on toes or—argh!”
Percy stomps on his foot. Probably hard enough to break a few toes. “I didn’t ask you for fucking excuses.”
Charls has enough self-preservation to do as my brother commands. His lips are cracked, and it’s going to take him days—maybe weeks—to get all that glue off.
“Milo,” Percy says, his voice toneless.
My brother steps up, looking bored as ever—rumpled, his black shirt covered in cat hair. He looks down at Percy without touching him because Milo does not like touching other people.
At all.
Ever.
“You fucked up,” Milo says, then stops to yawn. “Pick a number.”
Charls blinks rapidly, tears welling in his eyes, dribbling over his lower eyelids. “Why?” The word comes out a whisper.
“Do as I fucking say. You don’t want me to pick for you. Trust me.”
Charls whimpers, but my brothers show him no mercy. When he tries to turn his head, Percy wrenches it back so he’s forced to stare at Milo.
“I have all night,” Milo says.