Chapter 2
Her hair is purple. Like a pale shade of lavender. Why the fuck can I not stop thinking about it? She’s not a kid anymore. I didn’t expect her to be. But knowing and seeing are two different things.
But she still has those same glossy, cherry-red lips. It’s like she thinks she has to match her name. That it dictates her whole life. Like the blood that stained her hands that night.
My sweet Cherry… Nah. She never was. I shake my head and light up another cigarette. “Did you find the mole yet?”
His inked fingers fly across the keyboard.
At first glance, you would not think this dude is a tech nerd.
Scarrow Moon is six-foot-four, two hundred and fifty pounds, and tatted up from the sides of his shaved head, all the way down to the soles of his feet.
I think there’s even more underneath that thick tuft of blond hair he’s got knotted on top.
The tip of his tongue hangs out the side of his mouth, his brow furrowed. “Yeah, I got him. Well, I got a partial print and a still-shot of the back of his head. But it’s dark, and he’s wearing a hoodie.”
Omen spins his gun in a circle on the desk. “So, you don’t got him.”
Scarrow wrinkles his nose, ignoring the dig. “Relax your nips, I just need to find some more angles. This footage is super grainy. Crimson Valley street cams aren’t exactly the quality I’m used to.”
I blow a puff of smoke up toward the ceiling as I lean back in my chair. “How much damage did he do?”
Omen grits his teeth, his jaw muscle twitching.
“He hit a couple of our trucks, but only after they were unloaded. Not too bright. Since there was nothing to take, he slashed all the tires and dragged a machete through the gas tanks. It’ll cost us more than if he had just snatched some cases of liquor.
” Omen’s voice is extra raspy tonight as he finishes his third snifter of cognac.
He rubs a tattooed hand over his buzzed scalp.
He keeps his black hair in a tight fade, otherwise it’s a mass of curls.
And this man has no interest in maintaining that.
With eyes harder than steel, he is not one to fuck with.
None of us are really. But where Scarrow and I have short fuses, Omen’s doesn’t exist. He’s a live wire just waiting to singe the fuck out of the first person who looks at him wrong.
I jab my finger into the desk. “We catch this fucker and make an example out of him. The other guys are getting lazy and careless. I saw it in their eyes when I surprised them last night. They’ve gotten soft. We been gone for too long…”
“Yeah, and who’s fault is that?” Omen barks. His lip twitches every time any of us bring up that night.
Scarrow finally looks up from his laptop screen. He glances back and forth between us before going back to his sleuthing. “Have you seen her yet?”
Ugh. Her and her purple fucking hair. “I stopped by the bar earlier. She was shook up to see me.”
“Good. She should be. Your little sister owes all of us. And I’m ready to collect. I say we take the bar and force her to work for us.” Omen grinds his fist against his wool pants. He may be sadistic and dangerous, but he’s also perfectly polished in an impeccable Italian suit.
We’ve spent many nights over the years fantasizing about payback. But it’s never been about money when it comes to Cherry. She started a chain of events that almost ruined our operation. Leaving Crimson Valley was the best option, but it forced us to run our business from afar.
See, for me, it’s even more personal. “Stepsister,” I correct him.
Scarrow slams his laptop shut, and the nerd vibe seems to disappear with the screen. He tilts back, his muscles so big he barely fits in the chair. “We were on the road for so long, moving from place to place…. Fuck.”
I nod, knowing full well that Cherry’s no stranger to hardship either, but she has had it pretty good these last eight years. She’s gotten relaxed and comfortable. It’s almost like she got away with murder. “There has to be some fucking accountability,” I mutter.
Scarrow combs his fingers through his blond tuft. “We should make her into a trad-wife. That’ll piss her off. And I bet she’d look good wearing nothing but an apron and heels, bringing me homemade chocolate chip cookies.”
“Fuck that. We should put her on a drug run. Make her get her hands dirty for once.” Omen snarls, his lips curling around the rim of his glass before he takes another slow, calculating sip.
Scarrow laughs and almost spits beer out of his nose. “Bro, she massacred three dudes in cold blood. Stabbed the fuck out of them. I had to scrape their guts out of the carpet with a toothbrush. Her hands have been plenty dirty.”
“That was the easy part, Scar. That brat had all the fun and then bum rushed out of there while we covered her tracks. She left us to go suck dick or some shit.” Omen has been holding this grudge for so long it’s become part of his personality.
I hate that they’re both right, but I’m not going to defend her either way. She’s put me through way more than just the murder house. Shit these two don’t even know about. There are some things that even I don’t have the stomach for.
I sigh. “She needed an alibi.”
Omen snickers. “Yeah and she skipped outta there so fucking fast with a little pep in her step. I should’ve made her suck my dick first. That night’s the only time I’ve ever worked for free.”
“So let’s make her our little pet. And maybe even our slut too. If she’s still hot, of course.” Scarrow smirks.
She definitely still is. But I don’t want to think about her like that right now. Once I start, I won’t want to stop. And it ain’t good for her and I to go down that road. “Yeah, whatever you guys want.”
Omen slides a finger over the barrel of his gun, seductively. “I’m gonna enjoy lighting that live wire up.”
The anger and tension has been building around us for so long, it’s about to explode like dynamite in her face. Poor Cherry has no idea what’s coming.
I nod and hold up my glass of whiskey. “Cheers to finally getting payback, boys.”