Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
THORNE
The bell rings above the door of the tattoo shop as I enter. Knox’s head pops up and he up nods me before going back to tattooing.
I walk over to his station and look over his shoulder as he works on a back piece. “Nice,” I say simply. It’s an intricate design of a foo dog, the shading and line work are fucking phenomenal.
“Thanks,” Knox says as he wipes off some of the excess ink. “I’ll finish up in about twenty. You can wait in my office until I’m done.”
“Cool,” I say, then walk to the back. I greet the other tattooer and piercer with an up nod and wait in Knox’s office, grabbing a bottle of water from his fridge.
Knox opened this shop about four years ago with some of the money Bensotti pays us to off motherfuckers.
I used mine on my toys and he invested. Since I’m as smart as I am, I’ve had a full ride for Meadowbrook since I was a freshman.
I was in such high demand, they let me take two years off for personal reasons, holding my spot for me.
As I post up in Knox’s office, my feet on his desk, I think about Golden when he walked up to me the other day. My fingers twitched to touch him, to pull him into me and watch that pretty blush bloom over his cheeks. I know he would have melted for me, just like he did in that hotel room.
I’ve seen Firebird walking around a few times, averting his eyes when I caught his gaze. I never missed his flaming face. With his pale complexion, it always gave him away, sending a thrill through me.
There’s no way I can stay away from them.
They’ve both been on my mind over the past few days, the night we spent together the hottest of my life.
I’ve had a few threesomes but what we did was out of this fucking world.
I’m tired of denying myself when I want something. It’s not my style. There might be some push back from Warren since he’s Chance’s professor, but I won’t take one without the other, so he better figure out how to come to terms with being with us. I will claim them.
How though? I’ll have to—
The office door opens, interrupting my musings. Knox shoots me a deadpan look when he sees my feet on his desk but doesn’t otherwise comment.
“What’s up, brother?” he asks.
I smirk. If anyone looked at the two of us, they’d know we’re not related. The only thing we have in common is our style—piercings, tattoos, and dark vibe. He’s a medium brown-skinned Black man, around five ten with high top dreads and a low taper fade on the sides.
We met through Bensotti about ten years ago, when we were snot-nosed kids running the streets, getting into trouble.
He’d gotten picked up for tagging buildings and Bensotti got a call that I was fighting in the park after someone stole my spray paint after I’d tagged a building.
He’d driven us to the station together, lecturing us on channeling our energy somewhere else.
Neither of us listened to that bullshit, but we took a liking to each other.
We met back up when we went to training and we’ve been hanging out ever since.
“Not much,” I answer, dapping him up when he comes around the desk.
He pushes my feet off the surface and takes a seat on the edge. “What’s up?”
“Bensotti call you?”
“Of course. You taking care of it?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Wanna come with me? I’ll drive across the border. Might wanna talk to someone while I’m going.”
“Or you want to brag to someone about your kill when you’re done,” he deadpans.
I grin because he’s right. We trade stories of our kills all the time, but it’s more fun when we have an audience.
“So you up for it?” I ask, standing from his chair.
He shrugs. “Yeah, why not? I was gonna hit up this guy I matched with a few days ago, but watching you gut a motherfucker will be much more fun.”
I hate cockblocking, but driving a few hours across the border to kill someone will release some of the pent-up stress I’ve been rocking over these past few weeks.
“Cool. We can get it done tomorrow night. I want you to come with me somewhere first.”
He gives me a droll look. “You know I consider you a brother, right? You ain’t takin’ me on a date.”
I bark a laugh. “You ain’t my type. Too many tattoos.” I point to his full sleeves and the tattoos up his neck and some dotting his face.
“Yeah, the clean cut types are the best to sully up. Where we goin’?”
“You’ll see. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at nine.”
He grunts in agreement. “See ya then.”
“The next event is 100-meter freestyle. Swimming in lane one is Henderson Marks from Castle Reed University. Lane two, Chance Spencer of our very own Meadowbrook University. Lane three Jack Bennett from Hill University. Lane four is…”
I lean over the railing, watching as Chance steps up to the starting board, stretching his shoulders as he looks out at the water. I’ve seen the college swimming pool before, but it looks infinitely longer now that he’s standing in front of it.
I’ve never seen Chance swim, so I’m not sure how he’ll do, but I’ve heard enough about him to know that he’s one of the best. Not just this year, but in Meadowbrook history.
Some kind of beep sounds and all of the swimmers grab the base of the starting board and lower their heads.
Silence descends over the entire area until the gunshot cracks through the air.
Chance fucking leaps to half the pool in one jump, moving like a fucking dolphin under the water until he’s close to the fucking edge.
He’s so fucking fast. As he moves through the water, slicing through like it’s nothing, I can see why his dad wants him to try out for the Olympics. By the time he’s done one of the laps at the end of the pool and does his turn, the other swimmers have barely passed the middle.
Cheers ring loud and clear as Chance makes his way to the end of the pool.
He’s going so fast that I think he’ll hit his head against the wall.
Like everyone else, I stand up when his hand slaps against the edge.
He surfaces, pulling off his goggles and looking up at the mounted board to check his time.
His grin is so wide when he sees the screen and the other swimmers slowly trickling in.
He’s fucking amazing.
When the last swimmer has touched the wall and the winner is announced, Chance looks around with that same happy smile on his face.
Then he meets my gaze. I can see his surprise from here, his eyes widening slightly. I’ve never been to a meet before, never shown any interest in swimming. He knows why I’m here.
He licks his lips, then raises his hand in a tentative wave. I dip my head in greeting, hoping he can sense just how proud I am of him.
I watch as Chance gets out of the pool and walks over to a shower type area, his teammates slapping him on the back.
As I watch him, I see a flash of red hair just above where Chance is and my eyes snap up to see Warren, a soft smile on his face.
I don’t think he’s seen me. It takes effort not to march over and sit with him while we watch our man.
He looks good, his red hair in waves around his face instead of pulled back in his normal ponytail, drawing attention to those gorgeous freckles. He looks…fucking delicious.
Knox taps me, pulling me from my assessment of Warren.
“That’s him,” Knox says.
“Who’s him?” I ask, still staring at Warren, willing his eyes to meet mine.
“The buttoned up match I told you about. With the red hair.”
I snap my gaze over to him, barely suppressing my glare. “What?”
He opens his phone to the dating app and shows me an image of a very serious-looking Warren dressed in a loose linen shirt with the sun setting behind him—probably from his cruise.
Anger flashes through me as I look at my oldest friend. “He’s off fucking limits, you hear me?”
Knox searches my face, then glances back over to Warren.
I make an irritated noise, daring him to try me.
While Knox is a dangerous bastard, I’m a loose cannon and possessive of my things and he knows it.
He also knows never to cross me because I’m a motherfucker that can hold a grudge until I’m ready to let it go or I kill the object of the grudge.
That’s how I got involved with Bensotti in the first place.
After a few beats, Knox shrugs and fiddles with the app. “Too easy. Off limits.” While I watch, he deletes his match with Warren.
A twinge of unease twists through me as I think about Warren feeling unwanted by being unmatched.
But I’m coming for him soon. He won’t ever feel that way again.
“Ready?” I ask Knox, still looking at my guys.
“Let’s roll.”
I’ll come up with a plan to make them mine. While I’m in Canada, slitting someone’s throat, I’ll figure it out.
And they won’t tell me no.
The mansion we stand in front of is massive, stretched across more space than my eyes can take in.
Excess wealth for no reason.
I snort and point to the roof. “Fucking gargoyles. For what?”
“Because they can,” Knox says easily as we head up to the door. I make quick work of picking the lock and we burst through, not hiding our presence.
We look around at the many doors and hallways, the light from the moon illuminating our steps.
When we get to the end of the hall, we split up, Knox checking the rest of the downstairs while I jog to the second floor. As I walk down the hallway, I open doors and check inside rooms. Every room has a different theme with decor that looks like it had cost more than this job is worth.
After checking ten bedrooms on the second floor, I jog back down to the ground landing. “Nothing up there,” I say to Knox when we meet back in the kitchen. “Think he fled town?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. B and Orion’s intel is always good. He was spotted here this morning. If—”
Yelling comes from what I think is a study as a man pulls open the double doors and barrels through. He has a fire poker held tightly in his hands, poised high as if to strike.
Knox is fast, ducking the swing, then coming up with a hard right hook to the man’s face. Our mark, Lionel, drops heavily to the ground, releasing the fire poker so he can hold his face. I kick it away, then check him for more weapons.
After I’m sure he’s clear, I kick him in the back before I grab him by the hair and drag him back to the open door.
Pulling him to his feet, I drag him over to his chair and push him down forcefully. “Trying to run?” I ask, grinning at him.
The man kicks his chin up but refuses to answer.
“Do you have women locked away here too? Or was your friend your dealer?”
“What does it matter?” he sneers, though a hint of fear creeps into his tone. “You’ll kill me anyway. I won’t say shit.”
I shrug and stand to my full height, crossing my arms. “I don’t give a fuck if you tell me every single name in this bitch ass network of yours. I’ll still cut your fucking head off. Might as well get it off your chest.”
This fucker has the nerve to spit at me, the glob landing on my shoes. “Fuck you. Are the others dead or just missing?”
“Dead,” Knox says conversationally.
The man swallows roughly, but he doesn’t wipe the sneer from his face. “You did Terry? It wasn’t those bitches he had locked up?”
My hand snaps out, punching him across the face hard enough to break his orbital bone. Lionel hunches over, grunting in pain as he holds his cheek.
“Watch your mouth,” I grit out. Knox comes up behind Lionel, pulling his head back so he can look at me. “Wanna drop some more names for us? Or you wanna take the secret to your grave?”
He whimpers but folds his lips in. All the bravado he had just a few minutes ago is gone, terror clouding his eyes.
“So be it,” I mutter, pulling the garrote from my pocket, not wanting to use my favorite Glock for this kill.
“Wait!” Lionel shouts. “Wait! I know one other person. Just one. But he’s not the one who coordinates shit. We don’t know who that is.”
“I’m listening.”
“Ruben Berry. He lives in LA. But that’s all I know. Please, don’t hurt—”
Before he can brace himself, I punch him in the sweet spot, knocking him unconscious. Then I remove my boot and wipe his spit back on his face. “Nasty fucker,” I whisper as I relace my boot.
Reaching into my back pocket, I remove the garrote I planned to use just to strangle him, but he pissed me off. Now I want to make a mess.
“Grab one side,” I tell Knox, wrapping the piano wire around his neck and grabbing the handle. “Pull hard.”
Knox is just as sick as me, grinning as he does what I ask. Putting his foot against the chair Lionel is sitting in, Knox leans back and pulls hard. I lean against the desk and yank in the other direction.
After some sawing into skin and bone, Lionel’s head pops off, rolling on the floor as a fountain of blood douses us. Knox huffs a shocked cry as I stumble back, practically crashing into a fireplace. I’ve never killed someone like that and didn’t expect the backlash.
“Warn me next time, yeah?” Knox says, squeezing blood from his hair.
“You got it,” I say, wiping my face clean with my shirt.
Walking over to the head, I grab it and place it on the fireplace, so Lionel can look at his body.
When I’m happy with the placement, I pull out my phone, snap a confirmation pic, then call Bensotti.
“Is it done?” he asks in greeting.
“Yeah,” I say, leaning back against the wall by the fireplace.
“I want to leave the body like it is.” I tell B what I did to him, proud of myself for being a little innovative with my kill.
Bensotti simply grunts. “He mentioned there’s someone that coordinates all this bullshit and I want him scared.
I want him to know for sure all his friends aren’t going underground, they’re fucking dead. Cool?”
I can almost see Bensotti shrug. “Fine with me. I’ll send cleaners to wipe up after you, but the body and head will stay. Good work, kid.”
“Thanks. I’ll come visit you in a few weeks.”
“Leave me alone. I’m fine. I’ll contact you soon when I find the next one.” He’s quiet for a few beats. “I think we’re almost there. Almost got ‘em all.”
“Will we ever get ‘em all?” I ask rhetorically.
Bensotti hangs up.