I gasp, positive he’s wrong about that. But I decide that while Cassel tries to see what he can do to track the phone, I could possibly do something else of use. “Cassel, Jackson and I will go to Tavish’s house and see what we can find. Maybe there’s something there that we can dig into to figure out who he’s in a contract with.”
“Okay, let me know if you find anything. I’ll keep working here.”
I hurry off upstairs to grab a weapon or two just in case there’s someone who needs to be fucked up.
“Why do you have two shotguns?” Jackson asks.
“Because I left the third at home,” I explain. He must also be upset that I left Matilda at home if the way his eyebrows scrunch up and his head cocks to the side has anything to say about it.
“Ah… how foolish of me to ask,” he says.
I hurry toward the door with him on my heels. “I hope there’s a serial killer waiting for us there.”
“Why would there be a serial killer waiting for us at Tavish’s house?” Jackson foolishly asks.
“So we can fuck him up and make him beg for forgiveness. And if we can’t make him beg, I hope he decides to run so we can chase him. And I hope there’s a fence so I can watch you climb it. Before we go, take a picture of me so I can send it to Waylon,” I say, thrilled by the idea.
“We arenotsending a picture of you totingtwo shotgunsto him,” Jackson retorts, like there’s something about the idea that could possibly be wrong.
Ever since we acquired our new child Waylon, Jackson likes to remind me that I shouldn’t taint him and that we’re simply providing a happy home for him until his brother is out of prison. But it’s been my life goal to make him enjoy the same hobbies that I do. So far… he’s a bit too… let’s say… goody two-shoes, but I’ll break him down eventually.
Since Jackson won’t do it, I whip out my phone and get a selfie of myself but lower the guns when he gives me a look. I send it to Waylon.
Me: Waylon, it’s your new and improved father wanting to let you know that we might not be home when you get out of school. We’re going to go break into Tavish the Turd’s house because the dumbass got himself shot up and stuck on an island LOL.
Waylon: Is… is that an “LOL” situation?
Me: Sure as fuck is. Be good. Don’t bring any chicks or dudes or humans of any kind over. We haven’t had the proper birds and the bees talk.
Waylon: Please… can only Jackson text me when we need to talk?
Henry: Why the fuck am I involved in this conversation?
Me: Because I want to show him how good of a role model you are, Daddy Henry.
Waylon: This is so freaking weird. I will be good. I won’t let anyone in. I won’t go into the basement that I’m convinced is just a room where you keep your victims, and I also won’t go in your weird gun room.
Me: That’s my boy. You’re starting to be more and more like me every day.
Waylon: Please. No.
“I think that went quite well. Waylon and I are bonding more and more every day,” I announce.
“Are you? The smug grin on your face right now makes me question that, but you know what? I’m happy to hear you’re bonding,” Jackson says as we head out to the car.
Cassel had given Jackson Tavish’s address while I was harassing… I mean, lovingly talking to Waylon, so he plugs it into his GPS and starts driving.
After a short drive, we pull up to Tavish’s place which looks irritatingly normal for a parasite such as him.
“I wonder if he has a security system or something?” Jackson asks as he heads up to the door. “Or maybe he’s hidden a key somewhere…”
“Hmm…” I mutter as I eye the irritating house. There’s something about it that reminds me of Tavish and annoys me.
“Oh, damn am I good. Hidden key,” he says just as the rock sails through the window.
Jackson looks over at me with wide eyes. “Leland.”
I look every which way but at him. “Who threw that! Who the hell did that?!”
