Page 17 of Insidious Heart
“Escalating?”
“This guy is going to be pissed for a long time. He’ll simmer and stew on how I stopped him from getting the son of a bitch that took his new girlfriend, be pouty over not getting to off Brucey boy himself, and he’ll probably up his game to draw me out.” I drag the nicotine into my lungs and speak on the exhale. “I won’t be shocked if he starts taking the left femur just to get under my skin.”
“Why, exactly, do you do that?”
“I’ve told you.”
Little John grins. “Yeah, but I still like hearing it.”
“We can stroll down memory lane some other time. Did you call me here to hurt my feelings by accusing me of fucking up a hit, or was there more to this impromptu day trip than that?”
“Since when do you have feelings?”
I shrug. “Thought I’d try them out. So far I likeangryandhornythe best.”
Completely ignoring how hilarious I am, John moves to the desk and lifts a folder. “I knew it wasn’t you; your work is better than that. You aren’t sloppy and there’s a damn good reason no one has caught your crazy ass for over a decade.”
“Aw.” I clasp my hands together under my chin and bat my eyelashes. “You remembered our anniversary.” I grin as he drops the file in front of me. “And you even got me a present!”
John pinches the bridge of his nose as he grumbles, “Why do I put up with you again?”
“Because you’re too old to do this shit anymore and I’m way better at it anyway.”
“Fair enough.” He sighs, totally exasperated. “Big difference between us, though.”
I tilt my head from side to side as I think over his words, then flip open the folder as I hit my cigarette.
He’s right, I know that.
The differences between John and I are huge and rather endless, actually.
We’re both freelance hitmen, but the similarities stop there.
He has connections and loyalties to several MCs like the Pythons and Wulven Kings, aligning himself with people like Link and Mac in order to build several rather lucrative ventures and essentially run the business district in El Paso County. Everyone in the underground circuit knew Little John by name and face, but feared him because of his reputation and he didn’t care that it was out there for most of Colorado to see. John was the best for damn near forty years before heretired,and I use that term loosely because he still coordinates for me. Which is the only reason I can consider myself ahitmanat all.
But the biggest, most glaring difference between us?
I’m a bonafide psychopath and established serial killer.
John is not.
Sure, most of my kills have been nasty little gremlins like good old Brucey, especially since I hooked up with Little John when I was a rookie, but for a brief few years before that, I was on a path that would have turned out very differently from this one.
And having civilian kills under my belt, no matter how long ago it was or how valid they may have been, doesn’t change that they’re there, and the urge to add more is ever present.
Thankfully, Little John tries to keep me swimming in blood and that helps quite a bit.
Best killer dad ever.
My eyes ping around the wrap sheet in front of me, scanning the twenty plus years of garbage before I close the file, fold it into a square, and tuck it inside the pocket of my leather jacket. “Who’s the mark?”
John rolls his eyes and grunts, “It’s in the file, Tor.”
“And I’ll read it later after I jerk-off to the opening scene of Halloween.” I wag my brows as a look of disgust tries to mask his grin. “Sister Strode has a great rack. Bounces around a lot while Mikey gets her.”
“You’re sick.”
“Which is why I’m here.”
