“Not necessarily. I just thought it would be better to clue you in when we had more of the facts straight.”
He narrows his harsh blue eyes on my face but doesn’t say what I’m sure he’s thinking.
Even though I could consider him and Popefriendsof some sort, I know the gigantic arachnid can only tolerate so much of my bullshit before he loses his patience. Understandably so.
“As you know, our friend here”—I nod toward Little John as he starts sliding files toward each of the Kings—“has been my handler for years, keeping me bathed in the blood of total garbage humans in order to do so, which means I’ve essentially picked up where he left off.”
“If you want to call it that,” Pork Chop scoffs as he starts pulling his shoulder length blonde hair up into a bun. “Theatrics are all you.”
I tilt my head from side to side as I light my cigarette. “True, but even still, retirement hasn’t exactly been what it should be since John tried to step back from a role he eagerly played for years.” That earns me a scowl from my mentor but I ignore it and keep going. “Over the last twelve years, he’s given me the hits that still come to him from those that don’t know where to turn otherwise. And while most of those hits are requested by civilians that have been wronged who are familiar with the legend of Little John Andrews, a few have come in the form of old friends in motorcycle club places.”
“Idiot,” Pork Chop grunts as Spider says, “Get to the point, Victor.”
I hold up my hands in defense as I take a drag from my smoke. “I am, you Goliath Birdeater.”
He rolls his eyes as Marbles chuckles. “I fucking love that.”
“Thank you.” I bow my head, hit my cigarette, then keep going before Spider decides to crush my skull in his mammoth hands. “Recently, an old friend of John’s—”
“Someone I cut ties with years ago,” he huffs. “I’m in the fucking room, Tor.”
“We are all aware of your magnetic presence,Johnathon.” I grin like an asshole. “But I thought I was running this shindig? Trying to show the Kings I’m more friend than foe? Trying to prove to them I can be trusted?”
John huffs again but motions for me to continue.
“Anyway, this old friend—”
“He got a name?” Marbles asks as he arches a brow. “Seems like that’d be relevant.”
I smash my cigarette out and shake my head. “It isn’t to me and John won’t share, so don’t bother trying. Either way, this guy came to him with a rather tall order and I’ve been working on it ever since.” I pause for dramatic effect. “My current mark is Beau the Butcher.”
“No shit!” Marbles blurts, his mismatched eyes gleaming with malice as he claps his hands and rubs them together. “And you’re asking us to help, right?”
“Hardly.” Because this kill ismine,but I don’t say that. These men don’t need to know how deep I’ve gotten into the world of Beauregard Williams; how deep I’ve gotten into his daughter and how killing that fucker will be more satisfying than most because of it. “But, since he’s become my target, I’ve been tailing him the way I do all of my marks.”
Spider nods. “And you’ve found something interesting that you need to share.”
I point to him and nod.
After spending a glorious thirteen hours doing nothing but fucking Stevie in between chatting and watching documentaries with her, I reluctantly snuck out of her house shortly before Cal returned with his son.
Stevie had warned me that I wouldn’t be able to visit her while the offspring of the Demon Seeds’s sergeant at arms were staying with her, and even though I didn’t like it, I understood it.
I understood that showing up to her house and trying to steal time with her was off the table while Stevie cared for the five and nearly eighteen-year-old boys. Boys she clearly cares for deeply considering she lit up while talking about them.
I don’t like the idea of staying away from her, the idea of keeping distance and barely getting visual confirmation that Stevie is ok. And I definitely don’t like the idea of not being able to climb that fucking trellis, sneak in through her window, then ravage Stevie’s body multiple times before falling asleep holding her tit while I spoon her in her bed. I don’t like going without any of that at all, but I get why it has to happen.
It’d be a real mind fuck for Prince or King to wake up in the middle of the night to find some stranger railing their babysitter in the bed next to their cots.
Not to mention it’d probably cause enough of a stir that they’d alert the patches downstairs and put a stop to my visits completely.
So, I’ve taken to driving by her house regularly or watching it from the bushes across the street; watching in secret as Stevie plays with Prince in the front yard, when she sends them to the clubhouse or Rolling Meadows high for school in the morning, or when she waits on the porch for them to get home in the afternoon.
Having no contact with her the last three days has been fucking torture but it’s been easier knowing Stevie is safe, she isn’t out and about in town, and won’t turn up at a scene left by the amateur murderer running around.
The one who’s left two more bodies for me to profile in that same amount of time.
Which is a little bit of silver lining in this forced separation, I suppose.
