He swallowed his food and paused. “That’s your target?”
“No. Yes. Fuck knows.”
“Talk me through it, J. Step One…”
“Fuck off Rio, I’m not doing this shit again.”
He reached over and tilted my chin up, his other hand brushing over the scars on the back of my left hand—the ones from the time I’d come too close to getting caught. He’d pulled me back that day in Stockton. He tried to keep me steady and rein me in, as if he were in control.
“Don’t mess with me, J,” he growled. “What’s step one?”
“Intel to determine target.”
He nodded in approval. “Two?”
“Fuck! Observation, exits, routines.”
“And three?” he prompted.
“Ritual, location, and execution.” Balancing the need for vengeance with the beast inside and keeping innocents off the table by minimizing risks.
“And then?” Rio prompted.
“We don’t need to do this,” I whined.
Rio squeezed my chin, reminding me of why he was doing this, the only person allowed to touch me, and I stared right into his dark eyes. “What’s next, J?”
“Aftermath,” I said. Watching it burn. I needed to see the burn, feel the justice, the cleansing. “Peace.”
He finally released me, and I swear, I whimpered as soon as he looked away. “Observe, report, fix a date, I’m going with you when you do it.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“But, Killian told us?—”
“I don’t care about Killian; I’m looking at you. You do this so it doesn’t connect to what Killian is doing. You’ll be safe. I’ll be there.”
After Rio headed to bed, I was still buzzing, still wired from everything we’d uncovered. I needed to move, to do something, anything. I paced the living room in tight circles, flicking my lighter open and shut, the flame a pulse steadying the chaos in my head. The Bonehook. Killian. Lassiter. Everything felt tangled, and the need to pull at the threads itched like fire under my skin.
Eventually, I dropped into the chair by the window, opened the laptop, and stared at the glow of the screen. I opened a fresh document and started making notes.
Step One:Observation.
Target: The Bonehook.
Owner: Ricardo Price.
