Page 127 of Deceit

It’s grander to hurt someone else when all I really want to do is tear Emmy’s boy’s limbs off and watch him bleed out while I use him for target practice.

She’d never forgive me.

But she’d never have to know.

It’s too bad that when Emmy cries, I feel like utter shit. That I have somewhat of a conscience.

He isn’t good for her. I can tell just by how he acts.

She’s not a princess that desires.

She’s a queen that needs to be kept in her lane but given the freedom to keep you in yours.

You can’t hold Emmy for long, not when she’s a beam of sunshine. You can’t pocket that shit. You can’t own it. You can only bathe and experience the warm rays along your face.

Now there’s a black cloud in my fucking way.

“Need the name of the dude that you work for.” Marty comes to my side; I can see the outline of his frame out of my peripheral.

He’s not going to get it.

This is Kyson’s mission, I just tagged along. Something about guys selling guns to underaged kids, which is a lesser assignment than what we’re used to. However, I did hear kidnapping and a senator’s daughter in the same sentence or some shit.

Don’t know, don’t care.

“Nah, I’m not a rat, bruh.”

The dude’s voice irritates me.

He’s young, but he can take a few punches and heal with no problem.

Except, he reminds me of Mac and my first kill.

“But you look familiar.” I peer up to find dark eyes staring back at me.

Actually, no, they’re green.

Like Alexander’s.

My hands flex at my sides but my pinky doesn’t move, an uncomfortable pain shoots up my hand afterward. I think I broke the damn thing off this dude’s fucking head.

“Were you with him Saturday night? He likes to dabble with tall guys and beards.”

“Aw, shit,” Mills groans before my jacked-up fist goes sailing into the dude’s face again.

I don’t stop.

Again and again, I hit where I can. I feel every hit just like he does. The shooting discomfort making my balled-up hand numb and throb.

He’s gonna die.

This kid isn’t walking out of here.

“Still need some more answers,” Kyson mutters behind me. “Back off a second.”

He can fuck off a second but do what he asks, taking a needed step back and tucking my chin into my chest so the boys can do whatever it is they want or ask.

“Need to know where the girl is,” Marty presses. “And you got thirty seconds before I let this fuck go another round with you.”

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