Page 97 of The Butterfly Killer

His skin crawled as he imagined the cold metal in his hand. Except it might not be cold. Just mildly warmed from being pressed against Roman’s back.

Roman leaned to block Miguel’s view of Marcus. “Is your boss okay with that?”

The fake bravado Miguel put on cracked a little. The mention of his brother being his boss must have struck a nerve. “He’s not my boss. I only follow his suggestions because I respect him.”

Roman snorted. “Sure.”

Marcus had been around Roman to know when he was letting his emotions show on purpose or not. Right now, he was putting on a show just for Miguel and Miguel was snapping at the bait like a hungry fish.

“Get up!” Miguel hissed.

Roman slowly got up from the booth. Marcus followed close behind him. Miguel got up and that was the first sign of the gun he was holding. Marcus gulped tightly as he looked into the barrel. The darkness made it easy to spiral down into thoughts that made him lightheaded. He had enough strength to close his eyes for a moment and count in his head.

10…9…8…

He opened his eyes on five and continued to count in his head as Miguel ordered them to start walking out the front of the diner.

3…2…1…

Rose came out from the kitchen. She wasn’t paying attention, trying to fix her hair that had come mostly undone during her back and forth.

A wet sign warning guests had been placed next to the half wall she had stopped by and which they were heading towards.

Marcus put all his acting to the test as he pretended to slip on recently cleaned floor. Rose had just started to walk forward when Marcus “tripped” which ended with him colliding with her.

“Are you serious?” Miguel grabbed Marcus and yanked him back before shoving him into Roman. “Sorry, babe.”

Miguel gave Rose a creepy smile before he turned his angry gaze onto Marcus. “Keep walking dipshit.”

Marcus followed the order. He resisted the urge to turned around and see if Rose had picked up the business card he’d been holding onto for dear life since Roman had taken him.

It was Agent Mercer’s business card.

26

The roomwhere the poker game was being held was so stereotypical it was almost sad. It was definitely disappointing. Burns had expected more than the cheap table and fold out chairs. There were refreshments served by a young girl who didn’t look to be drinking age herself. No other women were there. Only men. And Burns was the only “spouse” which gained a lot more attention than Mercer had probably wanted for this undercover operation they were doing.

The first comment came only a few minutes after their arrival. They hadn’t even been seated yet before a bald heavyset man started prying.

“Faggots, huh?” The man was Angelo Sanchez, a renowned architect. Bigot and homophobe as well it seemed.

Burns had to hold himself back from punching the fucker in the face. He feigned worry, holding onto Mercer’s arm like a scared husband would do.

“James…” He peered up at Mercer, turning inward toward the man’s chest as if he were trying to seek shelter.

Mercer’s arm wound tighter around his shoulder, pulling him close. The protective stance did make Burns feel safer.Though part of his fear was an act, he did feel anxious around all these men who probably had close connections to Cortez. What business they were in would reveal how dangerous they were, but Burns nor Mercer would be able to tell just by looking at them.

“Ironic coming from you, Mr. Sanchez.” Mercer’s words had bite.

Angelo’s face went beet red. “The fuck you talking about?—”

“Mr. Sanchez.”

Cortez parted the small group that started to form around the dispute with his presence. His voice alone had Mr. Angelo Sanchez whipping around like a boy who was about to be scolded by his mother.

“M-Mr. Cortez. I was simply?—”

“Annoying my guests?” Cortez gave Sanchez a dull look. “Mr. Mercer, you’ll be taking Mr. Sanchez’s chair.”

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