Page 21 of Bear the Burden

Was the human suffering a stroke or something?

“I just had a brilliant idea.” The guy smirked.

Durzi doubted it. For someone who ran a successful drug operation, the guy was pretty dimwitted.

And a good businessman wouldn’t have allowed Jackson to… Why bother finishing that thought? It felt redundant at this point.

“Your plan?” Durzi startled slightly when the chair unevenly rocked.

“Why kill them?” Morton mused. He sipped his cappuccino loudly, pinky out.

“Maybe because you implied they were going to die and I backed the threat with promised burial services.”

“This is why you are no longer allowed to make a move or even threaten anyone without my signal.”

Keep it up and we’ll be stuck together in a basement, asshole.

“Change of plans.” Morton set his cup on the counter. “Until their debt is paid, they’ll work for me, for free of course. Who doesn’t love free help?”

Brilliant, he was not. “And how are they going to pay their bills and survive without paying jobs?”

He better not say they’ll live here. Morton snored loud enough to wake the creatures in Hell. Durzi didn’t want any more annoying roommates. Getting to ogle Wesley’s sexy ass every day wouldn’t be worth putting up with Jackson.

“Must you always poke holes in my plans?” Morton huffed. “Fine, they’ll get a weekly pay. The two will just have to work for me a lot longer.”

The obvious problem was so glaring that Morton should have gone blind. The guy was about to entrust drugs to a drug addict. That was like asking Durzi to babysit a soul.

“Do you want Bailey to watch father and son?” he asked dryly. The conversation had started to annoy him as soon as it started, and he wanted it to end already.

The guy rolled his eyes as if Durzi exhausted him. The feeling is mutual, you boring dimwit.

“Since he works at the hospital, then yes. Have Bailey keep an eye on them,” Morton said in a deliberate tone.

As soon as the man was no longer of use, Durzi was going to take great pleasure in feasting on the bastard’s soul.

Though he often wondered if Morton even had a soul.

Highly unlikely.

Chapter Six

Wesley had woken up half an hour ago to find he was in the hospital. After the nurse had checked his vitals and talked with him for a second, the doctor had come into his room to see how he was feeling.

Seth hadn’t broken his cheekbone like Wesley thought he had. The only damage he’d suffered was a bruised kidney, but the doctor had said it was a minor bruise, which would heal on its own in one to two weeks.

He recommended bed rest during that period, but Wesley had more important problems to worry about.

Like the fact Hyett was sitting at his bedside. The guy had been there the entire six hours Wesley had slept. Maybe if he kept taking the wrong pills or was beaten up regularly, he would finally get some decent sleep.

That is not something to joke about.

No, it wasn’t. He felt bad for even thinking it.

He just wished Hyett would say something. The guy just sat in the bedside chair, either silently studying Wesley with a penetrating gaze—like the man was trying to read his mind—or lost in thought.

Finally, Hyett sat forward. Wesley’s heart raced a little faster, and the aggravating heart monitor thing snitched on him.

“If I ask you something, will you be completely honest with me?” Hyett’s deep, rich voice was starting to become a solace to Wesley, a sound that calmed him the same way the man’s touch eased his pain.

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