Page 66 of Taming the Demon

“I would really prefer Cyrus to open it,” Damien said. “It’s not a bomb. It’s not poison. It’s not a cobra that’s going to jump out and strike. I’ll even open it with you, Cyrus.”

“Fuck it,” Cyrus said.

He stepped toward Damien and nodded, allowing Damien to open the box.

“For you, Cyrus,” Damien said in a thick Russian accent.

Cyrus stared down at a severed head. As much as he wanted to look away, he didn’t. He kept composure and slowly looked up at Damien again.

“Do you not like it?” Damien asked. “It’s one of yours.”

“What is it?” Linc asked.

“It’s Bram’s head,” Cyrus said.

Cyrus smacked the box out of Damien’s hands. It hit the ground and Bram’s head bounced and rolled out.

“Holy fuck,” Virus said as he reached down to pick it up.

“Don’t touch it,” Darrow said to Virus.

Everyone brought out their weapons. Damien simply laughed at them.

“Now listen to me carefully,” Damien said. “I know he wasn’t… how do you say… patched in? Right? He was a prospect. But he was following me. He had notes on him. I saved them too. A little notebook. Like he was some detective. Very worried about how you perceived him, Cyrus. He wanted to do something big and get his patch. It’s all written down. I saved the pages for you. Oh, and his head.”

“Motherfucker,” Cyrus growled, curling his lip.

“Be fair, Cyrus,” Damien said. “What would you do if one of my guys were following you. Huh? I think me showing up like this is quite… calm…?”

Cyrus grabbed at his own jaw. He had no choice but to nod.

“I want the rat, Cyrus,” Damien said. “Cutting off some prospect’s head with my bare hands was an appetizer for me. I want more.”

Damien climbed back into his car and it began to drive off. Cyrus stood with his crew surrounding him. Bram’s head on the ground, eyes open, looking up to the sky.

“Motherfucker may have just started a war,” Cyrus said. “Taking notes? Trying to be a cowboy?”

“I really wish Priest was here right now,” Linc said. “He’d have something really disturbing to say to lighten the mood.”

Cyrus let out a bellowing scream. He reached down and grabbed Bram’s head by the hair and threw it across the lot into the junkyard. Darrow’s stomach felt sick.

Nothing like a prospect’s severed head being dropped off by the Russian mafia to make you realize just how fucked up and dangerous your life was.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A Quick Thought

Fitz finished his piss-warm can of beer, squeezed it in his hand, and threw it into the woods as hard as he could. He didn’t bother seeing where it landed. It didn’t matter.

“The time has come,” Fitz said out loud. “The time has fucking come.”

He wiped his forehead. He was sweaty. Nervous as hell. He rubbed his jaw too. There were a lot of scenarios running through his head right now.

He normally didn’t like to approach life this way. He liked to have a plan. A good plan. A concrete plan. But he realized that plans weren’t working for him.

His plan with SOFRAW turned stale. Fucking stagnant. Then his plan with the detective. There was a fucking end game there. An end date. That got all fucked up too.

That damn word again—rat—running through his head. Over and over.

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