Page 21 of Vow of Silence

The worst part isn’t killing the man. It’s the clean-up after.

I could have left the body somewhere close to the house and away from the kid’s eyes, but too many questions arise when a gang member is shot near his home. War takes place on the streets; the only people who gun down a man in his house are cops and family. When both those avenues are exhausted, the eyes of the law look up. And who do they find when they do that? Us.

The people who truly run the streets.

Sweat runs down my spine in a river, the back of my shirt soaked and stuck to my body. I jump into the makeshift grave and test the depth, satisfied when the edge of the forest floor meets my shoulder. Dirt stains my jeans, ground into the fine weave of my Marc Jacobs polo. I peel the tacky shirt from my body before tossing it over the side of the hole onto the leafy undergrowth. Fingers biting into the soft ground, I pull myself free of the grave and then get to work on the actual task: making sure I cover my tracks.

The Defender waits fifty feet away in a makeshift parking area. I could have driven onto the public land and brought the damn body closer, but that would have left tire marks.Footprints I can disguise and mess up quickly—the weight of tires, not so much. Shirt in one hand, I return to the vehicle, noting the sun hanging high in the sky, turning last night’s rain to unbearable humidity.Fucking last rays of summer. I unlock the car, stashing my ruined clothing on the back seat. Hand to the door, I prepare to walk around the rear and start the grunt work when my phone vibrates where I left it in the center console. With a twist of my wrist, I check who calls on the screen of my smartwatch and sigh.Unknown number.Only a handful of people bother to ring me, considering the conversation is one-sided; calls are usually brief and no more than a voice message from the initiator. Getting one from somebody new is fucking weird.

I ignore the phone and move to the back of the Defender to retrieve the payload. The guy’s odor already fills the cabin, his body succumbing to the heat of the closed vehicle. I jerk his feet out first, dragging him until his waist bends awkwardly over the rear fender, and assemble his arms over his head. A fireman’s hold is most manageable—either using both shoulders or with him slung over one. I’ve tried many ways to carry a dead body, and treating them like a sack of potatoes is easiest—on the body and the mind. Disassociate and break the task down into the necessary steps. Focus on what’s non-negotiable and leave all the other shit until later.

I heft the guy over my left side and reach with my right hand to close the door when the goddamn phone starts again. I stand with the man’s weight pushing me into an arc while I wait for the phone to ring out, frustrated further when the chime of a voicemail follows soon after.

No interruptions. That’s all I fucking ask for. I need to keep my mind on the task at hand to ensure I don’t miss a goddamn thing. Muscles aching and sciatic screaming in protest, I dump the body into the hole and use the handle of the shovel tomanipulate him into a straight line. He has one eye shut, the other open, staring up at me in what has to be a weird as fuck expression. Naturally, people close their eyes when they pass; the body’s response to shutting down essential functions. I tilt my head to one side and examine him a little longer. With the shovel blade pinched between my fingers, I use the top end of the metal handle to poke at the exposed orb. A dull tap echoes back up to me.Huh.Fucker had a glass eye.

I get far too much satisfaction from tossing the first loads of dirt over that eye, imagining he watches me bury him. A chuckle breaks free of my throat, and I pause to straighten up and stretch the sore muscles in my back. I used to be able to do this without breaking much of a sweat, but since I came off my goddamn motorcycle last year, the body doesn’t work quite as well as it used to.

By the time I pat down the grave and restore the mess of dead leaves and moss over the top, the wind has changed, and rain threatens the horizon. I take my time returning to the Defender, messing up any sign of footprints in the undergrowth. The final step comes when I slam the shovel’s blade into the base of the first tree on the edge of the clearing. A mark that would be overlooked by many and mean nothing to most. My way of ensuring I don’t use the same spot twice.

I stash the shovel and use my already ruined shirt to wipe the sweat off my exposed upper body. It’ll look odd as fuck having no shirt on when the weather closes in, but I don’t intend to stop anywhere on the way home. Ass in the driver’s seat, I pull the neglected phone out of the cubby in the dash and bring up the notifications. Two missed calls, one voicemail, and, most interesting, a text message.

Who the fuck texts in the age of Messenger?

My thumb slides across the tempered glass, and I ease back in the leather, cool air blasting from the vents to relieve myheated skin. The number doesn’t register with me, but the name in the text has me sitting a little straighter.Nastasya.I let out a surprised grunt and open her message.

We need to talk. Before dinner tonight. – Nastasya.

The fact that she used her full name and not the nickname I started for her—Stas—pisses me off. She wants to talk, no doubt to rehash the past, but she seems intent on treating me like a stranger. I tap through to open the voicemail and then set the phone on the dash cluster while it plays through the Bluetooth. Retrieving a can of body spray from the glovebox, I spritz the inside of the Defender, lips pressed into a flat line at the prospect of another goddamn deep clean. Doing that shit takes fucking hours.

“I don’t know if you’re ignoring me or if what I heard is true.”I frown at the implication of her words.“But we have ground rules to put in place if you want this mad idea to go ahead. And I think you know as well as I do that it’s bullshit we don’t need to discuss in front of our parents.”

Correction: in front of her father. My parents are no strangers to the history between me and Nastasya. Her father, on the other hand… I can’t imagine she ever got the guts to tell him the truth.

I play the message again to pay closer attention to the intonation of her words and then delete the evidence. My thumbs tap at a hasty pace as I flick her a reply.

Arrive early. I’ll meet you out front. – Benito

I smirk, a chuckle rumbling in my throat at the passive-aggressive sign-off I attached, mocking the fuck out of her formal message. With the phone resting on the dash again, Istart the vehicle and pull out onto the road, ready to get the fuck home and soak myself in a hot shower.

Less than a mile down the road, Papa’s name appears on the display. I tap it to accept and wait for him to speak.

“Did you have a nice drive?”

I reach up and tap my fingertip against the microphone once.Yes.A nice drive: a.k.a. have I completed the job without issue?

“I take it the roads were quiet?”You had no witnesses?

I tap the microphone again.No witnesses.

“We can discuss the matter more at dinner.” His voice exudes serenity. The man doesn’t show concern often.

I let him disconnect and then flick the stereo to my earlier playlist. The mark’s woman was an unwanted issue, but I figure that if she does decide to talk, the word of a drugged-out waif won’t stand up in court if there isn’t any evidence to back up her claims of a silent killer. The street detectives are in our pocket—they won’t investigate a case that alludes to our family name unless the evidence is left out in broad daylight for the general public to see. What happens off the radar stays out of the press. No sense in making noise where none is expected.

Siri breaks through the bass line vibrating my speakers, her dulcet tone announcing a new message from the now-known number. I tap the icon for her to read it and let the slow smile curl my lips as Stas’s reply gets recited via robotic monotones.

Fifteen minutes early. Out front is too obvious. See you in the playhouse.

Perhaps her memories aren’t as tightly locked away as I first assumed.

---