Page 4 of Corrupt Vows

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ bout, man. We saved up from—fuck, hombre, don’t kill me,” he yelps as I place the edge of my blade to his throat.

Itskand draw blood with the tip. He answers in a high, panicked voice.

“We get it from a carrier! I don’t know who really sends it. It’s always a different junkie with printed instructions. No handwriting. I swear, I ain’t never met him. I got no clue, dude.”

I twist my wrist until his bloodshot eyes meet mine.

Unfortunately for him, he’s telling the truth. I slit his throat twice, ensuring the second swipe severs all the important bits, and hold his head back until the blood stops spurting from his neck and his limbs quit flopping about. Crimson puddles around my shoes, and I sigh at the mess as I wipe my blade on the back of his shirt.

“Check each body for tats and collect all devices before you burn them. Sweep the entire building for clues and clean it up for the next op,” I say to Ermanno, my second-in-command. He’s proven himself more than capable of cleaning up any mess—even ones as big as this battle, where fighting occurred on all three levels of the factory—with no input from me, but I can’t relinquish an ounce of control in front of the soldiers standing along the walls.

Diablo’s death served more than one purpose. Not only did it rid the world of onereallystupid motherfucker, it also displayed my brutal and swift response to anyone who pisses me off: it was a warning for everyone in attendance.

I scan the men lining the walls. Most bleed from superficial wounds, but after a quick patch job, they’ll be fine. We sent the severely injured to the nearby emergency room, where I paid off every nurse on the night shift a few hours ago.

“I’ll attend all burials for our fallen men, and even though no amount of compensation will ease their loss, I’ll hand out condolences to each family myself,” I vow as I slip my knife back into its sheath.

The men give somber thanks. I grab a clean washcloth from the counter and wipe my hands on my way out of the room. My phone vibrates in my pants pocket, but I ignore it as I stalk through the ruined facility and exit through the back door. I pop open the trunk of my car and strip off my stained suit coat before tossing it into a black garbage bag. After washing my hands with the bottled water and soap I always keep available in my car, I pull my phone out of my pocket and check my missed calls.

With a curse, I redial my father’s number. When I hang up a few seconds later, I grind my teeth before calling Ermanno. He answers before the first ring ends.

“Stay here. I’m heading out,” I say.

He grunts his understanding. I end the call and toss my phone into the trunk.

After wiping down my knife and placing it beside my phone, I loosen my chest holster and unfasten my belt, toe off my shoes, shuck my trousers down my legs, and prop my ass on the bumper as I pull off my socks. With a scowl at the stained clothes, I shove them into the plastic bag and dress in the clean items on the left side of the trunk. As I slide my belt through my belt loops, a shoe scuffs on the sidewalk around the corner of the building.

I whip around and aim my fully loaded pistol at the idiot stupid enough to sneak up on me.

Ermanno speaks from behind the corner.

“I’m not just keeping you on your toes, but it’s good to see you haven’t gone soft in your old age.”

I scoff and keep my muzzle aimed in his direction as I slide my sheath onto my belt and finish threading the leather through my trouser loops.

“Says thestronzonearing forty. What did you find?”

The sunrise casts his broad-shouldered shadow across the sidewalk as he turns the corner. He steps into the last pocket of darkness with me and drops a necklace onto my palm.

I grunt and hold it up to the light.

“A new gang emblem? How many were wearing it?”

“Four.”

I sigh and toss it back to him.

“Only four?”

“The men wearing them aren’t local,” he says.

I grunt again and work through the possibilities as I put on a clean pair of dress shoes before taking off my chest harness and unbuttoning my shirt.

“Keep looking,” I say.

He nods and disappears around the corner.

The cool morning air brushes against my skin as I work my arms out of my shirt and tug my undershirt over my head. Blood stains the collars. I growl my annoyance and add them to the bag.

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