Page 23 of Cruel Games

So I did.

“I think we might have a stalker. A copycat. Maybe they wanna be one of us, maybe they wanna justbeus, I dunno.”

Coyote’s scowl deepened. “No.”

Now it was my turn to wait for an explanation, but of course, in true Coyote fashion, he didn’t elaborate. He just sat there, staring at me like I was supposed to know what the hell he meant by that single word.

I wasn’t a miracle worker.

“No,what?”I said finally, the suspense killing me.

“They don’t want to be us.” His jaw ticked as he prepared his following words carefully. Either he couldn’t think of them, or he couldn’t vocalize what he was trying to say, because the hulking psycho stood up and flipped the coffee table in hisaggravation, huffing like the wolf in the Three Little Pigs. It was quite comical, and I had to bite my tongue so hard I could taste blood just to keep from laughing.

“They want something, though,” I offered instead, eyeing the chair next, as if he might just flip anything not bolted down. “We just need to figure out what.”

I shuddered as I recalled that letter at the last mark’s house, clearly taunting us.Who the fuck had we offended, and what the fuck did they want from us?

“Preferably before we end up dead.”

NINE

IVY

Blood.

So much blood everywhere.

That’s what happened when you beat a man to death with a reproduction Mickey Mantle wooden baseball bat in the middle of the night.

I studied my handiwork from every angle, knowing I had an hour max before someone stumbled along and found him. I had to make a statement, one beyond the mangled and bloody state of the target for the night. I had to let them know who did it, so they’d know.

They knew now that I knew them.

Orofthem, at least.

They knew someone was following them . . . watching them . . . taking their jobs out from under their noses and rubbing it in with every single one.

Like bleeding someone to death, one tiny cut at a time.

The hints had been dropped. Now I wanted them looking over their shoulder every time they fucking sneezed. The shadows needed to contain their doubts, fears, and secrets they only hoped to uncover before it was too late.

I didn’t just want to end them anymore. No, that would be too easy. I wanted to torture them til the last minute. I wanted them to hurt, to second-guess themselves, to doubt every move they made from here on out. I wanted the confident, cocky assholes to become a mockery of themselves. Doubt, confusion, hesitance. I wanted them to take a contract and wonder if I’d get there first. Wanted them to know what it felt like to have a reputation that didn’t mean shit anymore. Wanted them to know the kind of fear that gripped me for the first three years of my life after they took my father from me.

I needed them to feel what I’d felt.

Make them suffer like they did you.

Make them bleed in more ways than just the physical.

I closed my eyes and saw my dad in my mind,like he was before he’d been unjustly killed in his own home, on his own lawn, in his damn bedclothes. He was a vibrant man, so full of life, always doingsomething.And they’d just snuffed him out like a candle that was no longer needed.

They’ll pay, Daddy. They’ll all pay.

When I opened them again, I got back to work, no hesitation in my steps. Because, after all, there was no time to waste.

I still had a shift tonight to work.

“Awe,come on, princess, just one more drink for ole Charlie?” His hair had begun to shine in the dimmed UV lights above the bar from the oil on his hands, which he’d run through his hair a million and one times already while flirting with anything that had tits. “I swear I’m good for it.”

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