Page 60 of Cruel Games

Coyote trotted off like a loyal hound, his fist finding the doors of his partners in crime as I straightened my skirt and settled back down in the chair he’d returned to its original place beside the couch.

About an hour later, Jackal and Dingo were dressed and waiting, both grumbling about their lost sleep as Coyote strode into the living room wearing a black leather jacket, a second one thrown casually over his shoulder as he approached me.

“It’s cold,” he said simply, throwing the coat around me despite my protests.

I felt like a child again as his long fingers zipped up the too-large leather monstrosity, hesitating as they trailed over my chest and stopped just beneath my chin. A soft noise slipped from between his lips that I could have sworn was a pleased hum as he admired his work, tugging on the sleeves for a second before he released me. I shifted anxiously in place, reaching for the gun tucked in the waistband of my skirt. It fit perfectly in the inside pocket of the jacket, and with a satisfied smirk, I switched its location and stuck my arms back in the sleeves, waiting for someone to say something.

“Aww, look, only a day in, and that poor dog is alreadywhipped for her,” Dingo sassed, his eyes rolling sarcastically. “You gonna let her put you on a leash next, Coyote?”

His answering growl silenced any more mockery from his friend.

“Why do we have to escort you to your home?” Jackal groused, tousling his sleep-mussed hair to make it lay in the direction he wanted. “One of us could go, and the other two could stay here and sleep.” His eyes fell on Coyote, and a slow grin spread across his lips. “Look, he’ll take you. And that means Dingo and I can sleep.”

My death glare stopped him in his tracks. “I can’t trust you out of my sight yet, so you’re coming with me.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” His mock salute made me want to smack him, but I refrained, to my endless surprise.

And just like that, he set the tone for the whole day.

And quite possibly the rest of their lives.

TWENTY-THREE

COYOTE

Standingoutside this run-down apartment while our newmastergrabbed her things wasnot the highlight of my day. She’d been in a pissy mood with me ever since I insisted she wear one of my jackets to ride in. But realistically, she couldn’t ride in what she was wearing. For one, it was freezing outside. And it got even colder when the wind blew as you sped past at upwards of thirty-plus miles an hour.

As I’d expected, she asked Dingo and I to watch the outside and dragged Jackal in with her, likely to serve as a pack mule. It seemed like anything he reacted negatively to was just more fodder for her cannon, and she relished the irritation on his face every time she dug her claws in deeper.

Though, truthfully, I think so did he.

She hadn’t even been with us long enough for him to be this entrenched in his attitude. I hoped things would shift a little when they found out why I’d offered our lives up as hers. Instead, it seemed like Jackal didn’t give two fucks, though at least he wasn’t actively trying to kill her or escape this prison sentence. Dingo was . . . an anomaly. I couldn’t figure out what was going on in that head of his, and frankly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. He seemed to take it all in stride, though, and had locked all our previous contract files in a new safe in the back of his closet.

She wouldn’t be getting into that any time soon.

Our secrets, and hers, were going to stay buried where they belonged: in the past. I had no intention of breaking her twice in one lifetime. She’d learn one way or another that not everything was as it seemed, and even though it made me a coward, at least if she came to the realization on her own, she couldn’t hate us for shattering his image in her heart.

I turned to Dingo, who flanked her door on the other side, picking disinterestedly at his fingernails as if there were dirt beneath them. His face didn’t give away anything, but he spotted me out of the corner of his eyes, and huffedin annoyance.

“I didn’t think we’d be her literal dogs, man. This is just dehumanizing. An embarrassment. Three hardened killers, wandering around like lost puppies, following this bitch like she’s got us all on leashes, and we’re happy to be here.”

I fought hard not to laugh, but the smile cracked on the edge of my lips, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed.

“You sure seem to be enjoying this shit.” His eyes dragged slowly over me, and he turned away suddenly, a blush on his face. “You into this dominatrix shit she’s pulling?”

My lips twisted into something unreadable. I wasn’t sure how much I did or did not like the attitude she had. She seemed to thrive on our subservience, our willingness to bend to her will. And when we fought her, she seemed to enjoy it all the more. Not for the first time, I wondered what she’d been like before we killed her father. Before her whole life was turned on its head, and she was forced into this mental break she seemed to still be working through.

Were we responsible for what she’d become, to an extent? And did that mean we had to take responsibility for how she’d turned out? Should we spend the rest of our lives playing the role of pets?

Would it be a kindness to just kill her and take away her pain?

In the wild, when one of the pack caught rabies and went batshit insane, nature took care of things. Or the pack culled them. Eventually, they’d die as the parasite, the bacteria, the virus, whatever it was, took over their mind and infected them until there was no coming back.

In life, we often threw the refuse of our failed mental health institution to the streets, hoping it would either disappear or die out. That was how the Southies in South End became a thing. That was why even the worst of us didn’t often dare to venture behind the back walls of the asylum, why St. Clair kept an extra couple of guards there at night.

Would she have been in the same boat, if she’d broken a little earlier in life? If she hadn’t grown up in the lap of luxury with affluent parents and money to burn, would she have been amongst the Southies, wandering, broken, a shattered mind barely holding itself together?

The thought bothered me more than I cared to admit.

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