Page 118 of Sins of the Hidden

"Where is he?"

Chet laughed. "I ain't that dumb. Look, I owed him a favor. So do what you’re here to do then fuck off, yeah?"

Why would Prez send this idiot here alone, and how did Prez know we would be here to send him?

Law's eyes narrowed to slits, suspicion evident. "Prez sent you alone? Since when does Prez trust anyone outside the club?"

Chet's mouth quirked at one corner, a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Since he realized I don't die easily."

I could change that.

"How did you know we were going to be here?" He pushed off the tree, adjusting himself with visible discomfort, hand pressed to the ribs I had just cracked.

"He didn't know. The alarm system went off, he asked me to check it out, and I did." He could be lying.

"Look, we've been sent here by our new Prez, so we gotta do what we gotta do, you get me?" Chet nodded, understanding passing between them. "You're more than welcome to come with us to see for yourself." Law turned to me, authority in his gaze. "Let's go check on things and get the hell out of here."

Chet took a step forward, leaves crunching beneath his boots. He got too close. I cracked the bat against his temple. He fell to the ground with a dull thud, body limp as blood immediately pooled from the wound. For a minute, I thought he was dead until his brown eyes opened in a haze.

Law just sighed, pinching his nose between his fingers. "Was that really necessary?"

From the ground, Chet let out a pained groan, "No, but I bet it made him feel better."

His neck went slack, head rolling back as he went unconscious. Law looked at his body, hands moving as he checked him for weapons, patting down pockets. He looked expectantly at me, annoyance written across his features. "A little help?"

Rolling my eyes, I went to help. As we lifted Chet's body, handcuffs fell from one of the ten pockets on his cargo pants, metal catching the moonlight. "Why the fuck does he have these?" Law asked, eyebrows raised. I shrugged, indifferent.

After a moment, Chet let out a low groan, eyes fluttering open, consciousness returning in small waves. "Well, it's date night," he mumbled sheepishly, blood still trailing down his face. "Don't judge."

Law grumbled, disgust evident. "You sound like Tyrant."

“If he’s anything like you two, I’m sure he’s a stand up guy.” Holding Chet's body against a smaller tree, bark rough against his back, Law pulled his hands together with unnecessary force, securing the handcuffs with a metallic click.

"We have to come back and uncuff him later." My brows furrowed, confusion rising.

"Why?"

"Because, unlike you, I exist to the government and can be traced. I don't want murder on my record." His footsteps crunched as he walked away.

I shrugged, unbothered. I had no legal documents, no birth certificate, no social security number. No fingerprints, blood samples, or legal name. It was what made me such an asset to Prez. I could do anything without being traced back.

I followed Law to Prez's abandoned house. When we stepped inside, it looked dusty from underuse, particles dancing in the beam of his flashlight. The furniture looked old and worn out,material faded and torn. Large leather couches sat pointing at the TV that was thick with dust, a gray film covering the screen. Pictures hung on the wall, frames crooked, a large coffee table with trinkets lying on top.

I followed Law's footsteps up the stairs, bat slung over my shoulder like an old friend. The downstairs had nothing to show for it right now, nothing worth taking. Besides, searching wasn't something I did. I was brought in case something happened like it just did, muscle where Law was brain. I got bored easily when I was expected to scavenge places I'd rather burn down, watch flames consume everything until nothing remained but ash.

Trudging up the steps with my bat on my shoulder, wood creaking beneath my weight, I walked into the first room at the top of the stairs. Law's flashlight cast eerie shadows across the walls, giving off the only light in the space. He was hunched over a desk, hands moving as he searched for something, opening drawers and rifling through papers. He looked up when he heard me enter, annoyance written across his features. "Aren't you going to search the other parts of the house?"

My gaze drifted to the window, watching as shadows moved outside, branches swaying in the wind. Law sighed, the sound heavy with resignation as he continued to look through the desk, pulling out drawers and examining contents before grumbling under his breath. "You could be a little more help."

I shoved my pinky in my ear to let him know I didn't give a fuck. Helping people wasn't in my DNA, killing them was.

He’d been searching for about twenty minutes when a loud slam from downstairs drew our attention, the sound echoing through the empty house as footsteps came slowly up the steps, wood protesting beneath the weight. Law reached for the gun he kept on his side, and I wielded my bat ready to strike, muscles tensing in anticipation—finally some excitement.

Chet staggered into the doorway, barely upright, one hand braced against the frame. His eyes looked unfocused, pupils unevenly dilated. Breathing came in labored gasps, chest rising too quickly. He kept leaning to one side before catching himself. Every few seconds, he'd blink hard like fighting to stay conscious, movements jerky. Blood matted his hair where I'd struck him earlier.

On his wrists, the broken remains of the handcuffs, metal links snapped apart. Must've broken them with some hidden tool, or maybe his girlfriend's handcuffs were just for show.

"How the fuck did you get free?" Law's voice was tight with disbelief.

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