Page 59 of Rambler's Snow Bunny
My truck’s under the carport, and I slide into the driver’s seat, knees eating the dash. “Jesus.”
My woman’s short legs didn’t need the extra room, but I sure as fuck do. Sliding my hand between the seat and the door, I push the button and slowly move back.
Sliding the key into the slot, I crank the ignition, and?—
“What the fuck!” Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas” is blaring from the speakers at full volume. I fumble with the dial on the radio, trying to turn it down. “Jesus. How the fuck is she not deaf?”
My lips twitch despite everything. Pinky and her fucking Christmas music. She’s been playing that shit non-stop since we put up the tree.
The smile fades as I back out of the driveway, remembering why I’m leaving her tonight. I have a problem that needs to be eliminated, and it can’t wait.
The drive to Eternal Peace is quick. The streets are empty at this hour, not even the cops are out patrolling.
Pulling into the parking lot behind the funeral home. I cut the engine and sit in the darkness for a moment.
I squeeze the steering wheel tight, my knuckles turning white. I close my eyes, suck in a deep breath, and blow it out slowly before opening them up again.
Show time.
The back door to the funeral home is unlocked, just like I knew it would be. I slip inside, locking it behind me. As soon as the door closes, I hear that mother fucker screaming from the basement.
“Let me out of here! You’re all fucking dead! You hear me? Dead!”
Eddie.
Blood boiling in my veins, I tromp down the concrete steps, following the sound of his voice.
I bypass the room he’s in and head for the cremation room where my brothers are waiting.
Yukon is leaning against the wall, a beer in his hand. Beast is perched on the edge of the counter, legs swinging, looking bored as fuck as he tips back his own bottle Bud.
Undertaker is standing by the incinerator’s controls, thumbing through his phone. He’s the only one without a drink in his hand.
“Thank fuck you’re finally here,” Yukon says, pushing off the wall when he sees me. “That mother fucker hasn’t shut his mouth since we strung his ass up.”
Beast laughs, taking another sip of his beer. “Been screaming like a little bitch.”
“Want one?” Undertaker asks, nodding toward an open case of Bud Light on the floor.
I shake my head. “Naw. I need a clear head for this.”
Yukon and Beast exchange a look, then chug what’s left of their beers and toss the empties in the trash.
Yukon grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let’s do this.”
I turn on my booted heel and stalk down the hallway toward the screaming. I push open the middle door and step inside the empty room. Rafters run along the ceiling, and there’s a drain in the floor. Perfect for times, just list this.
My eyes shift to Eddie hanging from the rafter by his wrists, his toes barely touching the floor. His face is already a mess from whatever Beast and Yukon did to him before I arrived.
Good.
I hope they made it hurt.
His eyes widen when he sees me, recognition dawning on his bloody face.
“You,” he spits, blood and saliva spraying from his lips.
I don’t respond. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, I hand my cut to Undertaker and roll up the sleeves of my shirt, one at a time. When I’m done, I step closer, looking him in the eye.
