Page 11 of Killaney Blood
He doesn't answer at first, just reaches into Knox's mouth.
"Hey. What the fuck are you..." I start.
"There's something..." he says, trailing off.
He pulls it out and holds it up to the dim light. It's dark and wet with blood.
It's a feather curled at the tip like it was stuffed deep in his throat.
"The hell is that?" I ask, moving closer.
"A raven's feather," he says, turning it between his fingers. "Someone put it in his mouth after he was killed."
The man stands, holding it in gloved fingers.
"You ever seen anything like this?" he asks.
I take it from him and turn it over. Still wet.
"A feather?"
"A feather dipped in blood," he clarifies.
I shrug. "Some weird-ass message. Gang shit, probably."
"Maybe, but this doesn't seem random."
"I didn't fucking ask what you thought," I say, staring down at him.
"Yes, of course. Sorry, I?—"
"Not my problem," I say, cutting him off, and toss the feather toward the dumpster.
"Clearly he pissed some people off," I say, but I can feel my jaw clenching. "I'll send money to his family, make sure they're taken care of. But solving his murder? Not my job."
I look at my men.
"Clean him up," I say, gesturing to Knox's body. "I'll send someone to take care of the rest."
I turn and walk back inside the warehouse, to the fights, to the life I understand. Behind me lies a dead man with a feather in his mouth, but not just any dead mean, one of mine.
Issomeone trying to send me a message or am I just letting paranoia creep in? Either way, I should keep this from Callum for now.
And on top of all this bullshit, I can't help but wonder why the fuck I wish she'd be the one to come out. Why does this woman refuse to leave my thoughts, no matter how much I want her to?
I wish she were dead so I didn't have to think about the ways she screwed me over or why the hell she's haunting my thoughts.
l deal with her soon I'm sure of it, I think to myself as I step back into the noise and the light, leaving the darkness behind.
5
LYRA
Isink lower in my seat so no one can see me. I'm at her favorite café, parked just far enough back that no one would think I'm watching. But I am. Every second.
She's laughing.
At a corner table, just inside the entrance window. She holds her coffee with both hands and throws her head back. The man across from her smiles, eyes glued to her like she's his goddamn lifeline.
