Page 52 of Unhinged
“Enough. Let’s just get to work identifying these men,” his father said, seeming far more impatient than usual.
“Of course, the baby gets away with murder,” Asa said.
“Don’t you all get away with murder?” Noah quipped.
Avi snickered. “We’d have been strictly clean up crew for a year if we’d had that sort of fuck up.”
Adam’s whole body flushed hot as his rage built. “They’re going to be cleaning your blood out of the fucking carpet if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Adam promised.
“Adam. Enough!” his father shouted.
Adam shot a startled look at his father. He never yelled. “He started it,” he mumbled, flicking off Atticus.
Thomas raised a hand, expression taut. “Not another word unless it’s about that board.”
Adam fell into a padded leather office chair, pulling Noah down into his lap, earning another disgusted sound from Atticus, who glared at Noah like it was Noah who’d harmed Atticus and not the other way around.
“These are the players we’ve identified so far. Conan Greevey, who was already on our radar according to Calliope.” His father paused and gave Adam a stern look. “And this guy is Paul Anderson.”
“He’s a cop,” Noah said, voice dull.
“What?” Adam asked. “Do you remember him?”
Noah gave a stilted nod, voice trembling. “He was there. In uniform. My father used to say if I didn’t behave, Officer Paul was going to take me to jail.”
Adam’s rage was a living, breathing thing inside him, a wolf pacing its cage, looking for somewhere to direct its anger.
Thomas nodded. “He’s a detective now, about to be made captain.”
Noah’s only response was a forced exhalation of breath, like Thomas’s words were a physical blow. Adam tightened his grip on Noah, as if he could somehow absorb some of his pain through touch.
“If cops are actively participating, it makes sense why their little pedo ring has never been found out,” Atticus said.
“You want us to kill a cop?” Asa asked. “Isn’t that risky?”
August shrugged. “Being a cop is a dangerous job. Accidents happen, convicts want revenge. We can stage the crime scene, frame the narrative to read any way we like. A dead cop is probably a much easier sell than most.”
“Conan Greevey, on the other hand, has friends in high places. He rolls with city council members, district attorneys, the archdiocese.”
“The man in the lower left corner is a priest,” Noah said. “He liked to make me call him Father…during. Was into role playing. He wore his collar.”
“Christ,” Thomas said, writing the word priest over the man’s head with a sharpie.
“So, we’ve got a copanda priest and a youth sports director with friends in high places. This is way bigger than we thought. You get that, right?” Adam asked his father. “This could become a problem.”
Archer spun in his chair. “It’s only our problem because you made it our problem.”
“Yeah, we’re not your boyfriend’s personal hit squad,” Atticus added. “I think we should scrap the whole project.”
Adam exploded from his chair, taking Noah with him, stomping towards Atticus. Noah jumped in front of him, hands on his chest, scrambling to walk backwards as Adam continued to advance on his brother. Atticus had this ass whooping coming for years, the smug piece of shit. Atticus was now also on his feet, calmly removing his glasses like he found Adam tedious.
“Adam. Adam!” Noah shouted. “Stop.” He did stop, looking down at Noah with a frown, nostrils flaring, chest heaving. Noah cupped his face. “Stop. They’re just trying to piss you off. Don’t you see that? Stop letting them bait you. Breathe, baby.”
Adam took in a deep breath and let it out, the cool touch of Noah’s palms on his cheeks soothing the heat burning through him until the throbbing red rage faded back to just mild irritation.
“I told you,” Asa said, talking not to Adam but to the others.
“Told them what?” Adam growled.
