Page 16 of Murder & Mayhem

Nodding my head, I grab a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and down half of it, side-eyeing him while I do. He’s still coiled tight with tension, but he doesn’t seem as haunted as earlier. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He hesitates for a second before elaborating. “Fucking stripper keeps gettin’ in my head.”

“Maybe you should stop kicking her out then,” I suggest, earning myself a stern glare.

He sighs, shaking his head. “We’re actually making some sort of progress now. I can’t—Iwon’t—let her get in the way of that.”

God, he’s as fucking stubborn as she is. Why does it have to be one or the other? Why can’t Cain get his vengeanceandhave the girl?

I cross the room toward him and clap my hand on his shoulder. “I’m not saying getting justice for Evie isn’t important, ‘cause I know it is, but she’d also want you to be happy. To stop putting your life on hold for her.” He looks back at me over his shoulder, and I can see the hardness still in his eyes. “I’m just saying, you deserve some happiness too. It’s what Evie would have wanted.”

He has no argument against that, and he knows it, and silence falls between us as we grab our things and head back to the clubhouse. We need to shower before Razor gets back, and then it looks like our afternoon is going to be spent interrogating this kid.

***

Four hours later, I step into the shower for the third fucking time today. Ducking my head under the hot spray, I let the water cascade down my back as I watch red rivulets circle the drain, washing the blood from my hands. It didn’t take much before the kid started talking. Not that he had a lot to say. He was a bottom-level lackey, only brought into the Bastards a few weeks ago. He didn’t know anything about how Grim was getting his hands on our guns or what his plans were, and it quickly became pointless to continue the interrogation.

Which left the next problem… what the fuck were we to do with him? We could have sent him back to the Bastards, but I’m pretty sure Grim would have put a bullet through his head simply for getting caught. We’re not cold-hearted enough to kill a defenseless kid, no matter their affiliation. Which left only one option, getting him the fuck out of town. So we stuck a bag over his head and got one of the guys to drive him one state over. He’ll threaten him with the promise of death if he ever returns to Black Creek and chuck him a few bills to tide him over. Hopefully, the kid will have enough sense not to come back here.

“Grim’s getting bolder,” Cain states when I step into his office half an hour later, my hair still wet from the shower. He’s already got a glass of whiskey waiting for me and he’s halfway through his own. “He’s testing us, wanting to see what we’ll do.”

“We knew he would,” I remind him, reaching for the glass as I claim the seat opposite him. Taking a sip, I let the burn of the alcohol heat me up and settle in my stomach before I continue. “We’ve taken too much territory too quickly for him just to sit back. We’re a threat. One he’s going to want to eliminate, sooner rather than later.”

Cain nods his head, clearly deep in thought, as he frowns. We knew the Grim Bastards would need to be dealt with eventually. They’ve become an ever-growing pain in our ass, stealing from us and pushing back at every turn. Now they’ve been caught sellingourguns inourterritory? Whether it was intentional and they wanted the kid to get busted, or they’re hoping to antagonize us into starting a war with them, who knows. Either way, we can’t continue to let them go unchecked for much longer.

“So, what do you wanna do?” I ask, drawing him out of his thoughts. He looks at me, a determined resolve in his eyes.

“We show them exactly who they’re messing with.”

***

After holing ourselves up in the office for the rest of the night with a bottle of whiskey, we have a plan in place, and the next night three separate teams, led by Cain, myself, and Marcus, head out to the three remaining territories in downtown Black Creek that we don’t yet own. They’re under the control of small, no-name gangs that have barely been blips on our radar, but seizing control of all of the downtown area will mean we officially own more of the town than Grim, andthatwill piss him off. Since The Feral Beasts left town, Grim Bastards have been the ultimate powerhouse of the city—excluding the Antonellis, but they don’t give a shit about Black Creek. They settled here because of the access provided by the docks, not because they wanted to take the city as theirs. Hell, they already have their own successful empire across the river. What the fuck would they want with a shithole like Black Creek? The Antonellis let the city go to waste after The Feral Beasts. They didn’t give a shit that streets were being picked over by every worthless asshole with a gun or that someone like Grim was hoarding territory like baseball cards. But I care;wecare.

With every bit of land we seize as our own, we send our men out to fix it up or to patrol the streets and protect the citizens, and ultimately restore Black Creek to some semblance of its former glory before The Feral Beasts ever got their corrupted claws into it and tore it apart.

The street is dead as I climb out of the car, meeting my team at the hood as we look around Bedlam territory. Despite the quiet peacefulness of the night air, I slip my gun out of the back of my pants and flick off the safety as I scan our surroundings. Bedlam land is in the southern suburbs of the city. Most of it is vacant now, and as I look around at the derelict homes, long since abandoned, I can see why. Roofs have collapsed inwards, and most houses are missing their windows. All of the shop fronts we passed were shuttered up or empty. Anyone who lived here deserted the town while they still could. No one remains except junkies and vagrants, hiding in the shells of what I imagine were once happy homes. The place is like a ghost town, and I’m man enough to admit it gives me the heebie-jeebies. It reminds me of the time I trailed Red out here when she was on a Reaper job, causing a small smile to lift my lips.

“Their clubhouse is one street over,” Granger—one of Cain’s initial Rejects—states.

Acknowledging that I’ve heard him, I indicate for my team of four men—Razor, Granger, Bones, and Rampage—to follow me as we head down an alley onto the next street. Dressed in all-black, we merge with the shadows, all of us on high alert in case we run into trouble. We’re not anticipating much resistance, though. Despite their name, Bedlam has never caused any major issues. At least, not for us.

Reaching the end of the alley, I peer around the corner, immediately spotting what must be the Bedlam clubhouse. It’s gotta be the only building within a mile radius that has any actual life about it. There’s no raging party like there was the night we attacked the Satans, but unlike the other darkened or boarded up windows we’ve passed, every single window is lit up in the building across the road and one block down from us. A bored-looking, middle-aged man sits in a chair outside the front door, smoke trailing up into the air from a cigarette dangling from his lips.

As I stand and watch, there doesn’t appear to be any other security measures in place, and I have to hold back a scoff at how fucking easy this is going to be. Fucking child’s play.

“Bones,” I whisper over my shoulder.

The kid moves to stand beside me, peering around the corner while I talk in his ear. When I’m finished, he gives a quick nod of his head, telling me he understands the game plan before stepping confidently onto the street. With his hands in his pockets, looking like any other eighteen-year-old looking for a night of debauchery and trouble, he saunters down the street, whistling the tune ofWe Are The Champions.

I chuckle under my breath, shaking my head as he closes in on the guard. He’s one building down when the idiot finally lifts his head, watching Bones cautiously.

“Yo, man,” I hear Bones call out. He’s far enough away that it’s a strain to hear him, and his following words are nothing more than a murmur. I don’t need to hear what he has to say, though, because, in the next second, he has the sucker in a headlock. His face turns blue as the rest of us come out of the alley and quickly cross the road to the clubhouse. By the time we arrive, the man is lying unconscious at Bones’ feet and the kid is grinning like he’s having the time of his life. “That was fun.”

I roll my eyes, chuckling. I’d be concerned if I hadn’t heard the horror stories about his childhood and what he was subjected to in that fucking compound. But all of the kids are like him. They crave the bloodshed. Love the adrenaline rush. It’s how they were raised. We’re just lucky enough that most of them still had their humanity somewhat intact. Despite their penchant for violence, they’re good kids. Every single one of them. They still know right from wrong, even if they have no reservations about blurring moral lines.

Rounding on the others, a seriousness falls over us as we stare at the front of the building, taking in the old Chinese lantern and broken sign above the door. The name of the restaurant is faded beyond recognition, but theclosedsign is still stuck to the frosted glass window pane.

I pull my neck warmer up to cover the lower half of my face, displaying the signature skeleton of the Reaper Rejects, and wait for the others to follow suit.

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