Page 66 of Along for the Ride

Killers recognize killers, I guess.

Karson draws his blade, and I grab his wrist to keep him from stabbing the dog. “Leave him,” I say.

“Remember what you’re here for, Gentry. This dog can be used against us later.”

He’s right. But if there is a god, and if he’s watching, we need all the karma we can get. I rub the dog’s head, grab his collar, and look at Karson. This dog can be used against someone...

But it won’t be us.

“Fass!” I say, and the dog lunges forward to get to Karson, his paws kicking up dirt as I keep him in place.

“Hope you know the ‘off’ command too,” Karson says as he takes a step back.

“Fuss!” I say, and the dog goes from grizzly to teddy in a near instant, though his focus remains on Karson.

“When the fuck did you learn German commands?”

“I was looking into getting my own trained dog for my business before I had to take on a different kind of dog.” We start toward the back of the house, and the dog remains at my side, his collar jangling with every step.

“Bring the murder mutt. What could go wrong?” Karson quips.

I remove the collar and drop it to the grass.

We lurk in shadows as we crawl the perimeter of the unmanned front yard. When we reach the back of the house, the thick scent of cigarette smoke hangs in the air, and three men stand beneath a light, not two. Only one of them has a radio, though.

I look at Karson. “If you can avoid it, don’t use the guns, and don’t let them get to the radio.”

Karson throws his blade up and catches it. “No problem.”

“Fass,” I snarl toward the dog. He races toward the men.

“Goddamn it, I told him it was just us!” a man screams, and the group scatters.

The dog latches on to the man in the middle. Another runs right into us and before he can do anything, Karson sends his blade through his eye socket. He pulls it out and shoves it into the soft space below the man’s jaw, using so much force that it emerges from the bridge of his nose.

“Fass!” the man on the ground yells, which only continues to fuel the dog. Idiot. The murder mutt releases his leg and goes for his throat.

I grip the scruff of his neck. “Fuss!”

He releases the man, and I reroute him toward the dark figure running away. I give the command and release him. The man with the throat wound goes for his radio. He hits the button, sending a squeal over my own receiver, but I straddle him and use my knife to finish off what the dog couldn’t. My blade cuts along his neck like butter, spreading the tissue until it creates a gaping hole as his head separates from his neck. He paws at my hands for a few seconds, then he stills.

Snarls come from around the corner, and I follow the sounds. When I turn the corner, the guard’s gun is aimed at the dog with a death grip on his calf. Karson flips his knife, catches it, and sends it through the air. The blade sinks between the man’s eyes, and his upper body falls backward. True to his name, the murder mutt refuses to let go, even once the fight has been won.

“Fuss!” I command, gripping his scruff until he releases the man. I back up with him and pat his bloody head. I recognize that bloodlust in his eyes. We’re not too different. Someone had to train him to do what I was born to do, but we’re pretty much the same. “Platz.” His belly hits the ground at my command. “Bleib.” I turn to Karson. “When did you learn to throw knives?”

“How do you think I killed all those squirrels and shit when we were kids?” Karson says with a shrug. “Couldn’t buy myself a gun at ten. Thank god.” He leans down and rips his knife from the man’s forehead. “If people didn’t hear any of the barking, I’d be shocked. Gun time?”

I remove my pistol from its holster, and Karson does the same. We keep our weapons at our sides as we walk toward the wall of windows with a heavy-duty door beside it. I peer through the glass and look around the mansion’s interior, but it’s empty. These windows are a really stupid feature. Give up safety to overlook the hills behind this place? Wise.

Karson comes up behind me, smoking the dead man’s cigarette.

“Really?” I ask.

“Shame to let it go to waste.” He looks back toward the dog. “What about him?”

“He’ll stay put until someone releases him. He’ll be safer out here than in there.”

We expose ourselves as we walk along the windows and rip open the back door, tracking mud across the expensive rugs as we enter. Fancy art pieces line the walls, and marble everything greets me everywhere I look. George is literally everything we hate. Taking Leana only elevated that hatred to a personal level.

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