Page 5 of The Devil's Playground

I’ll do whatever the fuck I have to to get that peace for Link. And if that means standing here when it’s twenty degrees out, just about freezing my nuts off, I’ll do that, too.

There’s gotta be at least four inches of snow behind the warehouse from yesterday’s storm. That icy layer is cracked beneath the weight of Garrett’s body, the blood shimmering against the unbroken plane of ice next to him that cradles the former informant’s chest. And while the snow makes it easier to find the shell-casings, that’s about the only thing it’s good far.

Snow tracks prints. Vivid red blood spatter stands out against the white powder.

It’s a clean-up nightmare, and we’re out here longer than I want to be.

Killian’s the one who found the baggie of Breeze during the first sweep. Doesn’t take a true crime genius to figure out that while Garrett had a rep for being a snitch for the Sinners, there was a reason he drifted this close to the East End—and it wasn’t for intel. The Libellula Family are responsible for the drugs in Springfield, and this seems like a buy gone bad.

“Okay, fellas,” I call out once the body’s been moved and Case used a shovel to disturb any bit of bloody snow he could find. “Let’s finish up and get the fuck out of here.”

My hands are numb as I cup my mouth, letting my voice carry on the winter wind. There’s no one besides us back here, and even if there was? The locals ignored a man being shot and left for dead in the snow. In Springfield, they couldn’t care less about a crew of guys cleaning it up after the fact.

Especially since, even if they called the cops, odds are they’d be on the phone with someone on either Link’s payroll—or Damien’s.

There are two cars parked next to the van: a basic, boring black sedan, and a basic, boring silver one. The van itself is white, blending in with the snowy backdrop; so long as you don’t see the city grime turning the edges of it black and slushy.

Garrett’s body is loaded up in the back of the van with All-Thumbs getting the shit end of the stick, sitting back there with it. Marco’s got the wheel, Case sitting next to him. Like me, Killian drove to the scene in his own ride. His is silver. Mine is the black one.

As the head of the crew, I’ll be the last one on the scene. I wait for the three younger soldiers to get situated in the van first, then for Killian to start up his car before I even think about heading for mine.

No matter how much my toes feel like rocks in my loafers.

Once Marco turns on the engine, he rolls down the window and raps the top of the van. Case bitches about him letting the cold air in, but he ignores his partner.

“Hey, yo,” he says instead, talking to me and Killian. “We’re heading to the Playground once we put Fink on ice again.” We have our own quasi-morgue storage where we put bodies when the ground’s too frozen to bury them right away. That’s where I’ve decided Garrett will go for now. Once it warms up a little, he’ll be nothing more than a memory to Springfield. “You guys wanna come with?”

Killian answers before I do. “Sorry, but I promised Jas I’d be home as soon as I finish up here. Maybe next time.”

Killian and Jasmine got married about a year ago now. For the first few months, the other guys gave him a gentle ribbing over how devoted he is to her, but when Twig—fucking Twig who didn’t learn to shut his mouth all the way up until Link blew his cock off—went too far one time and Killian knocked him out with a well-aimed punch, the other guys decided his wife was off-limits.

As she fucking should be.

Marco nods, wisely not say a word to Killian before he jerks his chin my way. “What about you, Rolls?”

Good question.

Up until the beginning of November, that would’ve been a no-brainer. If Link didn’t have a job for me special, and none of the Sinners needed me to step in between them and our boss, my back-up gig was running the Devil’s Playground. Officially, I manage the place. Unofficially, Jessie Byers does, and I sit in my assigned booth off the dance floor, keeping my eyes on things when Link can’t.

The other Sinners like me being approachable. Compared to Link, I definitely am, and part of that means giving them access to me. The Playground isn’t just our money-maker. It’s our headquarters, with a club and a brothel and a casino out front, and the rest of our operation filling the buildings attached to it. We own the entire block the Playground sits on—and a good chunk of the surrounding streets, too, one way or another—and anything a good business needs, we have.

Me? I prefer the limelight. I don’t mind everyone in the club knowing who I am, and even if they don’t jump when I enter the way they do when Link does, I’m respected there—and welcomed.

But then, in November… well, I still spend a lot of my time at the Playground, but that’s only because I have a reason to be there now. When I don’t?

There’s somewhere else I’d rather be.

“I don’t know, Marco. Let’s see. How ‘bout… heads I take a rain-check, tails I join you.”

Pulling a quarter from my pocket, I give it a practiced flip. It goes about a foot high before arcing, landing in my palm. I slap it against the back of my other hand, snorting to myself when I see George Washington’s profile peering up at me.

I tilt it so that Marco can see what it landed on, then palm it. “Looks like I’m gonna have to pass this time. But you have fun without me. Tell Jessie I said you get two rounds on the house to get the chill out of your bones, yeah?”

Case hoots. “‘Atta boy, Rolls.”

A muffled voice comes from the back of the van. “Since you’re wimpin’ out early, does that mean one of us can have your rounds?”

“Sure,” I say with a shrug. I can just imagine All-Thumbs’ greedy expression in the back, and how quickly it’ll slide off his bearded face when I add, “One for Marco. One for Case. None for the big mouth who thinks I can’t handle the cold when he’s the one who asked to be on bag duty.”

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