Page 87 of Insidious Heart

A little love mark from the walking blasphemy.

I’ll make sure to bring it up next time I’m throwing my dick in his face.

With a satisfied chuckle, I pull up my jeans, stuffing said dick into the front and doing up the fly before I finish getting dressed.

I got a late start to my day.

I’m not an early riser necessarily, my line of work means long late nights and odd hours throughout the day, but I try to wake up before noon whenever I can in order to get shit done.

Today was not one of those days, though.

Between Beauregard’s party, Sack-linski, The Ripper, and a meeting that almost made me feel like a bonafide member of the Wulven Kings, I didn’t get home until well after 8 a.m., and by then I was too tired to do anything but faceplant in the middle of my bed and sleep for nearly twelve hours.

I didn’t even get to jerk off.

Not until I got up this evening, anyway, because that was the first thing I did after I woke up with images in my mind of Stevie riding my fingers, her tight little body writhing against me in that dark hallway, my baby dove smiling up at me after she came. They were so vivid, in fact, that I had to stroke my dick a second time in the shower a little while later, but that was after I’d gotten my day started.

I threw on some shorts and sneakers, went out into the yard and moved tires, organized scrap, and hauled chains for Little John—my makeshift workout something I do daily. Then I ran the couple miles to his house to give him everything he needed on Anthony Salinski as proof of a job well done. Which is when he told me who took out the hit on the pencil dick motherfucker that liked to hurt children.

His ex-wife.

I was flabbergasted.

The dipshit’s former high school sweetheart got in touch with John in order to have her exmurderedby a hit man.

Talk about a woman scorned.

But my mentor elaborated, explaining that even though they split, Anthony was still harassing her; sending her threatening letters, keying her car, and showing up at her work to stare from across the street. He even went as far as to send some of his buddies on the force to performwellness checksafter gettingreportsof unfit conditions for their daughter. So, since she knew she’d get no help from anyone at the local police department and was terrified word would get back to him from an outside one, Tiffany Salinski turned to the only option she thought she had.

And she was probably right.

Anthony was a total douche canoe, and he was escalating in his other ventures—hence the duffel bagfullof child porn, underwear, and a fucking receipt for a nine-year-old girl he’d apparently purchased—there’s no doubt Salinski would have flipped his shit and done something drastic to hurt her or her daughter.

John and I talked shop for a bit after he blew my mind with that info, disappointing shop because outside of Beau he’s got nothing for me at the moment so, I split to check up on the bastard.

I stripped down, showered, then chain smoked while listening tohoursof Beau the Butcher’s tapped phone calls and bugged conversations. And let me tell you, that fat bastard ispissedat the dumbass Demon Seed who fucked up his party the other night.

So pissed that Beau had him beat again after Elias had already done a number on him.

Ultimately, it makes no difference to me how the Demon Seeds’ president handles his members, but what I did find interesting was the fact he’s using that shithead as a peace offering to the Kings.

Which is why I’m currently getting dressed and ready to head out the door.

Beau has been sitting at a diner just north of Sabine Woods, one that’s closer to Birch Creek than he usually ventures, for the better part of an hour now and he just got a call that explains why. The disgusting bastard is waiting for Jesus to show up, and apparently, the messiah has been taking his sweet time.

Knowing he’s in transit, I decided to put the fact that I’ll be up all night to good use and make my way to the diner in order to see what, if anything, I can get from this impromptu dinner date because I’m sure after how busy the party turned out to be, Beau has some shit to talk about.

I stick a cigarette between my teeth as I tug down my hoodie and slide my jacket on, lighting it before I tuck my hunting knife into my boot, then hiding a SIG inside my sweatshirt for good measure.

My plan is to stay in the shadows, to go unseen as usual, but after my last two kills, I have no intention of being forced to fuck around again. And if that means shit goes down and I end up shooting Beau Williams, so be it.

Checking myself over one more time, I grab a burner phone from my stash, power it on, then walk out of my RV. I do a quick check at one of the neighboring semi-truck trailers and make sure Anthony’s belongings—namely his clothes and left femur—are cooking in the vats of chemicals the way they need to before closing them up and walking through the yard to pick my ride for the night.

Only to find Little John parking a shiny new piece of shit Ford Fiesta a few feet away.

“Oh, this is fancy.” I smirk as I open the driver side door for the bear of a man. “And you look adorable behind the wheel.”

John frowns at me as he unfolds himself from the seat. “Can’t hire anyone to do this shit for me ‘cause of your crazy ass.”

---