Page 9 of The Stallion
“Because you think you can do whatever the fuck you want, by abusing women like cheap secondhand fuck toys. That’s why you’re fucking here.” Alec seethed, cutting Avery off.
His hands balled into tight, white-knuckled fists as pure rage started to blind his judgment. My sponsor's calm and collected composure was slipping away by the second.
I tightened my hold on the gun, curious if he would just snap entirely—ripping it right out of my hand, then killing Avery himself.
“I don’t know why it took the Slate family as long as it did to sentence your sorry ass, but by the fucking gods, I’m glad I get to be the one to witness your final breath.” Alec aggressively shoved me forward from behind, and I aimed the gun at Avery. The sight set directly between his wiry, unkempt brows. “Rot in fucking hell.”
That was all the confirmation I needed from Alec.
A loud bang ricocheted through the cement room as Avery’s body immediately slumped in the chair. Dead.
The silence was deafening as we stared down at his lifeless body, the blood from the bullet hole dripping down onto his dress shirt and slacks.
I don’t know how long we stood there, but after what felt like several awkward, long fucking minutes, I flipped the safety on the gun and threw it onto the metal table with a loud clang before turning on my heel and making my way toward the exit, hearing Alec’s heavy footsteps right alongside mine.
As we approached the elevator, Alec tugged on my arm, and I stopped, turning to face him. His eyes were all but empathetic.
“If you’ve even, for just a fucking second, thought that our work was sick, twisted, or barbaric…” He swallowed hard, collecting himself from the rage spiral he’d entered. “That son of a bitch right there is proof that what we do means something. We aren’t holy by any means, fuck no—but we’re not senseless murderers either. Everything we do has a purpose.”We have a purpose.
I believed every word Alec said as I chewed on my cheek, taking one last glimpse over his shoulder at the limp body of a man who crossed far too many lines for his own good.
My father was right; it does get easier.
Not that it already wasn’t.
I was born for this life and would enjoy it to the fullest extent.
Chapter 4
Dallas
INITIATION:TESTTHREE.
It took days for Alec to return to normal after his final face-to-face with Avery.
My father told me he had never seen Alec so worked up over what was supposed to be a simple assignment.
If Alec had taken the kill from me that night, I wouldn’t have been the only one screwed—him for fucking up my test and me for not spilling the blood required for my initiation.
I’ve learned more in the last two weeks than I ever did in the years I spent reviewing the history of the MUR with my father. He had omitted several details about the organization, but I fully understood that it wasn’t without good fucking reason. The big picture wasn’t as black and white as it was initially painted.
I could easily be dark, fucked up, and relentless if it meant putting more fuckers like Avery six feet under.
Fuck the moral high ground.
We were already standing at its summit.
“Wrap it up, boys; you’re done in thirty.” Alec’s voice could be heard clearly over the PA system in the main theater.
Chase, Nash, Noah, and I were rehearsing for tomorrow’s last-minute set change, with sweat soaking through our tank tops and dripping all over the stage.
We’d been at it for fucking hours, and I was ready to get the fuck out of here.
“How much longer, Dallas?” Chase probed as we all stepped down from the stage and started packing up our shit to head out for the day.
No show was scheduled for this evening, so we decided to take advantage of having the theater to ourselves for the day by practicing early instead of staying into the night.
“You’re just waiting on your third, right?” Nash chimed in, tossing me one of the water bottles we had left on ice.
