Page 12 of Massacre Monday
Landon rolls his blue eyes and shoves in another handful of gummy bears. “Nah, just figured you were cleaning up after fucking Elina.”
That one almost makes me laugh, thinking about how uptight she pretends to be, but everyone knows she loves to roll in the dirt. Though I did take another dip in the river today, I can’t tell Landon Turner I did it while thinking of the pink-cheeked girl with fire blazing behind her big eyes.
That memory is mine alone.
She looked so fucking sad that I had to cheer her up. When her plush lips touched my dick, I figured out quickly she’s not only sullen, but innocent. That made the beast inside of me take over. Carnal instinct living deep in my DNA roared to life until it becameaneedto be her first. Savage thoughts plagued mymind. Ones of wanting to give her the experience that she was obviously dripping with desperation for. Well, she got it.
All eight and three-quarters inches.
“You want some of these, or should I take them?”
I can barely contain my groan of exasperation. “Your fingerprints are all over the bag. Put them in your fucking pocket.”
He chokes on a bite. “They are not. Look.” When he holds up a hand, he shows off a clear vinyl glove by wiggling all his fingers. Hard to see in the dim light coming from the bathroom.
“Fine. Good job for remembering hownotto be an idiot,” I say with a shake of my head.
His wide mouth grins as he chews the rest of the bears while I check my watch. So fucking bored.
My fingers itch to grab my newphone that I had to pick up today becausesomeonetossed my old one in the river. It’s become a habit, I know, but I slide it out of my pants, tap on the screen, and search for the video of pink cheeks from the cloud backup. Then I remember where I am, who I’m with. With a huff, I close out the programs and shove the device into my back pocket.
“New toy?” Lan finally finishes his bite, and his eyes glaze over with envy.
“Yep.” Irritated and hoping to distract him off the topic, I bend to study some ugly sculpture in the corner of the bedroom. It’s supposed to be one of the gods, I think. PerhapsBonakanoshimself, but it’s a terrible interpretation. Not that I’d know. I’m no art critic, but it looks like a mess to my untrained eyes. Probably goes for millions on some obscure auction, knowing how rich and tasteless these assholes are.
“I’ve been thinking about getting one of those.”
When I glance up, confused why Lan would want a shitty statue, he points toward my phone in my jeans.
“Ah, I’m sure you have.” Whatever I’ve gotten in life, Landon had to have. It’s bad enough my younger brothers copy me, but having their best friend do so is annoying.
At twenty-four, I’m too old for this shit.
The overly ornate dresser shifts as I lean against it and heave a sigh while scratching the back of my neck. “It should be time.”
Landon checks the clock next to the bed and shakes his head. “Two minutes.”
“Let’s just go now.”
His eyes widen so much that I see the whites even in the dark. With a hushed whisper, he pleads, “Dude…wecan’t.”
Under my breath, I grumble dissent while pacing the thick carpet in a worn pattern. If only I hadn’t gotten injured freshman year, I’d have graduated by now instead of being in fifth year. But then, I would havegraduatedby now and been forced to do what I’ve been assigned to do: run Cardell Enterprises, marry some pristineappointedI don’t want, and live my father’s life.
An invisible noose tightens around my throat at the thought.
“It’s time,” Lan says in a voice like a beautiful angel, and I can breathe easy again.
From my hip holster, I slide out the custom handle and screw on the silencer, then step up to the king-sized bed. I take one side and Lan the other. We nod at each other, place the barrels between the couple’s eyes, and shoot.
Neither of the bodies move much. We dosed them with enough drugs so they wouldn’t wake up, but the assignment was bullets to the brain. We don’t ask questions about who these people are, nor do I really want to know.
As he slides his gun back into his holster, Lan says, “I think they had some jellybeans downstairs, too.”
The night is crisp,with the air turning to fall as it whips against my skin. We ride side by side to the Viper Venom’s hangout at Warehouse 9, my Ducati Lamborghini purring beneath my balls. As we approach the rendezvous point, the Bluetooth in my helmet picks up my brother’s microphone.
“Everything go okay?” Aiden asks.
“Yeah, other than sugar freak here trying to raid their pantry.”
