Page 6 of Dangerous Silence
I brought the ice pick down on his forehead, piercing it through the skull. The pick squished through his tissues, blood gathering at the edges of the instrument. The silence that followed washed through the room. No more whistling noise. No more blubbering pawn. Sometimes, the pain was so intense that they gave up on screaming. Power always surged through me when that happened, making my dick hard. But I couldn’t stand the whining and sniveling; it always seemed like it would never end. That’s when I knew it was time.
I rolled my shoulders, then let my red-painted hands rest on the table.
This workroom,myworkroom, had been in the family for generations. My great, great grandfather had built it for his brother to use as a space for enforcing. Made of solid concrete, soundproof, and over the years, decorated on the outside until it was camouflaged by the surrounding woods. There was no noise inside. Only the hum of the electric lights. The rustle of the cloth wiping my pick clean. The soft clicks as I laid my tools down on the table.
My brothers, though they had killed too, liked to brag about my capabilities, as a way to keep people in line. Axe, the killer. Axe, the Adler family’s enforcer. But to me, enforcing, torturing, killing, disposing, were simply parts of my job description. A career in the mafia. The civilians out there, going about their daily lives, didn’t think about what was going on beyond their bubbles. But seventy-five hundred people died in the United States each day. Why shouldn’t a number of them be taken out by my hands?
It was a cycle. Life started, it went, then it came to an end. It would end for me too one day, and I would be ready for it.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I let out a heavy sigh, then answered without a word.
“Any names yet?” Derek asked.
“Cannon,” I said.
“Huh. Still Cannon.” The microphone scratched, the murmur of the traffic in the background. He must have been on the road. “Keep working on it,” he said.
We were at war with the Midnight Miles Corporation, with Miles Muro himself. I never dealt with the politics, but I knew the basics. Through the stupidity of my half-brother, Ethan, we had offended Muro by not delivering a captive we had promised. After that, he pretended to play nice, but insulted us with bad trades, then ended our alliance by sending in undercover soldiers to kill us.
My job, as the lead enforcer, was to figure out Muro’s security situation. Part of that was finding out who Cannon was, and getting rid of him. Once Cannon was replaced, Muro’s army would be at a disadvantage. And that’s when we would strike.
“Turns out Muro’s got major footing in our state, and some in Woodlands.” That was the capital for the next state over. “Small agreements all over the United States, but mostly controls Brackston and Woodlands. Sounds like he wants to control Sage City before he deepens his hold elsewhere.”
And we were standing in his way. “And the rest?” I asked.
“He’s been causing shit everywhere else. Enough to piss people off, and big enough to scare the shit out of them. I sent Ethan to negotiate.” Ethan had been on the run since stealing his woman from what should have been Muro’s captivity. It was unlikely that Ethan would be able to secure assistance, but Derek and I both knew that he could help form better relationships. They stepped aside while we took down Muro, and in return, we would work out favorable arrangements.
Derek sighed. “It might take some digging to find people on our side.”
Which was Derek’s and Wil’s job.
Once the war was over, I could go back to being creative. Killing Muro’s men was never a drawn-out affair. I had to work quickly. Extract information. Dispose. And when Muro was gone, I could go back to being alone. The only time I was ever alone these days was in the workroom, right after a death. And still, there were several guards waiting around the perimeter of the workroom.
“Good luck,” I said. My phone beeped, and I glanced at the screen.Shepblinked back at me. A strange sensation took hold of my stomach. I hadn’t heard from him in years. Over a decade. The random call wasn’t a good sign. “I have to go.”
“Keep working on Cannon,” Derek said. “Let us know what you need.”
I clicked over to Shep’s call.
“Axe,” he said, his voice raspy. He hacked, backing away from the mic, barking up mucus. Once he finished, he continued: “You need to come here.”
“On my way.”
Shep lived on the other side of Sage City, a few miles away from the coast and far enough into the city that you only smelled the ocean on a warm breeze. His house was situated in a quiet neighborhood, one that he had moved to right before retiring from the mafia. A few cars were parked out front, some I recognized from family and friends. A yellow house with white trim, a blue chair on the front porch. On the side table, a tray of cigarette butts, the ash spilling out.
I knocked. An older man in his sixties answered, then motioned me inside.
In the living room, Uncle Ray acknowledged me, then stepped into the kitchen. The other men looked up, then followed him. A nurse was looking at the monitors at Shep’s side. And lying on a hospital bed, was Shep. The man I had outgrown by the time I was fifteen, shriveled in bed, like a sun-dried peach. His spotty white hair growing in patches on his head. His sunken eyes, purple with exhaustion.
“Axe,” Shep said, his voice hoarse. He barely lifted his eyes to mine. I took the folding chair by his side. He inched a finger toward me. “I’m dying.”
That was clear. The strange part was that this one of the most notorious mafia men in Sage City, dying from a disease, rather than a hit. It didn’t seem right. Where was the gash in his side? The bullet in his head? Then again, Shep hadn’t been a hitman in many, many years. Still, it wasn’t easy to watch his body wasting away.
“I want you to watch Demi,” Shep said. “Marry her.”
Marry? I knew that had been a promise made back when Demi was born, but that couldn’t have been a true possibility now. How could we jump straight into being husband and wife?
And how do you tell that to a man on his deathbed?
