Page 31 of Fatal Collision
Across the room, Noah’s shoulders shake with amusement as I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Not a-fucking-gain.
Slowly rolling my head in Maverick’s direction, I say, “Really, bro? Always with that tune, man. I just wanna kill a traitor without the song and dance.”
Cash points at us with a laugh. “Ha! I see what you did there. Nice.”
“You’re a spoilsport, Ravencourt.” Maverick makes a point of turning the volume up until the tinny music blasts obscenely loud. “What’s a little murder without showmanship. Gotta entertain the audience, am I right?”
Honestly, they’re all kids. The lot of them.
I turn back around, ignoring Kennie’s loud protests, and quickly wrap the plastic wrap around his beat-up face several times. Once I’m done, I tear off the strip, then step back to let Noah record the killing for the founding fathers.
Kennie’s body convulses, and he jerks and thrashes against the ropes, the clingfilm taut against his mouth.
When we were younger, I found it interesting to watch someone die, but now it’s just another task to be completed. Kennie is just another snake who thought he could get away with insulting the society.
It’s a death sentence to fuck a founding father’swife, for sure, but Kennie’s real mistake had little to do with sticking his limp dick in someone old enough to be his mother. He stole the relic. That action alone condemned him to hell.
As seconds stretch into minutes, Maverick hums along to the beat, pretending he’s a composer and Kennie’s violent death is his orchestra. I’ve never known anyone who loves theatrics more than him.
Eventually, after a long wait, Kennie stops thrashing, and his body slumps. Noah forwards the recording to me while I call for cleanup, and I’ve barely had time to hang up before my father’s name flashes on the screen.
Here we go.
“We’re having dinner with the senator and his wife tomorrow night. I expect you and Cash to attend,” he says when I pick up.
My teeth grind, and I turn away from the room.
“We’re busy,” I grit out.
He tried to talk us into it the other day, but there’s only so fucking far we’re willing to crawl for him.
“The man you killed.” Dad’s voice is a low threat. “He thought he could stand against me. Now he’s gone. Remember, son… No one stands against me or the society. Not even blood.”
Shoulders tensing, I grip the phone harder. The old man seems to have forgotten that it was I who killed the traitor.
Me! Not him.
The deep rumble of my father’s voice brings me back from my racing thoughts.
“Senator Blackwell offers the society protection in exchange for certain…favors.You know this.”
Unfortunately, I know it all too well.
I close my eyes and inhale a controlled breath before I do something that will get me killed.
My measured words slip through my gritted teeth. “I’ve told you,Father.I won’t keep doing this.Wewon’t. Enough is enough.”
He ignores my statement. “I’ll see you both tomorrow night, son. Don’t be a minute late.”
The call ends, and I almost hurl my phone at the wall in my rage. Cash and I lock eyes when I turn around, and he grits his teeth.
He knows exactly what the call was about. What it’salwaysabout.
Dance monkey, dance.
For once, though, he looks resigned instead of angry, meandering out without looking at anyone.
