Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 160578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 803(@200wpm)___ 642(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 803(@200wpm)___ 642(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Vaden turns an inch over his shoulder, hiding his smirk.
“You’re late.” I don’t bother looking. They bore me.
“Did you do it?” Moses advances into the living room, and Vaden puts his body between me and him, a snarl on his mouth.
Standing to my height, I glare down at Moses. “You came here to ask me if I killed your old man?”
Without answering, he hands me a phone.
I stare down at the photo. Danny Dale’s lifeless eyes peer through the lens, his forehead split in half. I shrug, handing Moses his phone back. “Impressive work. Wasn’t us.”
Moses’s jaw bounces. “Nothing happens on the streets without your go-ahead, Priest. If I find out that you’ve broken treaty—”
“—you’ll what, Moses?”
His eyes fly to Vaden. “Consider it up for debate.”
“Leave, Moses, while you still have your legs.” Vaden steps into his space.
Rolling my eyes, I lower back to my chair as Vaden pushes Moses and his boys out of the house with a slam of the front door.
“Did you order it?” Halen’s the first to break the silence.
I clear my throat. “No. No one did.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
luna
here lies a dead flower. loveless and neglected.
Itap at the number on my watch, flipping through the group chat.
Have I been obvious with my avoidance of Priest? Probably. After Nate’s warning that he knows everything, I’ve considered the ways I could worm my way out with my head still secured on my shoulders. It’s unfortunate that despite all attempts of hating him, I find myself loving him.
My leg crosses over the other, my pointed heel directed to the front door. It has been five minutes since I’ve been here, and despite River’s warning, the Upper East Side is quiet tonight, and the house didn’t take a lot of effort to break into.
The tiny blue dot moves over the watch, stopping right when headlights beam through the curtains in the lounge. Streetlights spill through when the door opens, keys tossed into something hard.
Heavy footsteps become louder before his shadow sprawls out over the floor in front of me.
“Ah, I did wonder when this might come.” He unbuttons his coat, tossing it onto the single sofa.
I don’t answer, flicking my hand around the space. “Nice house.”
Kicking off his shoes, he moves around the room unaffected. He is. He has always been great at hiding it.
“Drink?” he asks from behind an opened cupboard, snatching a bottle of tequila and two glasses when I don’t answer him.
He lowers down onto the chair opposite me, pouring an equal amount into each one. “For old times.”
“Hmph.” I smile but it doesn’t reach my eyes, swiping the glass and running the base of my thumb over the rim. “Why’d you do it?”
He doesn’t answer, leaning further into the chair and crossing his arms in front of himself. “Simply, because at the time it was what I was told to do. I’m afraid the longer version would bore you.”
Stillness surrounds me like thick layers of fog, and I blink when my eyes burn. “I assure you, it will not.”
He has the decency to wince. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth.”
“About as much as the moissanite on her future bride’s finger.” I gesture to the photo behind me with a nudge of my head.
That gentle apology evaporates, his face hardening. “I stopped working for them a long time ago. I stuck it out until I found out that they’re as bad as everyone else. As bad as even you.”
“I doubt that.” I don’t blink.
“True…” he whispers sadly, throwing back the rest of his drink before placing it down. “I know why you’re here. I know what you do.”
I don’t answer. Jeremiah Huckleberry was a good friend of Danny Dale. One would even say his right-hand man. Until he wasn’t.
He leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “I’m going to go ahead and assume that Priest doesn’t know this little secret of how we know each other.”
Tension snaps through the room. “Why would you assume that?”
He laughs, falling back against his dining chair. “He has a little secret of his own, Luna Nox, and let me tell you, it’s much larger than the one you’re keeping from him.”
“I don’t care.” My finger glides over the metal before I loop my thumb around the familiar device.
He smiles, this time not like the last. “You’re going to.”
In a single fluid movement, the star spins through the air in a deadly harmonic pattern. The splitting sound of flesh and muscle being severed cuts through the silence, before the deep thud of his head hitting the floor.
I sit a moment. I could sit here for days and watch as the blood finally runs cold, and decomposition sets in. I’d find each passing minute satisfying.
Jeremiah wasn’t a good person. He was disloyal, sure, but most importantly, an enemy to your enemy is an enemy to all.