It felt like a lifetime. I felt like I’d aged a lifetime.
We interacted like a pair of robots, numbly going about the business of what you do when two of the closest people in your life are killed. Jed, the prick, had the balls to actually tell us not to leave town, to call us “persons of interest” in the investigation. If June hadn’t hung on to me, I would have killed him. That was three days ago. That’s the last time I remember actually feeling anything.
Right now, I felt blank.
I only knew I wanted blood.
“Axe. They all call you Axe here.” June’s voice broke me out of my thoughts.
I nodded. “It’s been my name for years, June.”
“Axe,” she said again, her voice flat. I wasn’t sure I liked how it sounded when she said it. “It suits you."
“Things won’t be the same after we do this,” I said. “I won’t be the same.”
“You're not the same now."
“I’ve been down this road before, June.” I needed to warn her. What this did to me, it wasn’t good. It wouldn’t be good. Killing people wasn’t good for me.
She nodded. "Cade. Axe. Things won't be the same again."
My voice cracked. “You might not like who I become.”
“You forget, Axe. I’ve been through dark places.”
“And you chose light.” I said. “You chose to walk the straight and narrow.”
“Not always,” she said. “And not now. I know what I’m choosing. I’m choosing you. Whether it’s to walk in darkness or in light, I’m choosing to do it with you.”
“You might regret that choice,” I said.
“Then it’s mine to regret.”
“This is the place?” Crunch asked. We sat out of sight, in an alley around the corner from the building in one of Benicio’s cars, a dark SUV that branded us immediately as dealers. Not that there were many people around here to notice; this wasn't exactly an area you wanted to be out in, not at night. Benicio's muscle was with us, silent as usual.
“This is it," Blaze said.
“Do we know Tink will show up for the buy?” Crunch asked.
“If you’re a meth-head and the shady dealer you're buying from on the down-low, outside the MC, tells you he has a sweet score, what do you do?" Blaze asked. "You get your little crackhead ass down to your dealer’s shithole of a place. He'll fucking show."
"You ready to do this?" Crunch looked at me, his expression made all the more menacing by the shadows darkening his face.
"Let's go."
Benicio's men were trained well, I thought, watching them work. It wasn't exactly difficult to get inside the dealer's place, since the dealer opened the fucking door up like he didn't have a care in the world. Tink's dealer wasn't the sharpest tool, either, and he'd obviously been sampling his own merchandise. But Benicio's men moved with the kind of precision and bearing that said they were ex-special forces of some kind, not American.
I pressed my nine millimeter to the dealer's temple. He was shaky, pale, sweat beading on his forehead. "You hear anything from Tink yet?"
He put his hands on the air. "Come on, man, you guys said all I had to do was text him and get him over here. I told you he's coming. Why you gotta be all crazy with the guns and shit?"
I patted him down, handed his piece to Crunch. "You got anything else on you?"
The dealer sighed. "My ankle, man."
I nodded toward one of Benicio's man, who finished the pat down, and removed the knife he had strapped to his ankle. "At least you're honest. Sit."
We didn't have to wait long before Tink knocked on the door. "Hey, man." He poked his head just inside. "You didn't answer. You here?"
When he saw the weapons trained on him, a look of realization registered on his face, followed by terror as he looked back and forth at Crunch and I.
I smiled. "Hey, Tink. Remember us? You've been looking for us, haven't you? Well, here we are. It's like a goddamned reunion."
Two of Benicio's men grabbed him roughly, pulled him across the kitchen, and pushed him down into a chair at the filthy table.
Almost immediately, he began whining. "Mad Dog said you betrayed the club. He ordered us to find you. I didn't want to touch your wife! Mud was the one who killed the old man - "
Before I could move toward him, Crunch punched him, square in the face. Tink made a gurgling sound and doubled over, clutching at his neck. I grabbed Tink's hair, pulled his head back.
"Hand me that rag," I said, shoving it down his throat. I didn't want to hear anything else from him.
I heard the dealer say something, protesting. "Shut him up," I ordered. One of Benicio's men put a round in his forehead, the sound muffled by the silencer on his weapon.
I should have been completely enraged in that moment, but instead I felt the same familiar sense of calm descend over me that I had felt when I was a sniper.