AllFreeNovel
Share Us
* * *
The plan was to tell Brad about Nolan this morning. Benson has fucked with my plan. Part of me is pissed off. The other part is relieved. How the fuck do we tell him who Nolan is? And in some fucked-up turn of events, I find out now that he’s suddenly all worried about possible breached condoms?
Jesus.
On top of that, Higham’s been saying things he shouldn’t be saying to Brad, but since Higham doesn’t know about the situation with Nolan, I don’t suppose I can hold it against him. Neither am I in a position to go ape shit on Higham’s arse, since I’m calling in all the favors he owes me and is ever likely to owe me in order to keep my wife out of prison. What I do want to know, though, is how Higham knows about Bean? What’s Bean said? Why did Higham ask Brad about it? Surely Bean’s not dumb enough to throw our names out there. And yet Brad hasn’t mentioned the call from Higham or asked who Bean is. I’m putting that down to the hour. He’s probably not woken up yet. Which means I need to figure this out fast before Brad comes at me with his questions.
But first, let’s deal with this mess.
We pull up outside a flashy, modern house in a suburb on a tree-lined street on the west side of town. I pout up at Benson’s house. “Mine’s bigger than yours,” I muse, slipping out of the back, rolling my shoulder, my arm still fucking numb. I throw a scowl back at Brad as he gets out, rubbing his nose. He’s lucky I’d never kill him.
James checks his gun as he joins me. “There’s tire marks in the road back there,” he says casually, making me look back.
“This doesn’t look like the kind of street a resident would break any speed limits.” I cast an eye across the larger-than-average driveways. “Or park on the road.” I make my way up the path to the door, looking at all of the windows, Brad and James following.
Benson opens the door before I can knock, peeking out at us, his relief obvious. The state of his face makes me feel a bit better about my own. “I didn’t know who else to call.” He opens the door wide.
“I’m touched,” I say, stepping inside, looking up the stairs. “Where’s Barney?”
“In bed still. He was up until midnight playing on his Xbox with Daniel over the headphone things they use. He won’t stir until I drag him up for school.” He motions toward the back of the stairs. “Through there.”
Brad overtakes me with James and enters the room. “Jesus,” he breathes, as I follow behind, Lennox tailing me.
I walk in and find Brad crouched by the body of Lennox’s new hire. “I’d say he’s fired,” I muse, joining James standing over him. I grimace at the knife sticking out of his neck. “Accurate.”
“Not really,” James says. “Frantic and lucky.”
“Why’d you say that?”
“Because if you’re trained to do the job properly, you’d remove the knife.” He dips and yanks the knife out, and blood splashes from the blade, nearly catching Brad’s jeans.
“Fuck’s sake, James,” he yells, standing and stepping back. “Control your urges.”
Benson retches and turns away, and I smile. Got a better stomach than him too, although mine’s definitely aching after Brad booted me in it.
“There’s more,” Lennox says, his voice muffled from his hand over his mouth.
“More what?” James asks.
“My bedroom.”
James is off, Brad following, both their guns ready to fire. Curious, I follow them up the stairs, poking my head around a few doors on my way. I see Barney spread-eagled on his front, mouth open, dead to the world. Thank God.
I make it to the bedroom. “The fuck?” I breathe, stepping in.
“We have a live one,” Brad chimes, kicking the boot of the man propped in the corner holding his stomach. Bleeding out. Sweating. Brad crouches. “Now, who would you be?”
He dribbles and slurs, his chest pumping fast, his heart trying hard to pump what blood’s left around his body. He wouldn’t be able to talk if he wanted to. I look at the shot gun on the bed. At the footprints on the carpet. The blood everywhere, on the sheets, the floor, the doorframes. It’s a forensics dream. “Who are they, Benson?” I ask, facing him as he hovers in the doorway looking at the mess.
A sharp woosh and a click sounds.
Lennox flinches, and I look back to see Brad rising, unscrewing the silencer from his gun, the unknown man now with a hole in his head too, though arguably not as big as the one in his stomach.
“I owe money,” Lennox breathes, sounding beaten. James sighs, Brad curses. “A lot.”
“How much is a lot?”
He hesitates, and I cock my head in impatience. “Five million.”
