“He’s decompensating,” he said softly.“Like Chester Schumer.He’s… he can’t keep the crazy in check.We brought down the Sons of the Blood, and half his business went down with it.He’sdesperate.”
Clint nodded, but it was Natalia who said, “Yeah.Yeah, he is.Which on the one hand may make him sloppy, but on the other….”
“It’ll make him dangerous.”Joey remembered Chester Schumer, going after Gideon with a stiletto.I sort of wish it had been a cheese knife, because that would have beencool!
The memory, along with Gideon’s dry voice in his head, steadied him.Gideon knew what to do with a decompensating sociopath.He knew how to use somebody’s best weapon against them.
It was Joey’s job to be that weapon.
“We move out in ten,” Clint said.“I got us a helo from the roof, so take your Dramamine or eat your snacks and grab a water—I understand it’s stripped down and it’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”
Point A and Point B
GIDEON SAWthe blow coming, but he didn’t flinch.
He wanted to say Stevie Carlyle hit like a girl, but the man had lead in his glove, and Tal and Gail could still hurt him worse.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurting bad.
So this is how it ends.Tied in a chair in Stevie Carlyle’s basement, worried about his son.
Stevie backed up, shaking out his hand and blowing hard, and if Gideon’s jaw hadn’t been aching—probably broken—he would have made a crack about how maybe he shouldn’t have blown away his bodyguard before this portion of the program was through.
Something must have shown in his eyes, though, and Stevie must have been more exhausted than he wanted to let on because he paused long enough to ask.
“What?What’s so fuckin’ funny?What’re you laughing about?”
In truth, Gideon had been in this basement, getting the shit beat out of him, for what felt like half his life.He knew what broken ribs felt like, the hairline fractures in each collarbone, knew he’d be pissing blood for a good long time and that Stevie’s kicks to his ankles and shins in steel-toed boots had probably bruised his bones at the very least.
If he could laugh, he’d probably spit blood.
“What?”Stevie shouted, lowering his face to Gideon’s, spittle flecking his lips.
“Nothing,” Gideon rasped.Had he been screaming?Must have been screaming.His throat felt bloody.That was probably the screaming.“Just thinking.”
“Thinking what?”Stevie asked, pulling off his gloves—thank fuck—and backing up to sit on a stool next to a bottle of water.“You look like shit.You’re probably gonna die here.What’s so fuckin’ funny?”
“We always ask ourselves,” Gideon said, “where do bad guys keep getting their help.Minions-R-Us?Lackeys Incorporated?Is there, like, a dystopian business model for disposable employees?”
The words sounded great in his head, but his lips and tongue were swollen, and he’d spit out at least three of his teeth—some of them he’d just had installed, dammit!For all he knew, he was going to die for telling Stevie Carlyle, “Blargh garble blpt phlorg blargh garble.”But then until Joey, nobody had ever really gotten his sense of humor anyway.
To his surprise—and yes, relief—Stevie Carlyle laughed.
“That’s funny,” he said, surprised.“You’re funny.That why you and my son are such good friends?Cause you’re funny?”
Also, I have a large penis.
Oops!Better keep that info to himself.
“We like to shed blood,” he said, although that wasn’t strictly true.“We’re good at it.”Nowthatwas true.“We like keeping people safe.”And that was the God’shonesttruth.
“And that amuses you?”Stevie sounded confused.
“And music,” Gideon mumbled.In his head he’d had the entire CD of Bruce Springsteen’sThe Risingon loop.He wondered if he’d ever hear it again, but even if he didn’t, he figured he’d ironed out all the lyrics in his head.He and Joey could sing it together after they wired his jaw shut for a time.
“Music?”Stevie grunted and took a swig of water.“That’s funny.My son didn’t like no fuckin’ music.”
I bet his grandfather sang to him all the fuckin’ time, you psychopath.Nobody just picks up music like that kid.It was in his heart, but he couldn’t hear it until he met me.
