Page 6 of Darkest Kiss

She whips her head from side to side. I smile, though I'm sure she can't see it through the balaclava.

Wordlessly, I cut her arms and legs free. In a flash, she's up and running out of the loft, her tattered dress flapping behind her as she goes.

I check my watch. Noemi gets off in twenty minutes. If I kill him here and clean it properly, I miss walking her home. Then she's on the street with every sick fuck in the borough and no one in the doorway watching out for her.

So, Zack gets to live another hour. Lucky him.

I know that most people aren't like me. I’m every bit as dangerous as I seem. But people like Zack can trick others into falling for their evil shit.

Sighing, I pull out my phone and text Hale, one of the crew and Ransom’s right hand man. I need you to do an extraction.

He texts me back right away. You okay?

I don't want our friends in blue to come over and make a mess. Can I give you an address?

Yes.

I type out the address and then get a thumbs-up in response. He also fucking hearts my message because he's a little terrifying, even to me. Ransom, Talon, Hale, and Hawke. And me, the half-mad pit viper that’s been accepted as one of their own.

I smile at the thought. The King brothers are each fucking scary in their own unique ways.

I grab Zack, who has been lying very still and quiet. Only then do I realize that he's been bleeding out slowly from the wound in his neck.

Shit, I must have nicked the carotid after all.

He's not even conscious as I heave him over my shoulder like a sack of rotting potatoes. I tsk. "Don't die on me. You'll ruin everything."

He doesn't respond, of course. I carry him downstairs, huffing at the weight of the body over my shoulder.

Carrying Zack downstairs and out the back of the building takes about four minutes. The rain is coming down harder now, which is genuinely considerate of New York City for once. Good for evidence, bad for my boots, which are suede. I prop him against the dumpster in the alley and wait.

Zack bleeds quietly against the dumpster. I check my phone. Eleven minutes out, Hale says. I have time to be extra annoyed about the boots.

Hale arrives in eleven minutes, which is fast even for him. He pulls up in a plain black van, kills the lights, and gets out without a word. I've known Hale for years and I can count on one hand the number of times he's greeted me verbally. He looks at Zack. He looks at me. Then he opens the back of the van.

"He's not dead yet," I say.

Hale shrugs, meaning this is fine with him either way.

"Make the fire look like an accident?"

He gives me a look; we both know he’s done this a thousand times.

I sigh. "And if he lives, keep him for me."

Hale looks faintly insulted, like I've questioned his work.

Fair enough. I step back and let him load Zack into the van with the same energy a normal person uses to carry groceries.

"Thanks," I say.

He gets back in the van without answering. The lights stay off as he pulls away.

I check my watch. I've got seven minutes before Noemi locks up. If I hustle, I can probably catch the train in time to walk with her.

I make it to Carroll Gardens in six. The rain has thinned to a drizzle and the street is mostly empty, which is ideal. Puffing, I take my usual position in the doorway of the building across the street, second alcove from the left, and settle in.

Poor Yorick Books is lit up from the inside. Through the window, I can see the top of Noemi's dark head moving between the shelves as she does whatever she does at the end of the day. Counts the till, probably. Straightens the shelves. Talks to herself, sometimes, though I've never been able to hear what she says, only seen her lips move.