Page 46 of Shai

He thrust both hands into his jacket pockets, the bounty plentiful as he divested himself of a number of baggies, wraps, and loose blister packs of pills. I cupped my hands together, Chris only too eager to fill them with his stash. He returned to his pockets for a second time, managing to find more. Then he patted his pockets. “That’s it.”

I transferred the confiscated items to Wyatt. “Phone?”

Chris handed it over, wincing as I dropped it and stomped on it with my heel until it was nothing more than a collection of sad-looking plastic. He leaned back against the wall. “I get it, man. I’m retired. Promise. You won’t ever see me again.”

I glanced back over my shoulder to where Taylor stood, his expression impassive. “He called me a psychopath.”

He gave a slight lift of one eyebrow. “Rude.”

I turned back to face Chris, his cockiness of earlier completely gone, a sweating pale-faced man in its place. There was a certain irony to knowing that this was the exact scenario Elijah had found himself in, only on the opposite side of the river, and with McIntyre instead of myself. McIntyre, for whatever reason, had chosen to let Elijah live. At least until he’d grown tired of Elijah’s insolence and stubborn attitude, anyway. One thing was for sure—I wasn’t McIntyre. I slid my hand inside my jacket, my fingers grazing my revolver. Keeping my gaze fixed on Chris just in case he was stupid enough to try something, I addressed Wyatt. “You still carry a switchblade?”

“Yeah, Shai. Never go anywhere without it. You wanna borrow it?” I withdrew my hand from my jacket and held out my hand for the knife,

the cool metal deposited on my palm a few seconds later. A bullet through the brain would be easier. But I didn’t want easy tonight. I wanted something more visceral, something more satisfying. “Turn around.”

Chris held his hands up in front of him, even as he did my bidding. “We

don’t need to do this, man.”

I fitted myself against him, his body trembling spasmodically against

mine. “Normally, I would put a nice clean bullet through your brain for thinking you could do business in my territory, but as you’ve so kindly pointed out that I’m a psychopath, I feel I should try and live up to that.”

“I didn’t mean anything. That’s just what people say. They’re probably

full of shit. I mean… obviously they are, because you’re not. I can see that now.”

His attempt at lying was admirable considering we both knew I was

going to kill him no matter what he said. I was surprised he hadn’t pissed himself yet. I pushed on the lever of the knife to release the blade. Wyatt always kept it obsessively sharp. Looping my arm around Chris’s neck, I pressed the blade to the soft skin of his neck. “Any last words?”

“I’ve got a family. I’ve—”

“Should have thought of that earlier.” I drew my hand across in a rapid

motion, the immediate spray of blood catching me even though I was behind him. I let him drop to the floor, his hand pressed over the gaping slit in his throat, blood continuing to bubble out past his fingers. He tried to speak but only managed a gurgling sound. I made an attempt to wipe my face with my sleeve, but as it was also spattered with blood, it wouldn’t have done much good. There were spots on my white shirt as well. For a few minutes, the three of us stood and watched Chris Potter’s life slowly drain away. I’d forgotten how slow slitting someone’s throat could be. If only life was more like the movies. Finally, he lay still, his eyes open and staring. Taylor gestured to him. “What do you want us to do with the body?”

“Throw it in the river. You seemed so keen on it earlier that you should probably get it out of your system.”

Taylor gave a curt nod, Wyatt already crouching and grabbing the body beneath its armpits to drag him into the center of the pavement. Wyatt caught my eye. “You gonna wait, or should we make our own way back?”

I checked my watch, cleaning off the speckles of blood that marred its surface. “I’ll meet you back at the compound. Elijah will no doubt be getting restless by now.”

There was a definite twist to Wyatt’s lips at the mention of Elijah’s name, but he was wise enough not to say anything. I made my way back to the car, slipping behind the wheel and starting the engine. Now that the drug dealer was dealt with, I had another one to get back to. Only mine was far more interesting than Chris Potter had been. I doubted I’d even remember him in a couple of days. Replacement for Elijah? Hardly.

I PAUSED in front of the mirror. There was more blood than I’d initially thought. It was smeared all the way from my temple to my jaw on the right-hand side of my face. I turned my face to the other side. That side seemed to have escaped the worst of it, either due to the direction of the cut, or because I’d turned away. My fingers dropped to the buttons of my shirt, undoing the first few buttons to find that the spots there had soaked through, the lines of the cobra on my chest smeared with blood. Perhaps I’d stick to a gun in future. As well as being slow, slitting throats was messy.

Pulling myself away from the mirror, I stepped into the large room that acted as the nerve center of my operation. Heads turned my way, but if anyone found it strange that I was covered in blood, they didn’t comment. I didn’t get a chance to take any more steps before a body barreled into mine, Elijah’s arms wrapping around my waist as he glued himself to my chest. “You’ve been gone so long.”

Gripping his hair, I pulled him away, far enough that I could examine his face. He was a far cry from the man he’d been previously, Void already having wreaked its effects on Elijah in only a few short weeks. Blue eyes that used to be full of intelligence or rebellion were now either glassy or full of desperation. At the moment, it was the latter, Elijah’s last fix having been some hours previous. It was no wonder my men were starting to see him as a problem to be gotten rid of. I regarded him coolly, not letting any of my thoughts show on my face. “Did you miss me, darling?”

“Yeah… missed you.” There was no eye contact, the words said like an

automaton, Elijah more interested in sliding his hands into any pocket I had in his search for the drug that would take the cravings away. Finding my pockets empty, he let out a sound of frustration. I forced his head up again, his unfocused blue gaze finally settling on me, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “I hope the blood doesn’t bother you?”

He pulled back a couple of inches as if he needed the extra distance to

be able to see properly. After a few seconds, Elijah reached out, tentative fingers tracing the line of blood from where it started all the way down to my chest. “Whose blood is it?”