Page 64 of Cross + Catherine: The Companion

Anything but this.

He wasn’t asking for a lot.

Coming close enough that he could snatch the gun away—Cross really couldn’t afford to have the idiot shooting someone else at the moment—he removed the weapon, and felt slightly safer with it being in his own grasp.

“What did you think would happen if you waved a loaded gun around?” Cross asked.

“I … don’t know,” the guy said lamely.

“You don’t know.”

It wasn’t even a question.

“No—”

Before the guy could even finish his sentence, Cross lifted the rifle, and pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through the fool’s face, and sent his head snapping back in the most morbid way with a sickening crack. Blood and matter spewed from the now-gaping hole in the man’s face. His body quickly hit the floor with a dull thud.

Dead.

Just like that.

Easy.

Two less fucks for the world.

Cross felt no guilt. Frankly, idiots like that could not be afforded the privilege of walking and breathing the same air as other people. Or worse … spread their seed of stupid on to a new generation. Foolishness bred only more foolishness.

He considered his actions a gift to the universe, really.

Silence echoed in the warehouse after Cross shot the guy. He didn’t think any of the others even took a damn breath for a whole minute or more—the first time all day that they had actually decided to close their yapping traps.

Which was smart, really.

At the moment, he was three seconds away—or less—from killing the rest of them, too. It was really only going to take one of them pushing him just the right way, and that was going to be the fucking end of it.

No excuses.

Sighing, Cross discharged the magazine from the rifle, and then removed the stock, too. Now practically useless, and not very dangerous, he set the gun on a nearby table before he faced the rest of the stunned men.

Four fucks left.

For now.

“Get out,” Cross uttered.

Deathly calm.

Entirely cold.

The four didn’t need to be told again. They scattered like frightened rats in a dank back alley that just had a light shined on them.

Cross didn’t move until the last one was out of the front door. And only then did he pull out the phone from his slacks pocket. Dialing a familiar number, he put the phone to his ear, and listened to it ring.

Finally, the biggest Fuck of the hour picked up the phone. “Cross. How’s things?”

“Andino,” Cross replied dryly. “Two of your men are dead. The other four will be returned to you in small little pieces that you’ll be able to put together like a puzzle for their casket viewings should you send them to me again. I hope you understand.”

For a long while, Andino was silent. Then, quietly and slowly, the man started to chuckle. Cross had no fucking idea what was so funny.

“I wondered how long you would last with those idiots,” Andino managed to mutter through his laughter.

“You sent them to me knowing what they were like?”

“I hate cleaning house,” Andino admitted. “Plus, some of them might have just needed a good scare to set them straight. You’re good for both things.”

Rage swelled through Cross.

“Andino?”

“What?”

“If you ever waste my time again, I will cut your fucking heart out, and mail it to your wife while it’s still fresh enough to bleed when she opens it up. The next men you send to me for this better be more than worth my ass getting out of bed. Under-fucking-stood?”

Andino sighed. “Well, you’re no fun.”

“Don’t ever fuck with me and my guns again.”