Page 146 of Godless Saints

Sawyer wiped it off, expression flat. “Since you’re dying anyway… yeah. He tried to take Hyung’s place. I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

Kaelan yanked Sawyer back by the hoodie. “You’ve actually killed before?”

“I’m a Whitlock. What the fuck do you think we do?”

“Fuck, Sawyer. Stab him and let’s go. I’m not here for your little torture foreplay.”

I stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”

Kaelan raised his hands. “Fine by me. Not exactly a killer.”

I usually wasn’t.

But for Moon I would be. Lorcan could handle the rest later. Tonight, this one belonged to me.

Sawyer stepped aside. I flipped the knife and moved behind Declan. Arm locked across his chest, palm over his mouth. He jerked. The blade opened his throat in one steady pull. Warm blood flooded over my hand, down my wrist. He thrashed against me and I held him tighter, letting him feel exactly who was ending him.

I stepped back when the twitching slowed. Breath even. Hands steady.

Declan kept twitching, blood still bubbling from the gash. Wet gasps fading into nothing. The copper smell clung thick in the damp air.

Sawyer vanished behind a crying angel statue. He came back dragging a black duffel. “Start digging, boys.”

I stared at the shovels. For Moon. I grabbed one, the metal cold against my palms.

We dug in silence, dirt flying, sweat mixing with the grave soil. My shoulders burned. Every scrape of the shovel brought back the warm gush across my fingers, the way Declan had jerked and then gone still.

The shovel hit wood with a hollow thunk.

Sawyer dropped down, crowbar in hand, and pried the old coffin open. The lid groaned. A wave of rot rolled out, damp bone and decay so thick it coated my throat.

Kaelan muttered, “You’re a fucking freak, Whitlock.”

Sawyer just shrugged.

We hauled Declan’s limp body over. Sawyer pressed flat against the side of the hole to give us room. I grabbed the legs, Kaelan the shoulders. He was heavier than expected, still leaking. We dropped him in with a dull thud onto the skeleton inside. Bones cracked under the weight.

Kaelan stepped back, face pale. “This is getting too fucking weird.”

I said nothing. The blood on my hands had dried tight and cracking.

We hauled Sawyer out. He started shoveling dirt back in like it was a group project. My arms screamed, but I matched him shovel for shovel, dirt raining down on the closed coffin.

Kaelan paused, breathing hard. “He’s dead, right?”

Sawyer rolled his head dramatically, then jumped back into the hole. He cracked the lid again, knife flashing. Stab into the heart. Nothing. We hauled him out.

“Happy now?”

“Yeah, sure,” Kaelan muttered.

Sawyer’s phone rang. His whole face shifted, that saintly mask sliding back on. He walked a few steps away, voice light. “Hey. No, I’m hanging out with friends at the boathouse. Yeah, I promise. I’m not getting in trouble. The impulses have stopped. I’m good.”

Kaelan looked at me, shaking his head. “That fucking kid needs therapy.” He snorted. “And that’s rich coming from me. Let’s finish this before I change my mind about helping.”

He started dumping dirt again. I matched him shovel for shovel.

Sawyer dumped bleach over the grass. Kaelan scattered fresh soil over the darker patches. The chemical smell cut through the wet earth.