Page 59 of Where Sinners Repent

Leon searches my face. Nerves stir through me every second he doesn’t answer.

“Well, when we had our incident in the grey zone, the Wraith president, Zeke, disappeared. We can’t fucking find him.” Anger flashes in his pretty face. “Not to mention he has a cash infusion in his pocket from Maddy’s father. Half the Wraiths disappeared with him too. The other half doesn’t even know Zeke’s still alive. It’s like they’re rebuilding the Wraiths into something more reckless and dangerous than before.”

“And my brothers are part of that?”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to.

“Anyway,” Leon sighs. He shrugs it off as if it’s no big deal. “Nails are done. I’d say that was well worth the goss.”

My lips curve, and I bring my new claws in front of my eyes to inspect them. Gasping, I squeal, “Leon! They are fucking amazing.”

His cheesy smile hits me as I wiggle my fingers.

Midnight black nails with intricate barbed wire painted across them. On the ring fingers, crimson red fades into the black.

They are perfect.

Chapter 15

Kaleb

Salt and brine fill my nostrils as I work my way through the Devil’s dockyard. The sun has just set, yet the place is infiltrated by the spray of the sea and heavy fog. A winter breeze runs straight through my leather cut.

Moving through the shadows, I watch the men working on the dock. They are Devils, to an extent. Hired by us to do the legal part of the job, and to turn a blind eye to the not so legal part of the job.

They don’t see me as they mill around the dockyard, standing in a circle with their arms crossed, fighting the chill with a cigarette in their mouths. Spotlights shine down on them. Even if I don’t find what I’m looking for, I’ll tell Ash to fire the lazy assholes.

The one with greasy hair barks a nasally laugh, dropping the cigarette butt onto the ground and stubbing it out with a grimy boot. He spits on the concrete, clearing his throat.

“Don’t be a pussy,” he smiles, yellowing teeth on full display under the harsh light. Fuck. Where did Ash find these fuckers? “We’re backing a winning horse here.”

My attention lasers in on him.

A few men chuckle and nod their heads, and my hand flexes. Someone is about to die. I just feel it.

The latest shipment is a big one. The dock moonlights as an import-export company. Everything from everywhere. You name it. Furniture and machinery in. Seafood and timber out.

To anyone looking in from the outside, it’s a legitimate business. Makes good enough profit. Makes Ash look like a respectable businessman. A company no one questions.

The paperwork is the source of the real money.

Every container that comes through this harbour comes in on our watch. Most of them carry legal cargo. Some don’t.

If it’s moving in, and out of Havenport Harbour, we know about it. And if someone wants to use our dock, such as the mass amount of marijuana that’s meant to be in the shipping container behind these fuckwits, they pay a tax for the privilege.

There’s enough weed to keep the city’s dealers stocked for months. We don’t touch the product; we simply bring it into the harbour and collect our dues.

Quite the business.

So, it’s understandable why Ash was so twitchy today when he told me to check on the shipment. His eyes were doing that thing that makes him look part animal, and his fists were constantly balled. Muttering about the last shipment not being quite right.

Hence why I’m standing in the freezing cold, watching these useless fuckers dragging their feet. Getting ready to deliver their sentences.

“I don’t know, man, I’m feeling mad sketchy right now,” a younger one murmurs, eyes flicking around the dark corners of the yard.

His shoulders tighten, and I can see his teeth grinding from here.

He’s scared.