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“I’d die for him,” he grinds out.
“I’m not saying you wouldn’t. Both my sons were born to lead, and when I put your name forward, I reckon you’ll be surprised that I’m not alone in thinking so.”
“Leaving Willow’s Peak, though?”
“It’ll always be here. And the two charters will be close enough for us to work together all the time.”
“Who have you spoken to about this?”
“Just you.”
Rubbing his hands together, he nods. “Give me some time to think it over before you go sharing this with anyone.”
“Don’t take too long. Once the property goes through, I want patches in there.”
“I’ll talk to Tor.”
“See you do.”
As he walks off, I inhale long and exhale hard. It feels right, and in this world, you have to live going by what you feel. Your gut instinct rarely leads you in the wrong direction.
Nothing could ever make me prouder to be a Lost Soul or a father to see Luca wearing the president’s patch in Dog City, and Leo wearing my patch here in Willow’s Peak. They’re my legacy, and what a legacy I’ll be leaving.
I followSparky down to the basement where the brothers are already waiting on us.
“I heard you’re letting Pope take this one,” he mutters.
“He needs it.”
I push open the door and find Effie’s man is on his knees, with his hands tied behind his back.
“I’m sure you know who I am,” I begin, standing in front of him.
“I don’t, actually, but it doesn’t take much figuring out.”
“I’ll introduce myself, then. I’m Cas Jackson, and last night you shot at my family, so for that, you’ll die. But first, I want to ask you a couple of questions. You can answer or not, but the end result will remain the same. You’ll meet your death.”
“I’m not gonna say shit.”
We’ll see.
“Where’s Effie hiding out?”
His lips purse tightly together.
“Last chance to speak. Once I step back and my brother steps forward, game’s over for you.”
I give him three seconds, but he remains silent. There’s no point in giving him more time. People in our world either keep their mouths shut or they spill with the threat of violence.
“Fine. Have it your way.”
Pope moves to my side, and I smirk.
“This is the man who’s going to end your life. He’s gonna make you feel pain you never knew existed, so enjoy.”
Stepping away, I join Sparky and Slade off to the side while Pope circles his victim like prey, clutching a boxcutter in his hand. Pausing behind him, Pope tears the blade down the back of his button-up and rips it off of him from the front, leaving it hanging from his wrists.
In true Pope fashion, he works quietly, eliciting his prey’s cries that echo around the basement, the sound music to our ears. He slices him up, his back, chest, down his arms and across his face. Nothing too deep, but enough to draw a pain he can’t escape.
