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“You’re going to be running a zoo by morning, brother.”
He sighs. “No shit.” He turns the iPad so Gabe and I can see the spreadsheet on the screen. “You know the drill. We’ve each chosen four callers, and each has been assigned a random number between one and twelve.” He nods to me, and I pull the dice from my pocket.
Adrenaline zaps down my spine like a lightning bolt. It’s my favorite time of the month, made even better because all the best sins come in around Christmas. It’s like people don’t want to bring their dirty laundry into the New Year.
With my recent luck, I know it’s highly unlikely the dice land on any of my callers, but I have faith that my brothers have chosen wisely.
With a flick of my wrist, I release the die, letting them scatter and bounce over the wooden floorboards and iron grates.
Silence. Then Angelo peers down to inspect them. “Four.” He glances at the iPad and scowls. “Fuck’s sake.”
“What?” I snap, an uneasy feeling trickling into my bloodstream. “What is it?”
He runs a hand over the back of his neck, an expression I’ve never seen him convey cut into his face. He’s…sheepish.
“It’s some dude in Tacoma. Killed a cat with a pellet gun.”
Gabe slides a wary eye up to him. “And then?”
“And then nothing. That’s his sin.” We both stare at him like he’s lost the fucking plot. He rubs the bridge of his nose and gives a slight shake of his head. “I let Rory choose a sin this month, all right? Jesus,” he curses. “What are the odds we’d end up with it?”
I let out a sardonic breath. “One in twelve, idiot. Pretty basic math.”
My chest swells with the irony of it all, and I bite out a laugh of disbelief. Of course, the month I reallyneeded to get sadistic would be the month a pathetic victim was chosen. Killing cats is bad, but we’re used to dealing with serial killers and rapists. Sure, he could do with getting a bullet in his head, but what I had planned for him feels like overkill now.
Outside, darkness has swept over the cliff, bringing icy sideways rain with it. I tuck my chin into my collar and join my brothers under the weeping willow tree.
Angelo lights up a cigarette and blows out smoke into the quivering branches above us, before passing it to Gabe.
“How many men until we get to Dante?”
Gabe inhales, the cherry of the cigarette glowing an angry red. “Too many. At this rate, he’ll get to ring in the New Year.” As he passes the cigarette to me, his glare bores into my soul. “Next time, rocket warhead.”
I huff out a dry laugh, before filling my lungs with chemicals. Sitting at Cas’s desk in Whiskey Under the Rocks and swiping all the pieces off his chessboard feels like a lifetime ago. Man, I was so patient back then.
I pass the cigarette back to Angelo and turn to Gabe. “Any update on the cunts who hit Lucky Cat?”
“Dealt with it. As much as I hate to admit it, your lackey was right. It was a random attack.” He cracks his knuckles. “Wanna know how they chose your casino?”
“No,” I say dryly.
But he tells me anyway. “Pinned a map of Vegas to the wall and chucked a dart at it.”
Through a haze of smoke, Angelo’s amused gaze heats my cheek. “How terribly unlucky.”
I run a palm over my jaw, my shoulders going rigid. Sucking in a slow, damp breath, I amp up the indifference in my tone. “I own most of the casinos in Vegas; the odds were always going to be stacked against me.”
But I don’t believe a single syllable coming out of my mouth, and I don’t even know why I’m trying to kid myself anymore, either.
As Gabe takes the cigarette from Angelo, he stills. His eyes slide over my shoulder, and something lava-like sweeps through his expression.
“She’s always there. Waiting.”
What?
I glance behind me and see Wren standing under the bus shelter. She’s wrapped up in a big puffer jacket, four plastic bags slumped at her feet.
“She never accepts a ride.”
