His eyes narrow at the nickname, but he does as I ask, his gaze flickering between the knife, the dead girl, and then back again, before he finally raises the weapon, keeping it aimed on the back of Cillian’s head.
I step in close, using the edge of the blade to tip up Cillian’s face. “I’m not sure you understood me before, so let me be clear. This isn’t a negotiation, and despite what you may think, I am your judge, jury, and executioner. Which means you answer to me.” I slide the blade in farther, just beneath his jaw, a sick sense of satisfaction melting through me when it meets resistance, then sinks into his skin, blood starting to drip on the metal.
He whines, and the sound sends shivers down my spine.
“What made you think it was okay to cut my drugs?”
“He told me to,” he stutters.
“Who? Is it Benny telling you to do this? Your cousin?” I purr. “Tell me and this will all be over.”
He presses his lips together.
Sighing, I shake my head, snapping back my hand and withdrawing the blade from under his jaw.
“Fine,” I say, walking over to the table and grabbing one of the remade bags before making my way back again.
My heels click on the wood floor as I move toward him and nod at Brayden. “Bend him back for me, pup.”
Brayden’s jaw clenches and he glares at me. My heart starts to pound in my ears when I think he isn’t going to listen, that maybe he can’t handle what’s happened. But then, slowly, he nods and reaches down, wrenching Cillian’s matted blond hair until his sliced up neck is exposed.
“You’re not putting up much of a fight, Cillian,” I tsk, leaning over him with one of the baggies. I cut it open with the edge of the knife. “It’s almost a disappointment.”
Cillian presses his lips together and my fingers surge forward, digging into his chin and prying them open, his flesh getting stuck under my nails. I dip the bag of cut heroin into his mouth, the powder filling up the empty cavern while he chokes on it and spits. I make sure to angle my face away, not wanting any of it to accidentally enter my nostrils.
I grip his cheeks tight, dropping the bag and bringing the flat of the knife up to cover his mouth. “Swallow.”
Tears track down his face and he jolts against Brayden’s grip. Brayden squeezes his eyes shut but holds him in place.
Finally, Cillian’s throat bobs as he eats the dry powder.
“Think that was enough to make you feel good, baby?” I purr, gliding the blade down until it rests against his jugular.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” I whisper. “Who?”
“Liam. He want… wanted to start putting some cash aside. So we could get away from this shit. From all of you fucking Westerly assholes.”
My hand twitches on his back and he jerks forward, catching me off guard. My knife slides into his throat, blood spurting, the warm liquid spraying my skin. His eyes roll back in his head before his body weight sags, the soul leaving his body.
I stare in shock for long moments, the silence around us thick and heavy. Then I step back and sigh, looking at the mess, my hands stained in red. “Well, this is unfortunate.”
Brayden drops Cillian’s body and stands, his eyes empty as he stares at me like he’s never seen me before.
My stomach twists but I push the odd feeling away. It’s not a new thing for people to not like what they see and having him realize that I’m not the girl he created in his head is a good thing.
“Call Zeke,” I instruct. “Tell him we need to meet at the cleaners.”
Brayden swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
I snap my fingers in his face. “Hello? You alive in there? Do it. He’ll know what it means.”
And then I spin around and walk out the door, marching back to the car and sliding inside, reaching into the glove compartment with shaky hands, grabbing the baby wipes to try and scrub off the blood.
20
NICHOLAS
I don’t speak on the drive back to the estate.
Eveline doesn’t either, her stained hands trembling slightly where they’re sitting in her lap. I can’t figure out whether it’s from adrenaline or if it’s because she isn’t as cold blooded as she tries to appear. I hate myself for caring either way.
My mind is flying in a thousand different directions. Regret for not stopping her. Unease because I’ve already half convinced myself it’s okay. That it was necessary for me to stand by and do nothing.
If I had stepped in and saved them, it would have blown my cover, and to be completely honest, saving two drug dealers is low on my priority list. The vengeful part of me believes they got what they deserved.
Even worse is that through it all, I don’t feel angry with Eveline. All I really want is to make sure she’s okay. And that’s bullshit, because she’s the one who caused everything in the first place.
I don’t want to face what that means about me, because while not showing emotion is important to the job, I’m still a federal agent. I’m supposed to care. But when it comes to degenerates who willingly put poison in drugs, causing overdoses and death, I’m finding it hard to.
Eveline jumps out of the car the second we hit the circle drive, flying up the steps and into her home. I idle, my fingers tight on the steering wheel, warring with myself over what I know I should do and what I want to do.
What I should do is go to Seth and call it in. Let Cap know about the recent developments, so we can stockpile more evidence for the case. There are dead bodies piled up in Kinland Heights, and blood on Eveline’s hands. There’s a mound of heroin that could lead us closer to figuring out who the hell we’re actually trying to pin.
Instead, I’m stagnant in my car, the rumble of the engine vibrating beneath me and the heat warming my skin as it blasts through the vents. I have no clue why I’m staying, waiting for… who knows what? But regardless, the minutes continue to tick by and here I am. Finally, after what feels like hours, I decide to leave.
To do the right thing.
The only thing.
I take the car out of park, but before I can step on the gas, something catches my attention, creeping along the perimeter of the mansion. I squint my eyes, trying to make it out.
It’s a person—a small person—with a messy bun and a black hoodie hiding their figure.
Eveline.
I’m turning off the car and throwing open the door before I can second-guess myself, jogging quickly so I don’t lose sight of her as she escapes into the woods lining the back of the house.
The sudden chill in the air stings my face as I hurry after her, the full moon casting an eerie glow on the darkened forest. I shiver, my leather jacket barely enough to keep me warm.
I stay far enough behind that she doesn’t see me, and I wonder where the hell she’s going, because it seems as if she’s walking into the middle of nowhere. Maybe she’s more rattled from tonight than she let on. I don’t know how many minutes tick by as I follow her deeper into the woods, but it’s enough to make my legs ache, and my mouth go dry, when suddenly, the ground shifts and I stumble, the grass and branches turning into faded yellow bricks.
My lungs squeeze tight as I stare down at my feet.
The bricks themselves are crumbling and covered in overgrown weeds, but they’re there nonetheless, and my brain buzzes with theories. Is it a coincidence their strip club is named The Yellow Brick, when this is in their backyard?