The Butcher of the Bay Part II - J. Bree Page 0,92
who hurt me as our wedding gift. I'm hoping to give him a baby in return someday. Blood for blood."
Martin stands and moves as if he’s going to flee the room but instead there’s a subdued pop sound and he falls to the ground, a bullethole in the back of his head.
Finally, Louis seems to grasp what is happening here. I'm not in France to find him for the hookup he had once offered as a cheap apology. I'm not still pining after the man who used me, saw me as a pretty little conquest in his bed. I'm here for his death.
I'm here for his heart in one of my jars.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Illi
After three months wining and dining my wife across Europe, I’m relieved to be back on U.S. soil and home in the Bay. Don’t get me wrong, having the time away was fucking blissful. Seeing just how relaxed my baby girl could really get as we fucked in every country we stayed in was a gift, something to look forward to once my list was over with but there’s something about the Bay that calls us both home and when we finally crawl into our bed back at the warehouse, jet-lagged and fucking exhausted, I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
I wake again eighteen hours later with a clear head and a fucking mission to finish.
The Vulture needs to fucking die.
It’s not like I can just end him. It’s not like I can just walk up to that pit of fucking despair and pain and fucking take him out, but I’m a smart man.
I can figure it the fuck out.
When night falls again I leave my wife at home with her paints after checking the security cams a dozen times, fussing with it and calling the Coyote to triple check it’s working and fully secure.
Then I make my way down to the old biker bar, sending a text to my only friends for a welcome home drink.
Neither of them answer but I’m not too worried. I’ve heard from them both all throughout the trip away, Roxas even stalking the kid a little at school to make sure for me that she’s safe.
A lotta boys at that school of hers chasing her tail.
Not sure I what I think of it but at least they’re her own age and she’s too fucking smart to get mixed up with them… I’m sure of it.
There’s a round of cheers when I walk in, a whole lot of familiar faces and drinks being lifted my way. Not sure I like it but fuck it, I order a bottle of whiskey and sit at my usual booth. I’m ready to have a quiet night of planning, maybe pick up a job or two to get me back into the swing of things.
My phone rings.
I look down at the number flashing on the screen and fuck. Surely that fucking perverted traitorous cunt wouldn’t reach out to me now?
I check on my girl before I answer, just to double-check she’s safe and alone, painting away. She’s working on something new, a whole collection she’s going to make bank on from all of our time away. I see the colors of the Northern Lights and grin down at the screen before setting it aside and answering the fucking call.
“I know you’re not dumb enough to fucking call me right now, D’Ardo.”
He laughs, that same sound when he’d piss me off for fun. It rolls off of me. My tolerance for this shit is amazing now my list is nearly fucking done with and I have a stunning wife at home waiting for me.
“Come on, don’t tell me you’re really going to hold a grudge? Does our friendship mean nothing to you?”
I take a breath and watch as Roxas makes his way through the crowd, grinning and saluting me with his glass as he walks over. “I told you, next time I see you, I’ll be killing you. Pure and simple.”
He huffs under his breath. “I needed her out of the way. Pussy always confuses shit, you can’t even see it because you’re under her pussy magic.”
My hand slips down to rest on my cleaver, the old warm metal of the handle the most comfortable thing for me. Roxas sits and notices it, raising his eyebrow at me but he shakes his head when I speak again.
“No. You needed her raped and tortured and dead. There’s a big fucking difference, D’Ardo. Big fucking difference.”