The Butcher of the Bay Part II - J. Bree Page 0,95

thought crosses my mine that my girl would love it but I’d never fucking bring her here to see it. Not to this fucking cesspit.

When I burst through the door it’s clear the bodyguard isn’t expecting me, the security cams on the walls showing a loop of the footage from the night before.

He’s completely unaware that all of his friends are now dead.

A bullet between the eyes and he joins them, his brains splattered out on the wall behind him.

Fuck, he stinks.

I guess being without women they just gave up giving a shit here but even before I had my girl I didn’t fucking reek like this lot. It’s disgusting.

I make it through the last door of the night to find the Vulture counting stacks of cash at his desk, smirking at the sight of all of his riches that he’s made from the fucking misery of little girls and beautiful women.

The smirk slides off of his face, and his eyes dart around to attempt to look behind me. “Where the fuck are my men, Butcher? I don’t like people being back here.”

I slide a hand slowly down my cleaver, the bloodlust swelling inside my chest as his gaze follows the movement. “And I don’t like rapists like you breathing my air down here in the Bay. What are we going to do about this?”

His shifty eyes start darting around the room, as if a hoard of bodyguards are suddenly going to appear and hide him.

They’re not.

The fuckers are still leaking a little out in the hallway.

“Look, whatever it is you want, you can have it. Money, drugs, pussy, I have it all.”

I take the first step towards him without really thinking. “Oh yeah? And is any of that pussy willing? Have you ever sold a girl who actually wanted it?”

He starts fumbling over words but I cut him off, “No, not the girls you find who owe money to the wrong people. I mean girls who find you and ask you to sell them. Fuck, I’ll admit, some of this was my own fucking fault. I never looked into your business enough. I didn’t until I met my girl, and now all I can do is think about all of the girls you’ve had go through here.”

I take another step forward, chuckling under my breath as he flattens himself against the far wall. Nope, that isn’t going to save you, pervert.

“I provide a service. I don’t kidnap the girls! I just fucking sell them, I don’t even touch them!”

Lie. Biggest fucking lie ever told.

Not only does he touch them but he likes them young.

I’ve seen what he’s like around the kid.

He sees the bloodlust in my eyes, the death there that means he’s not getting out of this no matter what promises and lies he tells.

"Fuck, you know they're going to kill you for this? Not even the Butcher can take on the entire institution of the Twelve and get away with your skin."

He's wrong, though, isn't he? Because I have. I've done it before and I'll do it again. A slow and easy smirk stretches over my lips, the one I've given to hundreds of men before I carved them up.

He finally sees it.

He's the prey and I'm the beast, claws and teeth, here to tear him to pieces.

"Don't kill me. I have information that could save you. I know all about the Jackal's bomb!"

I shrug and start towards him. I can smell the acrid stench of his sweat and body odor. Fuck, do any of his crew shower? They must take their cues from this disgusting dickhead.

When I stay silent he tries a different tack. "I know what the Jackal is planning with the Wolf! I know what he's about to do now she has friends."

Hold the fuck on.

Friends?

Plural?

Good. I'm glad she finally has someone and that fuckhead D'Ardo isn't fucking messing with her. Not on my watch.

He's the next on my list anyway.

Two birds; righting my girl's wrongs and getting the kid to safety, finally.

Fuck, maybe killing the Vulture will help me out with that. If I ask her to induct me, pretending it's to keep me and Odie safe, then I can stay on her tail a bit better. D'Ardo is the only one left now, I could focus on keeping her safe that way.

I could finally get her out from under him.

By the time the guys arrive I have the Vulture pinned out on the carpet of his own office, knives through each of