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“Nothing.”
His toe swipes the pavement, as if someone’s backing up.
“You’re a Scipione,” the Reaper guesses. “Marco’s son.”
“And you’re an O’Brien,” Freddie says, laughing. “Well, not you. The chick. The captain, right? Man, when they said you were heartless, I didn’t think this bad. Hurting for cash that much, that you’d sacrifice your own kid brother for a bounty? Ruthless.”
Here we go.
There’s a beat where I think, this is it. She’s going to snap, blow his head off, and I’ll be trapped in the shadows forever.
Slowly, she exhales. “I don’t answer to you. Where’s my money?”
“Need to check a few things.” He walks around, the crushing of his shoes aggravating me. His voice hangs over me. “Fuck, this is what Val wanted?” He scoffs. “Pity. He’s not that good-looking.”
“No abiding for taste,” Killian mutters.
I’m going to kick him later. Or hack into his phone and put a virus in his shit. Let’s see how funny he thinks he is when he can’t access his favorite art supply store.
My lungs constrict, my breath shortens. Uh-oh. That’s not good.
“Hurry up,” Maeve barks. “Cops will be here any minute to check out the gunfire.”
“Nah,” he dismisses. “We directed them away. It’s only us. We’ve got all night.”
The next breath I take is a second too long. Cement slowly fills my lungs. The poison is suffocating me.
Someone moves my head to the side, then back. It’s an out-of-body experience. I know it’s happening, but the touch, the sensation, is lost.
“You’re the Reaper, ain’t you?”
“I am.”
My arm lifts, then drops. I expect pain, something, but nothing comes. The next breath is more labored, and my lungs stutter, as if they don’t want to expand.
Shit. I’m not going to last.
“You killed my cousin.” It’s an accusation.
“Do you want an apology?” he asks. “Because I don’t do those.”
Freddie kicks me, snorting. “I should kill you for that. They found his head in a box, left on my dad’s doorstep.”
The Reaper chuckles. “Ah, yes. Some of my finest work.”
“Why would—”
“I suggest,” he interrupts, “you finish your inspection before your father finds your head next.”
Freddie sighs. “Whatever, man. I can’t figure out where he died.”
Maeve growls, “He was shot, you fucking dumbass. Do you need me to draw you a picture?”
“Damn, you don’t have to be so mean.” There’s ruffling, and the shutter of a camera going off. “You know, you’re lucky my cousin was killed. My father would’ve made you bleed the night he got you.”
The text message is sent, and there’s a pause. Feet scuffle, there’s a yelp, and the schtick of a knife being unleashed floats over my head. Then someone grabs my chin.
“Briar? Briar!”
