Lover Avenged(71)

Grady jumped back as the dealers hit the ground like mops, and his mouth opened wide as a toilet bowl. Before he could get a whole lot of oh-my-God-what-did-you-do rolling, Mr. D stepped up into his grille and bitch-slapped his lid shut.

The two slayers put their guns back into their leather jackets as Mr. D closed the suitcase, went around, and got behind the wheel of the Lexus. While he drove off, Grady looked up into the faces of the pale men like he was waiting to get plugged himself.

Instead, they just headed back to the Escort.

After a moment of confusion, Grady followed in a sloppy jog like all his joints had been overoiled, but when he went to open the back door, the slayers refused to let him get in the car. As Grady realized he was getting left behind, he started to panic, his arms flopping, his mouth shouting. Which was pretty fucking dumb, considering he was standing fifteen feet away from two guys with bullets in their brains.

Quiet would be good right about now.

Evidently one of the slayers thought the same thing. With a calm hand, he outted his gun and leveled the muzzle at Grady’s head.

Silence. Stillness. At least from the idiot.

Two doors shut and the Escort’s engine turned over on a crank and a wheeze. With a buzz of tires, the slayers took off, speckling Grady’s boots and shins with frozen dirt.

Lash hit the Mercedes’ lights, and Grady spun around, arms going up to shield his eyes.

There was the temptation to mow him down, but for the moment, the guy’s utility justified his heartbeat.

Lash started the Mercedes, pulled up to the SOB, and dropped his window down. “Get in the car.”

Grady lowered his arms. “What the hell happened-”

“Shut the fuck up. Get in the car.”

Lash closed the window and waited while Grady flopped into the passenger seat. As the guy put his belt on, his teeth were doing the castanets, and not from the cold. Fucker was the color of salt, and sweating like a tranny in Giants Stadium.

“You might as well have killed ’em in broad daylight,” Grady stammered as they headed out onto the surface road that ran beside the river. “There are eyes all over the place-”

“Which was the point.” Lash’s phone rang, and he answered as he accelerated up a ramp and onto the highway. “Very nice, Mr. D.”

“I think we done good,” the Texan said. “’Cept I can’t see no drugs. Must be in the trunk.”

“They’re in that car. Somewhere.”

“We still meetin’ back at Hunterbred?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, ah, listen, y’all plannin’ on doin’ anything with this here car?”

Lash smiled in the darkness, thinking greed was a great weakness for a subordinate to have. “I’m getting it repainted and buying a VIN and tags for it.”

There was silence, as if the lesser were waiting for more. “Oh, that’ll be good. Y’sir.”

Lash hung up on his disciple and turned to Grady. “I want to know all of the other big retailers in town. Their names, their territories, their product lines, everything.”

“I don’t know if I got all that-”

“You’d better find it out then.” Lash tossed his phone into the guy’s lap. “Make the calls you need to. Do the digging. I want every single dealer in town. Then I want the elephant that’s feeding them. The Caldwell wholesaler.”

Grady’s head fell back against the seat. “Shit. I thought this was going to be, like…about my business.”

“That was your second mistake. Start dialing and get me what I want.”

“Look…I don’t think this is…I should probably go home…”

Lash smiled at the guy, revealing his fangs and flashing his eyes. “You are home.”

Grady shrank back in the seat, then started pawing for the door handle, even though they were cruising down the highway at seventy miles an hour.

Lash hit the locks. “Sorry, you’re on the ride now, and there’s no getting off in the middle. Now dial the fucking phone and do me right. Or I’m going to carve you up piece by piece and enjoy every second of the screaming.”



Wrath stood outside Safe Place in a ball-numbing wind, not caring two shits about the nasty weather. Rising before him like something out of a Leave It to Beaver Rockwell daydream, the house that was a haven to victims of domestic violence was big and rambling and welcoming, the windows covered with quilted drapery, a wreath on the door, the mat on the top step reading WELCOME in cursive letters.

As a male, he couldn’t go inside, so he waited like lawn sculpture on the hard brown grass, praying that his beloved leelan was inside-and willing to see him.