Page 104 of Razor

“Angel.”

My voice croaks as one of them steps forward, then another, then another, all crouching to their knees as they stare malevolently into my eyes.

“You upset a friend of ours. You will pay the price.”

I swallow hard. “Come on, guys. We know the score. I stay out of your business and you stay out of mine. It’s the rules we agreed on.”

A knife blade flashes in the glare of their headlights, and one of them holds it against my throat, the gun still trained on my head.

“Josephine says hi by the way.”

I stare in astonishment; the pieces fall into place.

They meanmyJosephine. That bitch double-crossed me.

“You can have her.”

I attempt to bargain my way to freedom.

“I won’t even breathe the same air as her, or her father. They are officially no longer of interest to me. She’s won. She’s free. Is that what it will take?”

He peers closer, his eyes bright, deadly, demonic, and yet flashing with darkness and an excitement that terrifies me.

“No appeal.”

Two words that seal my fate, and as the blade swipes across my neck, it takes a moment for me to realize what’s happened. I stare in horror as the blood spills from it. Like red rain onto the stone under my knees. I blink once, attempt to drag a breath, unable to. My organs crashing one by one as one face taunts me as my last vision.

That fucking bitch Josephine. How dare she win.

Angel

Santiago falls face down, and I stand along with my brothers, the cool night air offering a welcome breeze.

“Fucking bastard.”

Zac connects his boot to the victim and as he falls forward, Havoc hisses, “Fucking creep. That was a long time coming.”

“What are we doing with the body?”

I direct my question to our guest who replaces the gun into his jacket.

“Any preference?”

Snake turns to Ryder, who points to the tipper truck resting on the other side of the roadblock.

“The plan still stands.”

His tone is dark, his mind calculating, and once again I thank God for the opportunity to work with this man again.

I owe him so much and will spend the rest of my life paying him back. Not that he realizes who I am. Then again, knowing him, he always did.

I nod to my men standing silently, patiently, waiting for instruction. We step back as they haul Santiago off the ground and effortlessly propel him into the tipper truck.

Sinbad sighs as he retrieves the keys and nods to Atlas. “We’re up.”

They move to the truck and as they head off toward the highway, currently under construction, I’m confident that Santiago will spend his death as part of the infrastructure.

We turn our attention to his driver, who stands, his back against the car, his interest illuminated by the glow from his cigar.