Page 233 of What We Bury

He considers the question. Takes his time answering.

“No,” he says. “But you get better at it.”

That’s the most depressing comfort I’ve ever received, and somehow it works.

I close the pantry and grab a soda from the fridge, carrying it to the table where I take a seat next to Knox. He reaches over and opens it for me, turning the can so the mouth is facing me.

“Eli said you helped him dispose of the guy who hurt his sister.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I did. Holden and I took care of it.”

“And that’s how The Hangmen started?”

Knox nods once. “Too much bad out there.” He scratches an eyebrow in a way that means he’s choosing every word carefully. “We needed an outlet. Odin gave us one. He’s better at seeing the monster in you and finding a use for it than anyone alive.”

I tap a finger on the rim of my can. “What did he see in you?”

Knox shrugs. “I’m a fighter. Did a lot of it when I was younger. Boxing. Some other things. Turns out, when you’re like me, it’s easy for people to pay you to hurt the right kinds of men.”

“So you didn’t join the crew because of a sister? No personal trauma or the hatred of some fucker who hurt you or your family?”

He shakes his head.

“So, you just . . . do this because you can?”

He gives me a look I can’t decode. “Do you know what a justice fantasy is?”

I shake my head.

“Doesn’t matter. The world needs people who do what’s necessary. That’s what I do. You want to know the real reason? I like seeing bad men get what’s coming to them. I was in the military for a while. Private security after that. After all the shit I’ve seen, this is the only thing that makes sense.”

It’s blunt. Absolute. There’s a kind of relief in it, hearing someone admit that they kill because it feeds something inside them, not because they’re avenging a past hurt.

Knox’s phone buzzes on the table between us. He picks it up. Glances at the screen. Shows it to me:

Eli:

Done.

Just one word, but my heart drops out of my chest when I see it’s from Eli.

“They’re on the way?” I ask, like maybe it could mean something else.

He sets his phone back on the table. “Probably.”

I take a shaky breath and reach for my phone, sending a heart emoji in the group chat so they know I’m here too, that I know.

A few seconds later, a message comes through from Milo.

Milo:

ETA fifteen. Get the shot glasses ready, kitten. We bring stories.

I follow it up with:

Me:

I’ll be waiting by the door. Don’t make me come drag you all up here.