Malcolm (Henchmen MC Next Generation 2)

I'd given Shep a little time to look into the businesses paperwork, making sure everything was as he remembered it in case of Glen's death.

Once that was all squared away, I waited until Holly went off to work, and I made my way out of the clubhouse.

"Know you're pissed," my father's voice said, making me turn to find him leaning against the clubhouse. Waiting for me.

"He beat her," I told him, jaw tight. "Then tried to kill her in her sleep."

"Get that," he agreed, nodding.

"But?" I asked, sensing it hanging there in the air.

"But killing gets messy," he said. "And you need the body found."

He wasn't wrong.

"Were you worried about that when you killed that bastard who hurt mom?" I asked.

"Was willing to risk it. Don't want that for you."

I was willing to risk it, too.

"Besides," Reign said, appearing out of nowhere, "you don't have your old man's trauma that makes you lose your fucking mind and go on killing rampages. I get you need to do this. But don't do it stupid," he said, shrugging. "You want to make him hurt. But doing that might end your ass up in a cell for a couple decades. None of us want that for you. Do it smart. Do it quick. And don't leave any evidence behind."

I knew they were right.

I mean, I wanted to go over there and pound on him until he knew even a hint of the pain and fear he'd inflicted on Holly.

But the more contact, the more trace evidence.

Even if you thought you were careful.

"Heya, big guy. My bud," Dezi said from the side of my truck, leaning against the door.

"What are you doing here?"

"Way I see it, you need a driver tonight," he said, shrugging. "Lots of people got the door cams and shit these days. Just saying, might be smart not to have your car parked out front of the place you're murdering someone."

Again, he wasn't wrong.

"Fine," I said, going around to the passenger side.

"All these damn normies," Dezi said as he climbed into my seat, readjusting the seat. "Making it so damn hard to be honest criminals these days," he added, making a surprised chuckle bubble up and burst out despite the righteous anger coursing through me.

He wasn't wrong, though. It was getting harder and harder to get away with spur-of-the-moment crimes. If you worked at it, you could get away at damn near anything. But it took planning and patience.

Sometimes people just needed to die. And quickly.

Which meant, as my father, uncle, and Dezi, said, I had to be smart. Take my heart out of it. Work with my head.

"Huh," Dezi said a couple minutes later when we pulled down the street where Glen lived. "Look at that. Big house. You know what big houses have?" he asked.

"What's that?" I asked, feeling like my skin was starting to itch. I needed to get in there. I needed to make this fucker pay for what he'd done.

"Big, big staircases. One little trip. Bam," he said. "Tragic accident."

"Who the fuck are you, Dezi?" I asked, shaking my head.

"Guess we got a lifetime together for you to figure it out, yeah?" he asked, smirking. "Go on. Get the world safe for your girl. I will meet you back at the end of the street in twenty."

The gun felt useless in my holster as I made my way around the back of the house, feeling relief to find a normal back door, not a sliding one.

I slid on my gloves, and reached for my lock pick set, making short work of getting it open, then silently moving inside.

I moved into the kitchen, finding a bottle of gin open on the counter.

If he was going to fall down the stairs, having booze in his system would make it a pretty fucking believable story.

Just making my life easier, asshole.

The house, like Dezi remarked, was big. But mostly bare inside. Like he'd just moved in, he didn't care about decorating, or he'd sold some of his shit to pay down debts.

Knowing how bad his addiction was, I was inclined to think the latter.

There was a TV playing from upstairs, likely the master bedroom. It sounded like a fight. He'd probably put money on that too.

Why?

Did he plan to make another attempt on Shep's life? Would he consider Holly acceptable collateral damage?

The anger started to simmer hotter at the idea, making me need to take a deep breath to keep my cool.

Tucking myself behind a curve down the hall, I grabbed a random shoe off the floor, hauling it at the wall, wanting him to come out of his room willingly, making it easy to just jump out and give him a shove.

There was a beat before the TV muted, then there were footsteps across the room.

The door opened, and the man I'd once seen Holly trying to comfort—after the fuckhead beat her senseless not long before—stepped out.