“Yeah.”
“And?”
He hates one word answers almost as much as I hate being told to jump and not know where the fuck I’m landing.
“Rodents ate his face. His head was barely hanging onto his neck, too. I guess they were hungry,” I report as I lower my voice. I don’t think anyone else in the diner wants to hear the specifics of my last kill anymore than I would want to hear the bastard priest begging me for his life again.
“Good.” His tone is satisfied, proud even, and I roll my eyes.
“Hey, so you know how x marks the spot?” I begin conversationally. “Usually there’s a treasure map that gives you hints as to where x may be.”
Arthur chuckles into the phone as a response. “You’re a smart boy, Gareth. You’ll figure it out soon enough. Get the job done.”
The line clicks off and I have to fight the urge to throw it through the large glass pane that sits next to my table. Instead, I sigh loudly, pick up both phones and secure them inside of my backpack as I get to my feet and toss money on the table.
He’s not going to make this easy, which means I’m going to have my fucking work cut out for me.
Chapter 6
Vegas is a ghost town during the day. I know it sounds almost impossible to believe, because in a way, it’s not the exact truth.
I ignore most people and that makes my life a lot easier. Especially since I never know who’s going to end up on Arthur’s Fuck It list. The less people I know, the easier it is to kill when the time comes.
I guess being a loner is easiest when it comes to this way of life and besides Bentlee and the rest of the Cavalieri, I really don’t need any form of human contact.
Probably because I consider myself more of an animal than anything else. You have to be a special kind of fucked up to do the things we do, and even more so to enjoy it.
I glance up at the street sign and roll my eyes when I see that I’m about to cross onto South Las Vegas Boulevard. That’s the last place I want to be right now because life never really dies there.
Tourists are the bane of my existence. I only stay here because I don’t know where I could possibly move Bentlee too and it’s a good place to hide Tristan when he’s in town with Queenie.
With over six-hundred-thousand people roaming this damn city, it would be hard for someone to find him—even a man like Arthur.
Maybe I’ll move to New York City. It’s twice the population and Bent’s never seen the bright lights there, I muse to myself as I move quickly down the Strip.
I shift my backpack from one shoulder to the other and raise my hand to block the sunlight for a moment.
This can’t be where I need to be.
There’s nothing here right now other than old men probably looking for The Bunny Ranch and college frat boys wanting to get smashed so early during the day.
There has to be something I’m not understanding. A riddle I can’t decipher—a missed clue. We’re never given a command to follow and then left with nothing to go on.
Even if it’s the most minuscule of hints, there’s always something.
Time is running out for me and it’s starting to set me on edge. I hate that he does this and I hate that Lance isn’t here with me. I hate that Tristan is on the run again and most of all, I hate that I’m not in bed with Bentlee, holding her close and keeping her safe from whatever imaginary monsters are more than likely plaguing her this time.
Think, Gareth.
I take the moment to set my backpack down on the cement sidewalk and unzip it, reaching in for both of the phones.
I grab mine first and tap the screen to life, enter my security code, then call Bent. I want to make sure she’s okay even though I know she is.
After about five rings, I give up. If she sees my number and wants to talk, she’ll call back. If she doesn’t, I can always drop in on her.
Next I reach back in and fish around for the burner phone, flip the screen up with my thumb and chuckle.
Tick, tock.