Bane (Sinners of Saint #4)(92)

“Yup. Suicide by gunshot. His stepdaughter found him.”

“Jesse?” I perked just from hearing her mentioned. It was a whole other realm of pathetic, but at least I owned up to it.

Brian shrugged. “He only had one stepdaughter.”

I sagged back into my beanbag and stroked my chin. Darren being dead was a blessing for my bank account. I owed the bastard a lot of money but literally no one knew, other than him, me, and Jesse, and the latter would never tell. But I was more concerned about how she’d taken it. She wasn’t a fan of his—especially not near the end—but I guessed she was distraught as any other person would be.

“Do you know how she’s handling it?”

Brian checked his phone, frowned, and tucked it back into his pocket.

“Her mother is in pieces.”

“Her mother can go fuck herself in the ass with every dildo on planet Earth, and I still won’t spare her an ounce of lube. I asked specifically about the daughter.”

Brian blinked a few times, scratched his bald head. “Now, now, Roman. You can’t love a woman and not respect her parents. That’s not how relationships work.”

I stared at him, expressionless. “Rules don’t apply to Jesse’s folks. So, what else is new with her?”

“The boys.” He straightened his spine, flashing me a warning look that asked me not to act like a maniac. “They’re coming back to town. I thought you’d want to know. Mr. Wallace had mentioned at the town hall meeting this week that they will all be flying back into Todos Santos to celebrate their former schoolmate’s birthday next week. Wren Clayton?”

Didn’t know. Didn’t care. They were coming back. The plan was to deal with them myself. It had always been the plan. I didn’t know how Jesse would feel about me doing it, but I wasn’t planning on telling her until after the execution, anyway. I knew they were bound to return at some point, and had bided my time mouse-quiet. Once they were here, they’d wish they weren’t.

Brian was a mind reader, apparently, because he rolled his shoulders forward, tapping my knee and fishing for eye contact.

“I need to know what your plans are for them.”

“Thanks for your time.” I stood up. “And for the visit. And for not judging me for this.” I motioned to the coffee table where all the half-eaten junk food was scattered, still in its plastic containers.

“Oh, I am judging you for this. And I still want to know what to expect. This is not the Wild West.”

“Ever opened a map?” I sauntered over to the kitchen nook, lighting up a joint, then moving over to him. “And I pay you to give me information and to turn a blind eye, not to hear about my plans.”

“I don’t need a pile of dead, rich white kids in my jurisdiction,” he said through gritted teeth. “There aren’t enough trees in the world for that kind of paperwork.”

I flicked his ear playfully. It annoyed and turned him on at the same time, my favorite reaction from people. “Zero body count. Trust me.” And I meant it. But no one said anything about castration.

He stood at the threshold for a few moments, scanning my place, then dragged his gaze to my face. “She must be real special.”

I smirked. Such a fucking cliché. “Are we having a moment?” I arched an eyebrow.

He shook his head, laughed, and shut the door in my face.

I heard him mutter, “Bastard.”





Unfortunately, there wasn’t a manual on how to react when your ex-girlfriend, whom you were crazy in love with, loses her stepfather to suicide abruptly. But if there was, suffice it to say texting would be low on the to-do list.

So here I was, showering, shaving, and making an effort to not look like a floating piece of shit. Again. I knew Jesse was still at Gail’s, because Gail had been acting like I molested fire extinguishers for a living and treating me like an untrustworthy prick, avoiding my calls and telling me she was busy every time I asked her if I could drop by for coffee (which I never drank, especially not with random bald emo chicks).

So that’s where I went, bearing a banana-strawberry-cantaloupe smoothie.

Gail opened the door and crossed her arms over her chest. I wanted to head-butt her just for sporting a smile that said that she knew something I didn’t. But, of course, she did—she fucking lived with my girl.

Devil on my shoulder: you mean, your ex-girl. Forget that part where you betrayed her? Because she didn’t.

Angel on my shoulder: don’t mind the asshole in black. You guys are on a break.

“Where is she?” I leaned a forearm over her doorframe.

“At work.” Gail applied dark purple lipstick, her eyes still dead on mine.

“Work? What work?” I dropped the smoothie between us. Purposely. Fuck.

“The new job she got.” She looked down, smirking. “You better clean that up.”

“Do it yourself and I’ll pay you extra.”

“I hate you. No wonder she is dating someone else.”

“What?” It came out as a snarl.

Gail waved her arm dismissively and laughed. “She’s not, but God, you should have seen your face. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. And to think that you used to consider pool-banging multiple chicks as a water sport. Do you have a shrine for Jesse and everything?”