Chapter 10

XAVIARO

It's been two days since Sparrow chased me through the woods and made me see a god I don't even believe in. Two days and my protective blanket of numbness still hasn't returned. My skin tingles with too much awareness, sensitive to the soft slide of the silky, expensive material of my suit against it. The click of my shoes against the pavement echoes loudly in my ears as I make my way down the street towards the last abandoned building on the block. Well… condemned, not actually abandoned.

The smell of piss and garbage is heavy in the air, making me wrinkle my nose as I stop in front of the house, pulling out my phone to double check that I've got the right place. Not that it's any guarantee that this guy hasn't found a new place to shoot the mob's money into his veins by now, but it's a place to start, anyway. Should be an easy job. This is only his first warning, which means the worst I should have to do is break a finger or two.

I put my phone back into my pocket and reach inside my jacket to touch the smooth handle of my gun. I don't expect I'll have to put a bullet in this guy's head, but the first rule of being a Mafia hitman is the same as the first tenet of the Boy Scouts. Always be prepared.

The cuff of my shirt tugs at the chafed, bruised skin where the bungee cord dug in and left its mark the other night. I ghost my fingers over the tender spot, dragging in a shuddering breath as heat climbs up my spine and wraps itself around my cock. It's not the only souvenir Sparrow left me with, either. My throat didn't bruise visibly, but every time I swallow, I can still feel the way he tightened my tie until it cut off my breath.

I close my eyes for a moment, gathering myself before taking the cracked, crumbling steps one at a time up to the door of the house. I don't bother to knock on the door. There's no handle or lock, just a hole where both used to be. The door is held closed by something on the other side, but whatever it is, it's not heavy enough to hold up to the small amount of pressure I apply with my shoulder. The door swings open and the broken chair that was holding it closed scrapes against the floor as I push it out of the way.

My thoughts dance between work and Sparrow as I move through the reeking, dilapidated house. There are empty liquor bottles and used needles littering the floor, a few bare, stained mattresses pushed up against one wall or another, and absolutely no sign of anyone currently in the house. Maybe Paul Spanner decided to relocate after all. Not that it will help. He borrowed half a million dollars from the Morettis, then proceeded to gamble half of it away and shoot up the rest. I don't give a fuck what he blew the money on, all I care about is that it's my job to get it back, along with the interest rate he agreed to. Everything else is between him and whatever god he believes in. But for that amount of cash, a change of address isn't going to get me off his ass.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and a grin jumps immediately to my lips. I reach for it without thinking beyond the oversimplified thought that it might be Sparrow. Sure enough, it's his name that lights up my screen when I pull it out of my pocket. I accept the call and bring the phone to my ear.

"Hello, Little Sparrow."

"Hey, Killer," he says on the other end, his voice making my heart go wild against my ribcage. "I just wanted to see… um, are you thinking of coming by tonight?" He sounds nervous, which unsettles me immediately, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

"Is everything okay?"

A warm, throaty chuckle vibrates in my ear. "Everything's fine. I was just—"

The distinct click of a gun being cocked behind me has the rest of Sparrow's words fading in my ear. Everything warm inside me turns ice cold and my pulse slows to a crawl. I was wrong. Paul Spanner is here, I was just too distracted to do a proper search.

"Let me call you back," I say coolly, ending the call and letting go of my phone.

It falls through the air towards the littered floor. My movements are fluid and quick, muscle memory and survival instinct removing every ounce of hesitation. I spin to face the gunman, catching him by the wrist before he even realizes I've moved. The satisfying snap of his bone reverberates in my ears at the same moment that both my phone and his gun clatter to the floor.

So much for only needing to break a few fingers. Pull a gun on a mobster and you've signed your own death warrant. Sorry, Paul. Better luck in the next life.

Between one breath and the next, I have my own gun out and pressed between his eyes. He doesn't have time to even suck in a breath to start begging for his life before the graffiti on the wall behind him has a fresh coat of blood and brain matter all over it.

He collapses to the floor with a thud, and I tuck my gun away. I take a step back from the body, nudging his gun away with my foot and using both hands to smooth out my suit. The numbness that's been uncomfortably absent recently settles into my bones like an old friend. Except, as soon as I spot my phone out of the corner of my eye, it releases its hold on me again. Not gone this time, but dormant, hovering just around the edges of the warmth that the mere thought of Sparrow ignites inside of me.

Instead of calling him back right away though, I hit the speed dial that connects me directly to Lorenzo Moretti.

"Xaviaro," his velvet voice says my name in lieu of a traditional greeting.

I'm back on schedule with collections, but there's a part of me still waiting for the other shoe to drop. There's no way Enzo doesn't know that I brought Sparrow with me on my rounds the other day. If I were a more optimistic man, I might think he just doesn't give a fuck. But that kind of outlook is more suited to a life of puppies and unicorns than the blood and bruises I'm used to. There isn't shit I can do about it one way or the other until Enzo brings it up, so I push the nagging feeling aside for now.

"Hey, boss. I wanted to let you know that I had to drop Spanner. I know it's a lot of money to write off, but he pulled a gun on me."

If the debt was less or if I hadn't been so distracted on the job lately, I might not have bothered running straight to Enzo to let him know how things went down with Paul tonight, but things feel so off between the two of us that I'm still trying to figure out which way is up.

He's quiet for several moments before he responds. "Get a couple of his fingers, we'll mail them to his rich parents and see if we can recoup any of what he owes us."

"Will do," I answer, already heading back out to get the supplies I'll need out of my car.

"Thank you. And Xav, I'm glad you got him before he got you."

An amused sound puffs past my lips. "As if there was any other outcome possible," I bluster, even though I know he's too damn right. I can't let myself keep being distracted and emotional on the job like this. I need to find balance and learn to compartmentalize if I'm going to stay alive.

"Never," he agrees with matching humor in his tone.

Neither of us bother with goodbyes. He ends the call and when I hear dead air on the other end, I do the same. I shoot Sparrow a quick text telling him that I've gotta deal with some messy shit but that I'll call him in a bit, and then I get to work. After all, dead bodies rarely dismember themselves.

SPARROW

I've made enough laps around my tiny apartment that I'm surprised I haven't worn a hole in the floor at this point. I drum my fingers against the back of my phone and do another lap, pausing to glance out the window, past the fire escape. I squint, not really expecting to see Xaviaro lurking down there in the darkness tonight. We're past the stalker bit. At least I hope we're past it.

I flip my phone over, hoping that I've somehow missed another call or text from him even though it hasn't left my hand in the past hour. Maybe it's for the best that he's too busy to call me back. I've spent the last twenty-four hours trying to come up with a plan to keep Xaviaro out of the way while I go after the next Reaper, but all of my ideas have sucked.

I dart a glance towards my bed and the set of soft red bondage ropes I picked up today lying in the center of it. Guilt creeps through my gut and I shake my head. I can't tie him up just so I can go commit a murder without his interference. It wouldn't be right. And yes, I'm extremely aware that my moral compass might be a little off if murder doesn't move the needle but breaking Xav's trust in a bondage scenario sends it spinning. Or maybe I've got my priorities just right. Fuck if I know.

I huff out a breath and finally tap on the notification that is waiting for me. It was almost too easy to get a hold of my next target. Riff Raff. Is that name any better than Velcro? I'm undecided. It certainly fits the man, with his unwashed hair and yellowed smile. His dating profile is… interesting, to say the least. It reads more like he's trying to sell drugs than get his dick sucked. But as soon as I swiped to match with him, a blowjob was definitely the number one thing on his mind.

The messages started rolling in immediately and they were thirsty as fuck. They started off with compliments about my ‘beautiful mouth'and were quickly followed by a handful of dick pics. I guess he figured one wouldn't be enough? I can say with certainty that his dick did not become any more appealing by the fifth photo, no matter how artistically he tried to frame it.

The new message that stares back at me is his address. I scroll back up in our exchange, double checking that he said his roommate would be out of the apartment tonight. Just me and good ol' Riff Raff. How romantic. A grin curves on my lips as I reach for my dagger, the weight of it in my hand sending an automatic thrill through me.

Fuck it. I'm not going to wait around all night to hear back from Xaviaro. He has his hands full, and that's perfect as far as I'm concerned. I send a message to Riff Raff telling him I'll be there in twenty, and another to Xav letting him know that I'm going out for a bit and I'll call again later.

Xav's remains unread for now, but Riff Raff's is met with another flurry of horny replies that I mute before sliding my phone into my pocket and my knife into its sheath. I shrug my jacket on and grab the roll of duct tape and the garbage bags off the kitchen counter. I'll behave and dispose of the body this time. Maybe that'll earn me some extra points with my murder marshmallow. I'm sure it couldn't hurt.

I don't bother locking my apartment door. It's not like there's shit to steal in there anyway. The smell of weed lingers in the hallway, along with the sound of music being played too loudly and arguments going on behind several of the doors I pass. Moving out of this building can't happen soon enough. Not that I have the first fucking clue what happens after I'm finished with these fuckers. One step at a time.

I reach the street below, the heavy building door swinging closed behind me loudly. I scan the parked cars, my eyes landing on a cherry-red Mustang that's wildly out of place. The smart thing to do is to take one of the nondescript rust buckets that won't be reported missing and won't catch anyone's attention at the murder scene, but damn, the Mustang is tempting.

I approach the car, running my hand along the spotless hood with an appreciative purr. I bet this girl can fly. I can picture myself cranking up the music and rolling down the windows as I floor it, weaving through traffic to the apartment building over on the side of the town that most of the Reapers call home. Xaviaro's face drifts through my mind, all disapproving with a silently arched eyebrow.

"Fine," I mutter, turning away from the car and settling for the shit-brown Camry parked behind it. I tug at the driver's door and it opens without resistance. It only takes me about a minute to pry the plastic cover off the underside of the steering wheel to access the right wires and have the car rumbling to life.

It's no Mustang, but I still roll down the windows and crank some music while I drive. I take in the city as I make my way through town. I've only been here a couple of months, but in a weird way, it feels more like home than anywhere else has. Maybe it's because this is the last place Benny ever walked around. It's the place he took his last breaths.

Grief and rage tighten around my throat until it's difficult to breathe. Will killing these four assholes be enough? Will it finally put the memories of my brother to rest? Or will I have to keep going until I've spilled the blood of anyone wearing a Sleepless Reapers patch? I guess only time holds the answer to that question.

I roll to a stop in front of the right building a little while later. The place is nicer than mine by a mile, and that makes me irrationally irritated. Why should this drug dealing rapist piece of shit have heated water while I take ice cold fucking showers every morning? I slam my car door harder than necessary when I get out, drawing looks from a couple of people passing on the street.

"The drawback to all the emotions you have crashing through you every second is that they make you sloppy."

I can hear Xaviaro's words loud and clear in my mind, my lips burning with the memory of our first kiss that night. He was wrong—he's not a machine. But he might have been right about my emotions.

I pull a few shaky breaths into my lungs, but they don't do much to calm me. I don't need to be fucking calm though, what I need to be is controlled. I draw on that steady feeling that Xav's trust instilled in me the other night. I can't shed my emotions, but I also can't fuck up. If I do, it's going to put him in a bad position, and I won't do that to him.

Once I'm relatively sure that I'm not going to lunge at Riff Raff as soon as he opens his door, I make my way towards the building. When I reach the main door, I press the buzzer connected to the apartment number he gave me. It takes a minute or two, but eventually the intercom crackles to life.

"Yeah, who's there?" a voice answers in a slur.

"Uh… it's me, Craig," I say in the most innocent, nonthreatening voice I can manage.

The chuckle that comes through the speaker in response sends a chill down my spine. "Right, right, right. Come on up, baby." He sounds blitzed. His voice cuts off and the door buzzes loudly seconds later.

I reach for the handle, a momentary hesitation making my insides freeze. Who the fuck knows what this guy could be on right now. It could make this easier or it could make it a hell of a lot more difficult. I hold the door open, my knuckles aching with the tightness of my grip as I weigh the options.

If I bail now, I won't get back in this easily again later. Who knows how long I'll have to wait to get another chance. That seals it. I yank the door all the way open and step inside.