Chapter 7

SEVEN

LELAND

I hurry down to the main office space where Jackson and Cassel are balls deep in work. I just smack Cassel’s papers out of his hand so he’s aware of the gravity of the situation.

“What the fuck was that for?” he cries.

“We have a situation,” I say as the two men watch me with bated breath.

“Which is?” Jackson asks.

I continue to hold the pregnant pause as all eyes fixate on me before Cassel turns back to his computer, clearly no longer interested, leaving me highly offended.

“What the hell, Cassel?”

He just shakes his head at me like the brutal man he is. “There’s no way I’m feeding into your bullshit. It’s probably something like ‘Jackson looked at the fence’ or ‘Did I tell you about the time I murdered fifteen people from the back of a bull while blindfolded and handcuffed?’”

“How would I do that?” I ask, interest piqued.

Cassel shrugs. “Maybe you’d use the bull? I mean, those fuckers hit hard.”

“That’s true. Ooh, I’d have knives strapped to the tips of my shoes so I could shiv the people as the bull charges by.”

“Hey, love. I feel like something important was going on and you have gotten horrifically sidetracked,” Jackson reminds me.

“Oh yeah, Tavish got fucked over. The job he was on went wrong, and now he’s been stabbed and is bleeding on some private island or something and needs us to come save him. Hilarious, right?”

“You didn’t think to open with that?” Jackson asks.

“Ah, fun!” Cassel says.

Jackson looks surprised. “Which part?” he asks, as though he could be confused by any of this.

Cassel looks, rightfully, confused by Jackson’s confusion. “It sounds like Tavish is having fun and we shouldn’t intervene, right? You know… with the man who is a bit irritating and probably doesn’t deserve to be helped?”

I stand there for a moment as I think about this because… Cassel really is right. Jackson’s giving me a “We really need to help” look and Cassel’s giving me an “I think he’s going to do a fantastic job on his own” look.

“Cassel, I hear what you’re saying. The man is dreadful, almost as bad as Jackson’s mother.”

“Hey,” Jackson mutters.

“But… it kind of sounds fun to go to a private island and hunt some assholes down, does it not?”

Cassel gets a dreamy look on his face. “I’ll grab my swim trunks.”

“I don’t think that’s what he was implying,” Jackson says.

“Jackson doesn’t need any type of swimsuit. He likes to swim in the nude. He says he likes the way the water caresses his dangly bits.”

“Ew. Jackson, that’s a really weird thing to share with people,” Cassel says.

Jackson sighs. “Cassel, do you think I’ve ever actually said anything that even remotely sounds like that?”

“Ignore him, he’s just being salty,” I instruct. “So the issue is that when Tavish called, we bitched at each other so long they had time to jam his signal. Can you still find his phone?”

“I guess it depends on how they did it. Let me look. I have access to everyone’s phones in case something like this happens,” Cassel says proudly.

“Sometimes I wonder if he’s a stalker… and if he sees the secret pics I send you, Jackson.”

“I’m sorry, you act like you’ve been sending me dick pics,” Jackson says as he pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through the pictures of different knives I’d been interested in buying.

“I don’t want Cassel to know everything I have in case he turns out to be a double agent and I need the element of surprise,” I explain.

“Double agent, my ass,” Cassel says.

I pull out my phone since I feel like maybe others wouldn’t want to miss out.

Me: Hey, the three of us are going to a private island for some fun. You two want to join in?

Jeremy: Like… fun, fun? Like relaxing?

Me: Yeah, I would assume it’d be pretty relaxing.

Henry: This is suspicious as fuck.

Me: You guys will get to see Jackson naked. That should be reason enough to go.

Jackson: I will not be naked. And we are trying to help Tavish who got into some shit.

Jeremy: I thought you hated Tavish?

Me: I also didn’t like you at one point and look at us now. We’re as close as brothers. Closer, even. Just don’t tell Cassel how close.

Cassel: I will fuck you up. Go caress your fence some and let me think.

“Jackson, Cassel is bullying me,” I say.

“You likely deserved it.”

I gasp, positive he’s wrong about that. But I decide that while Cassel tries to see what he can do to track the phone, I could possibly do something else of use. “Cassel, Jackson and I will go to Tavish’s house and see what we can find. Maybe there’s something there that we can dig into to figure out who he’s in a contract with.”

“Okay, let me know if you find anything. I’ll keep working here.”

I hurry off upstairs to grab a weapon or two just in case there’s someone who needs to be fucked up.

“Why do you have two shotguns?” Jackson asks.

“Because I left the third at home,” I explain. He must also be upset that I left Matilda at home if the way his eyebrows scrunch up and his head cocks to the side has anything to say about it.

“Ah… how foolish of me to ask,” he says.

I hurry toward the door with him on my heels. “I hope there’s a serial killer waiting for us there.”

“Why would there be a serial killer waiting for us at Tavish’s house?” Jackson foolishly asks.

“So we can fuck him up and make him beg for forgiveness. And if we can’t make him beg, I hope he decides to run so we can chase him. And I hope there’s a fence so I can watch you climb it. Before we go, take a picture of me so I can send it to Waylon,” I say, thrilled by the idea.

“We are not sending a picture of you toting two shotguns to him,” Jackson retorts, like there’s something about the idea that could possibly be wrong.

Ever since we acquired our new child Waylon, Jackson likes to remind me that I shouldn’t taint him and that we’re simply providing a happy home for him until his brother is out of prison. But it’s been my life goal to make him enjoy the same hobbies that I do. So far… he’s a bit too… let’s say… goody two-shoes, but I’ll break him down eventually.

Since Jackson won’t do it, I whip out my phone and get a selfie of myself but lower the guns when he gives me a look. I send it to Waylon.

Me: Waylon, it’s your new and improved father wanting to let you know that we might not be home when you get out of school. We’re going to go break into Tavish the Turd’s house because the dumbass got himself shot up and stuck on an island LOL.

Waylon: Is… is that an “LOL” situation?

Me: Sure as fuck is. Be good. Don’t bring any chicks or dudes or humans of any kind over. We haven’t had the proper birds and the bees talk.

Waylon: Please… can only Jackson text me when we need to talk?

Henry: Why the fuck am I involved in this conversation?

Me: Because I want to show him how good of a role model you are, Daddy Henry.

Waylon: This is so freaking weird. I will be good. I won’t let anyone in. I won’t go into the basement that I’m convinced is just a room where you keep your victims, and I also won’t go in your weird gun room.

Me: That’s my boy. You’re starting to be more and more like me every day.

Waylon: Please. No.

“I think that went quite well. Waylon and I are bonding more and more every day,” I announce.

“Are you? The smug grin on your face right now makes me question that, but you know what? I’m happy to hear you’re bonding,” Jackson says as we head out to the car.

Cassel had given Jackson Tavish’s address while I was harassing… I mean, lovingly talking to Waylon, so he plugs it into his GPS and starts driving.

After a short drive, we pull up to Tavish’s place which looks irritatingly normal for a parasite such as him.

“I wonder if he has a security system or something?” Jackson asks as he heads up to the door. “Or maybe he’s hidden a key somewhere…”

“Hmm…” I mutter as I eye the irritating house. There’s something about it that reminds me of Tavish and annoys me.

“Oh, damn am I good. Hidden key,” he says just as the rock sails through the window.

Jackson looks over at me with wide eyes. “Leland.”

I look every which way but at him. “Who threw that! Who the hell did that?!”

“You didn’t even check any of the windows, let alone look to see if there was a key.” Jackon sighs as he slides the key in and unlocks the door. “You’re buying him a new window.”

“Jackson, come on, don’t make me feel sick. It’s not my fault his window is as weak as his sex appeal,” I say as he swings open the door. “I bet there’s a serial killer waiting for us in there.”

“There’s no freaking serial killer,” he mutters as we step inside.

“There better not be,” the man standing inside says. “Oh wait… are you talking about me?”