Cold Blood (Lone Star Mobsters Book 4)

by Cynthia Rayne

“Technically, but most priests haven’t seen what I have.” He swallowed. “God is merciful, and I think He would admit Woolly into heaven.”

  “Really?”

  “I hope so. Woolly’s been in agony for years. What kind of a God would deny him solace?”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “We’re also not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but he took the easy way out. It’s a real dick move to leave your buddies all alone.” He looked at Justice pointedly.

  “Roger that, but from time to time…”

  “I know, but we’re takin’ hard path. What’s the Navy SEAL sayin’?”

  “The only easy day is yesterday.”

  “You’re damn right, and if we both survived Hell Week, we can take this, too.”

  Hell Week in BUDS training was infamous. They’d stayed up all night standing and shivering, in the cool ocean water with a big ass log above their heads, moving it up and down, on command. The idea had been to break them, but they’d made it through. A lot of recruits couldn’t say the same.

  Justice smiled half-heartedly. “And hey, the Taliban threw everything at us. Those dicks beat us, cut us to ribbons, lit us up with car batteries, and here we sit.” He didn’t know if it was a miracle, or maybe a curse, but they’d survived.

  “Hooyah.”

  “The rest of them should be here with us. Tank, Gunnar, Woolly, and Bulldog, too.”

  His throat ached. “Especially Bulldog.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what? I didn’t say a word.”

  “I know what you’re thinkin’. We’ve been over this before. You did what you had to.”

  Trick looped an arm around his neck and squeezed. It was somewhere between a hug and a chokehold. They all used to give each other big bear hugs after they all made it back from an operation, like football players basking in the glory of victory.

  Until that last time.

  “Did I?” Because Justice wasn’t convinced.

  “Enough. Talk to me.”

  Justice opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t spit the words out. He’d spent so long stuffing all this down, locking it up, not thinking about it, willingly opening those memories was difficult.

  “Give me a second.” Justice couldn’t think straight. He kept seeing Bulldog lying on the floor.

  No, Woolly. Woolly had died today. Bulldog was long gone, nothing but ashes left.

  “You can and what’s more you will. That’s an order, soldier.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Trick. You ain’t my commandin’ officer anymore.” Although, old habits die hard.

  “Think again. Your ass is in need of a good kickin’. I shoulda done this a long time ago, for both of you. If I had, maybe Woolly would still be alive.”

  “Look, I wanna talk it out, but not now.” Justice stood.

  His emotions were too raw, and he felt too exposed. If Justice let the walls down, he might break into pieces.

  “I can see we’re gonna have to do this the hard way, so let’s go. If you want me to beat it out of you, I will, but we’re doin’ this once and for all tonight. I’m done with your excuses.”

  “Think you can take me?”

  Trick got to his feet. “I know I can.”

  His heart pounded harder, thumping against his ribcage. Most days Justice was raring for a fight. The physical discomfort obliterated the mental kind, gave him something else to focus on.

  Today, he needed to be hit. No, craved it.

  “I guess we’ll see.”

  With a cry, he launched himself at Trick, shoving him to the ground. Trick clipped him under the jaw, sending his head snapping back, then planted a foot on his chest and thrust him backward, so Justice sprawled on his ass.

  “Stop this.” Trick grabbed him by the shirt, shook him until his eyes rolled up in his head. “You did him a kindness. We never blamed you.”

  “I blamed me. Besides, you weren’t even there. What the fuck do you know about it?”

  “Nothin’ until you tell me.”

  “I murdered him! Isn’t that what you wanna hear, you bastard? I murdered Bulldog. I slit his fuckin’ throat.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  Justice pushed him away. “Fine, you want the bullshit official version? I helped him commit suicide.”

  “It was neither of those. You put him out of his misery. Bulldog would’ve died anyway.”

  He paced back and forth. “No, I killed him. It shoulda been me instead. Bulldog didn’t get a chance to live. On his first tour, he died. How is that fair?”

  “It isn’t. None of this is fair.”

  “It’s like he was never even here.”

  “We remember him.”

  “And when we’re gone?

  “Stop deflectin’. Tell me what happened.”

  “It won’t change a damn thing.”

  “Yeah, it will. You don’t have to keep it to yourself any longer.”

  “You know what happened.” Trick had helped him load Bulldog’s body into the helicopter.

  “Yeah, I got the facts, but I don’t have the details. I want the nitty-gritty particulars. I wanna know every last thin’ that happened. Start at the beginnin’.”

  Justice slumped down on a lawn chair once more.

  "Before you begin, give me your cell phone." Trick held out his hand.

  "No."

  "I mean it, no distractions."

  Justice reluctantly handed it over. Trick turned the phone off and tucked it into his own pocket.

  Fuck this.

  He wanted to get drunk and high and shut all these memories down, but he couldn’t any longer.

  Every single minute of the ordeal had been etched into his memory. Like it played on a loop in his mind, and he questioned every decision he’d made, every action he’d taken, searching for a way out of the mess, the thing he should’ve done to save Bulldog.

  “Why? Why would you wanna put it in your head?” He wished to God he could forget, rinse it all away, wash himself clean.

  “Because it’s in yours and it’s eatin’ you alive. And I’m afraid any day now, I’m gonna get a call from the police, sayin’ your body’s been found in this godforsaken hellhole. And I ain’t gonna let it happen. You ain’t leavin’ me behind, brother. Spill it.”

  Justice sucked in a ragged breath. “We were sleepin’ on the floor when one of the guards unlocked the cell. It rattled open, and he went right for Bulldog.” Almost like the motherfuckers had a plan.

  “Another torture session.”

  “Yeah. I got to my feet, offered myself instead.” He’d protected Bulldog as much as possible. Justice was older and had been in the field longer. He wasn’t as vulnerable.

  “Jeff punched me in the gut, and I hit the ground.”

  “I hate that dickhead.”

  “Me too.”

  Justice had a visceral memory of the whole ordeal. It all happened so slowly, every single second had been an eternity.

  “Hours later, they dragged him back into the place, and tossed Bulldog onto the floor.” His stomach rolled, the gorge rising.

  They’d gutted Bulldog, split him open from neck to knees, his entrails hangin’ out. It took someone a long time to bleed out. A man could last hours, days even. The stench was unbelievable, and the wound sickening. Blood soaked the floor. Bulldog’s lips turned blue, and he’d started to shiver.

  He’d tried stuffing his innards back inside, to keep Bulldog alive, but it didn’t work. Justice had nothing to close the wounds or disinfect them. All they had in the corner of the room was a bucket full of filth, and the cups of rusty water the guards gave them to drink.

  At that point, they were all weak, half-starved, and injured. All he could do was hang onto him, hold Bulldog, so he wasn’t alone. After a while, Bulldog begged him, pleaded with him, to slit his throat, to spare him the suffering.

  “He asked me to open his jugular.” Justice wrapped his arms around himself.

  He c
ould still feel the blood on him, like a brand. It ran thick and hot over his hands, sinking into his skin.

  “So you did.”

  “Yeah.” Tears blurred his vision and slipped down his face. “But I didn’t have a knife, so I had to use a jagged rock.” It hadn’t come easy. Slicing his jugular open had been a slow, arduous process. Bulldog had been moaning in pain, but yelling at him to go on.

  So he’d cut, jamming the rock into his neck, until the blood burst forth like a fountain, pumping all over Justice with every dwindling beat of Bulldog’s heart.

  Justice wrapped his arms around his head, trying to shut out the memory, but he couldn’t.

  “Finally, he bled out.” Those glassy dead eyes, staring at him, accusing him.

  Afterward, Justice screamed, and he couldn’t stop himself. It was a prolonged primal shriek which had called the guards over. They’d given him another beating and then pissed on Bulldog’s corpse for good measure. Justice fantasized about finding those motherfuckers, hunting them down, coming up behind them one day with a gun in his hand and a song in his heart.

  “I should’ve…”

  “There’s nothin’ you could’ve done. Even if the helicopters had gotten to us that night, would he have lived?”

  After a moment, Justice shook his head.

  “And then you were left with the body.”

  “For days.” He shook. And the blood dried on his hands and face, and his clothes, too. He’d tried to sleep, but it was all over the floor, so he’d propped himself against the wall.

  “Findin’ Woolly’s body brought it all back?”

  “Yeah.” Just like being with all of those corpses in the abandoned house.

  “The sight of him. The smell…”

  “Why didn’t you tell the shrink all this?” Trick asked.

  “I just couldn’t.”

  When they’d gotten back to base, they’d been ordered to see a psychiatrist. At the time, he’d been seriously fucked up. Even holding a conversation with another human being, had been difficult, let alone a professional who wanted to pick at all his wounds.

  Justice rolled his neck and then sighed.

  “Feel any better?” Trick asked.

  “No, not really.” Justice was exhausted, wrung out like he’d just been on one of those grueling hikes they used to go on.

  He chuckled. “You’re not supposed to. This was the first step, and you’ve got a lot more in front of you.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Although, at the very least, he’d made a start. When he saw Etta tomorrow, he vowed to tell her to everything, every single last detail. Then Justice would figure out what she’d been holding back.

  And then he was going to ask her to be his old lady.

  “Not a problem. Now give me the weed.” Trick held out a hand.

  “Oh, come on.” This was a bridge too far.

  “I mean it. You’re usin’ the stuff like a crutch. It’s time to go cold turkey.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “Hooyah.”

  Justice pulled a bag from his pocket. For a long moment, he stared at the scraggly strands of marijuana, before tossing it to Trick.

  “Good decision.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Trick tucked the weed into his pocket. “I know why you’re doin’ this, by the way. This is about the woman you’re seein’, the one you can’t shut up about.”

  “I don’t talk about her that much.” Do I?

  Trick glared.

  “Okay. So what? Etta deserves better than a basket case.”

  “No worries, brother, I can think of worse reasons to change. Etta sounds like a special lady.”

  “She is. And what about you?”

  He chuckled. “I ain’t a special lady.”

  “No, I mean, how are you? How’s the whole chastity thing goin’?” Justice was desperate for a topic change, some normalcy.

  “Peachy.” Trick scowled.

  “Yeah, I can tell.”

  “Shut it.”

  “You know, we don’t have to let the weed go to waste. We could smoke the rest, just to get rid of it, I mean.”

  Trick heaved a sigh. “You’re so full of crap.”

  “Yeah, but I know you wanna. After all, you’re the same guy who did ten belly shots off this blond with big—”

  “Shut your mouth, and for the record, if I catch you with any more drugs, I’m gonna kick your ass. Again.”

  “Understood.” He fired off a mock salute.

  “Spark it up.”

  Justice rolled the last of the marijuana into a large joint they could share. He lit the end, took a hit, and then passed it to Trick.

  “And if you ever tell anyone…”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re a broken record.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Gah. This place is like a sauna.”

  After she got home from work, Etta opened up all the doors and windows in the house to air it out. It wasn’t quite hot enough to switch on the AC, but not cool enough to close the windows either.

  She didn’t feel like making anything for dinner, so she grabbed some cantaloupe and cottage cheese from the fridge, along with a beer.

  Etta planned on staying up until Pretty Boy arrived. She’d texted him on and off throughout the day to touch base. Earlier, she’d tried calling him, but music blared so loud in the bar, she couldn’t hear a thing.

  In the meantime, she kept busy. Etta washed the dishes, did a load of laundry, and packed her lunch for tomorrow, as well as other chores around the house.

  Around eight o’ clock, the screen door creaked as it opened.

  Tensing, she seized the gun and her phone and headed into the kitchen. Grady stood a few feet away from her. He leaned against the counter.

  Oh no.

  Etta backed away from him. She dialed 9-1-1. Right before she hit send, he held up a hand, and she stopped. For now.

  “Easy. I didn’t come here to make trouble.”

  “Well, I will. If you step even an inch closer, you’ll be sorry. What did you come for?” Her finger hovered over the button.

  “To talk.” He lit a cigarette, and stepped further inside, into the light. Etta was secretly thrilled to see Grady had some cuts and scrapes on his hands and purplish bruises in the shape of fingertips on his throat. Justice had done a number on him, and she was almost sorry she’d broken it up.

  “About what? Violatin’ your parole by comin’ over here?” Etta clasped the gun with the other hand and pulled it out. “Talk fast, and if you come even one step closer, I’ll finish what I started a long time ago.” The steel felt good in her hands, like a lifeline. Strange, since it was an instrument of death.

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “I wanted to clear the air. I shouldn’t have given you a hard time.”

  “O-okay.” Etta was thrown by his sudden change of behavior. What kind of mind fuck is this? Etta didn’t buy this act, yet she didn’t know what to do. But if he wasn't going to be hostile, then neither would she. For now.

  “I’m serious. Instead of harrassin’ you, I should be focusin’ on gettin’ my life together. I wasted enough time already.”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  His lips twisted. “Anyway, I’m lookin’ out for number one now.”

  Didn’t he always?

  “All right.”

  He stared at her for the longest time. It was unnerving.

  “I wish we’d never met.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Guess we can’t change the past, huh?”

  “No, all we can do is deal with it, and move on.”

  He paused, as though considering it. “Well, it’s what I intend to do.”

  “Run it by me one more time.” She must have imagined this whole thing.

  “I’m sayin’ it’s all over. You and your new boyfriend, don’t gotta worry about me anymore.” He rubbed his jaw. “I didn’t even tell my parole officer he roughed me up.”

 
So the police wouldn’t be charging Justice with assault. Thank God.

  “Um, great.”

  This was so bizarre. Grady seemed remorseful and rational, too. Did he have a change of heart because of Justice’s ass-kicking? Maybe he had a head injury, and it knocked some sense into him.

  “See?” He nodded. “No hard feelin’s and everybody gets a fresh start.”

  “That’s the gist.” She didn’t know about the first bit, but she agreed with the second. Etta wanted nothing more to do with him.

  “I’m not gonna say I’m sorry.”

  “Because we both know you aren’t.” Grady had loved every second of terrorizing her.

  “No.” He smirked. “Hmm, this will be the last time we’ll be seein’ each other.” He held out his hand. “Take care.”

  Something about the way he said it, bothered her. They both lived in a small town, so inevitably they’d run into one another. Although, it would be nice if he ignored her when their paths crossed.

  Then she remembered his outstretched hand. Did he want to shake on it?

  “I appreciate the gesture, but no.”

  “Let me guess, you got no desire to touch me again?”

  She didn't respond.

  “Goodnight then.” And then he walked out the door and presumably out of her life.

  As soon as Grady drove off in his Ford, she shut all the doors and windows and locked them up tight, then texted Pretty Boy and told him what happened.

  Want me to come over now? I’ll get somebody to cover my shift.

  Etta hesitated, pondering taking him up on the offer, but he’d be here in a few more hours. Besides, Grady hadn’t started anything, so the dangerous part was over. He’d never backed down from hurting her before.

  No, he left, and I’m fine. It was just really weird.

  Think he’s up to something?

  Hope not.

  Me too. Keep me posted.

  ***

  Etta turned over in bed. She hovered somewhere between consciousness and sleep.

  She’d given up on staying awake to meet Pretty Boy around midnight. She’d instructed him to call when he got to the front door instead, and she’d let him in. Etta had been up since dawn and was exhausted.

  That’s when she smelled it, an acrid scent.

  She sniffed, trying to identify the odor.

  Smoke!