by J Bree
He knows when the time comes and he needs to sort his bullshit with the Boar, I’m there every step of the way.
Ride or die.
Rock motherfucking solid.
“Cleaning house? Or killing all witnesses? I think he’s got like thirty or so men working under him.” Roxas says, lighting his own cigarette.
I blow out a stream of smoke and watch it disappear into the warm night air. “Cleaning house and he has twenty-eight men in there. Only one of them is expecting us.”
Harbin raises a brow. “You bought one off? Risky.”
I smirk and show him my phone. The photo of the beautiful little girl is one I’m going to delete the second we’re done here. I’m not a big fan of using kids to get to people but, fuck, my line has drifted some in my vengeance mission.
“He knocked up one of the girls a few years back. Stole her and blamed another of the Vulture’s men, got the guy killed. Bit of a fucking mess but it’s working in my favor.”
Roxas chuckles and puts his cigarette out underneath his boot. “The Coyote can hunt fucking anything down, man. I might need him to look someone up, you think you can make that happen?”
I check all of my knives and guns and cleavers before stepping forward, away from my Mustang and towards my mission. “Easily done but it’ll cost you a fucking fortune. He’s a price gauger, hoards his money like he’s planning on dying a fucking billionaire.”
They both chuckle at me because it's not the first time I’ve gone off about the little asshole’s prices, and we move out.
I doubt tactical groups could clear a building as fast as we do, bodies dropping like flies as we use the security footage I’ve been watching for fucking months to anticipate where they’re all hiding out.
It’s a fucking pit, none of the men cleaning up after themselves or even fucking showering with any sort of regularity, and every room I burst into stinking worse than the last.
Disgusting.
Roxas crows like a fucking kid when he kills ten guys himself and wins his own stupid little bet. I don’t give a fuck about these guys really, only that they need to be dealt with to get to the Vulture.
The man himself is hiding in his little office on the top floor.
The view out to the city is fucking great and the thought crosses my mine that my girl would love it but I’d never fucking bring her here to see it. Not to this fucking cesspit.
When I burst through the door it’s clear the bodyguard isn’t expecting me, the security cams on the walls showing a loop of the footage from the night before.
He’s completely unaware that all of his friends are now dead.
A bullet between the eyes and he joins them, his brains splattered out on the wall behind him.
Fuck, he stinks.
I guess being without women they just gave up giving a shit here but even before I had my girl I didn’t fucking reek like this lot. It’s disgusting.
I make it through the last door of the night to find the Vulture counting stacks of cash at his desk, smirking at the sight of all of his riches that he’s made from the fucking misery of little girls and beautiful women.
The smirk slides off of his face, and his eyes dart around to attempt to look behind me. “Where the fuck are my men, Butcher? I don’t like people being back here.”
I slide a hand slowly down my cleaver, the bloodlust swelling inside my chest as his gaze follows the movement. “And I don’t like rapists like you breathing my air down here in the Bay. What are we going to do about this?”
His shifty eyes start darting around the room, as if a hoard of bodyguards are suddenly going to appear and hide him.
They’re not.
The fuckers are still leaking a little out in the hallway.
“Look, whatever it is you want, you can have it. Money, drugs, pussy, I have it all.”
I take the first step towards him without really thinking. “Oh yeah? And is any of that pussy willing? Have you ever sold a girl who actually wanted it?”
He starts fumbling over words but I cut him off, “No, not the girls you find who owe money to the wrong people. I mean girls who find you and ask you to sell them. Fuck, I’ll admit, some of this was my own fucking fault. I never looked into your business enough. I didn’t until I met my girl, and now all I can do is think about all of the girls you’ve had go through here.”
I take another step forward, chuckling under my breath as he flattens himself against the far wall. Nope, that isn’t going to save you, pervert.
“I provide a service. I don’t kidnap the girls! I just fucking sell them, I don’t even touch them!”
Lie. Biggest fucking lie ever told.
Not only does he touch them but he likes them young.
I’ve seen what he’s like around the kid.
He sees the bloodlust in my eyes, the death there that means he’s not getting out of this no matter what promises and lies he tells.
"Fuck, you know they're going to kill you for this? Not even the Butcher can take on the entire institution of the Twelve and get away with your skin."
He's wrong, though, isn't he? Because I have. I've done it before and I'll do it again. A slow and easy smirk stretches over my lips, the one I've given to hundreds of men before I carved them up.
He finally sees it.
He's the prey and I'm the beast, claws and teeth, here to tear him to pieces.
"Don't kill me. I have information that could save you. I know all about the Jackal's bomb!"
I shrug and start towards him. I can smell the acrid stench of his sweat and body odor. Fuck, do any of his crew shower? They must take their cues from this disgusting dickhead.
When I stay silent he tries a different tack. "I know what the Jackal is planning with the Wolf! I know what he's about to do now she has friends."
Hold the fuck on.
Friends?
Plural?
Good. I'm glad she finally has someone and that fuckhead D'Ardo isn't fucking messing with her. Not on my watch.
He's the next on my list anyway.
Two birds; righting my girl's wrongs and getting the kid to safety, finally.
Fuck, maybe killing the Vulture will help me out with that. If I ask her to induct me, pretending it's to keep me and Odie safe, then I can stay on her tail a bit better. D'Ardo is the only one left now, I could focus on keeping her safe that way.
I could finally get her out from under him.
By the time the guys arrive I have the Vulture pinned out on the carpet of his own office, knives through each of his wrists and a garden stake through each of his ankles. He’s screaming, his voice hoarse and broken, and I swear it’s the sweetest motherfucking sound.
“Should I even ask why you want the hearts?” Roxas says, leaning against the far wall like he’s cozying up to watch a show.
I roll out my toolkit and take out a cleaver, the edge of it freshly sharpened. I keep them well maintained, always as sharp as a surgeon's scalpel.
“Hearts for his woman. Sounds fucking poetic to me. Didn’t know you were the type.” Says Harbin.
I enjoy the bloodcurdling terror in the Vulture’s eyes as I lift the cleaver, ready to smash through his rib cage.
“What can I say, I’m a fucking romantic.”
Epilogue
Illi
I take her hand, the one with the rings marking her as mine, and I walk her into the tattoo parlor behind me. She squeezes my hand a little, nervous at the musty dark little hole in the wall place I’ve brought her but I’ve spent enough time here to know we’re safe here and we’ll be well looked after.
“Illi! Long time no see, man! I didn’t think you had any space left on you for ink.” Kiefer calls out and I nod at him.
Odie peeks out from behind me and his eyes widen. “Holy shit! You brought a girl here? It must be love!”
I grin and squeeze her hand back. “Have some respect, asshole, this is my wife.”
The words just roll off of my tongue pe
rfectly, no hesitation in me at all. She’s mine, my girl and my wife. In the eyes of the law and the lawless streets of the Bay, Odette Illium is fucking mine.
He grins and introduces himself, shaking Odie’s hand quickly and stepping away like his ass is on fire when he gets a look at the scowl I’m throwing him.
I don’t like people touching her. Fucking no one, not even an old friend.
“I need some ink.”
Kiefer nods and motions towards the table. I direct Odie over to the spare chair and get her situated, double-checking I have a good view of the door and the street outside from where I’m sitting before I make my choice to go through with this now. I need her safe the same way I need air in my lungs. It’s non negotiable, a necessity for my survival.
“What are you after? And where the hell do you have skin left? Are we going with more ink on your face?” Kiefer snaps on gloves as he talks.
He’s the type of artist that doesn’t ever use stencils, freehand drawing everything straight onto the skin and then working his magic. I’d found him years ago, back before he had the shop, and from the second I’d seen his work I’d never let anyone else touch me.
I’m sure he’s going to hate that fact now.
“Two things. I want my wedding band tattooed to my finger and I want my wife's name tattooed on me.”
Kiefer nods and fires up the tattoo gun. “A black band? Smart move, rings can be dangerous on the job.”
He knows exactly what work I do. Most of the Bay do, but he’s had to patch up tattoos on me before, covering stab wounds and bullet holes the second they’ve healed up enough.
The band takes a half hour, Kiefer prattling on about gang wars and stray bullets the whole time. Odie keeps her eyes on mine, the small smile she often wears flirting with the edges of her lips. She looks so fucking happy, just so at peace with being Mrs. Johnny Illium and our life here in the worst city in all of the country.
I’m a fucking lucky man.
“And where exactly am I putting your wife’s name? And I need the spelling, I’ve never met an ‘Odette’ before.”
I smirk at him and stand up. He doesn’t notice the smirk and he doesn’t catch the rosy blush on my girl’s cheeks either. “It’s O-D-E-T-T-E and I want it on my dick.”
Kiefer blinks at me and then shakes his head. “Of fucking course you’re getting it on your fucking dick. Like my day hasn’t been long enough. Well, come on then. Get the monster out.”
My phone buzzes on the table by my bed.
I ignore it for a second, stroking the hair away from my girl’s face and peering down at her instead. But there’s only one person in the world that calls me with that ringtone. I changed it on purpose, had to make sure I never ignored the kid. After everything she’s done for me, I’d never leave her in the lurch. Not ever.
“What’s going on, kid?”
She huffs down the line. “Matteo found out I finally inducted someone. He’s in a jealous rage. I know… I know seeing him again is going to be fucked up but I need some backup. Do you think you’re up for it?”
I shift Odie off of my chest and onto the bed without waking her, and roll out of the bed lithely. “Of course. I told you before, you call and I’ll be there.”
She’s doing me a favor really.
He’s the last person left on my list to die for her.
For my baby girl.
“I’ll meet you at the docks with him. I’m bringing… my guy.”
Well, fuck me sideways. Her guy? Did she finally find someone worth messing around with? “Sure. I’ll skin the two-faced, treacherous little fuck alive if he touches a hair on your head, kid.”
She grunts and hangs up, and I stare down at Odie again.
Time to go to war.
Acknowledgments
First and foremost a huge thank you to my bestie and PA Laura Frazier, without whom none of my books would be possible because I flail about like a muppet without her. Thank you for being my biggest supporter and the besets, most cutthroat friend. I love you!
To Katy, for being the most amazing friend and for all of your support while I moan about how hard words are. I’ll always be so grateful for having you in my life, I love you!
To Sloane for all of your help and support while I cried on zoom about the dangers of writing prequels, thank you for putting up with me while I was at my worst!
To Cassie, for our sprinting that got me over the line and our suicide pacts that got me through. You didn’t judge me in my raw form and I still loved you without adequate naps. We’re here, we’re queer, and we want to disappear.
To Kenia for always being up for a late night chat and for your translation help over both parts of the Butcher, thank you and I love you!
And to all of my readers, thank you for loving my books and hanging out with me in the Bay. I can’t wait to share more of this world with you <3
Author Bio
J Bree is a dreamer, writer, mother, farmer, and cat-wrangler. The order of priorities changes daily.
She lives on a small farm in a tiny rural town in Australia that no one has ever heard of. She spends her days dreaming about all of her book boyfriends, listening to her partner moan about how the wine grapes are growing, and being a snack bitch to her two kids.
If you want to know when J’s next book will come out, please visit her website at http://www.jbreeauthor.com, and sign up for the newsletter or find her on Facebook at J Bree Author.
Also by J Bree
The Mounts Bay Saga
The Butcher Duet
The Butcher of the Bay Part I
The Butcher of the Bay: Part II
Hannaford Prep
Just Drop Out: Hannaford Prep Year One
Make Your Move: Hannaford Prep Year Two
Play the Game: Hannaford Prep Year Three
To the End: Hannaford Prep Year Four
Coming 2020
The Queen Crow Trilogy
All Hail
CONTINUE READING FOR AN EXCEPT FROM
Just Drop Out
Hannaford Prep Year One
Available now on Kindle Unlimited
Prologue
The forest at the edge of Mounts Bay, California, city limits are well known for being haunted.
The kids at the local high school have spent generations whispering about the bodies buried in shallow graves, waiting for the wolves to scent them and dig them up for food. There’re even more legends about the souls that walk amongst the towering redwoods. It’s quiet, not silent, but compared to the ever-present sounds of traffic and humanity
it’s eerie and adds to the haunted feel.
While I don’t believe in ghosts, I can feel the souls that linger here.
It’s probably just my guilty conscience giving me the heebie-jeebies as I look over the corpse of my opponent. His blood is still fresh on my hands, cold and congealed, and I wipe them uselessly down my jeans. My clothes are just as stained as my hands, even my face is spattered with the red stains of his life ending. I look like something out of a horror movie, which is about right considering I’ve just bashed a man’s skull in with a rock while a whole crowd of people looked on in sick fascination. There isn’t a person watching that dares to make a noise. The vise-like grip of the Club holds their tongues.
I’m not afraid of being caught.
I’m small for my age. Years of food insecurity have taken their toll, and I was the youngest contender in the Game this season. None of that matters though; I’ve won. I’ve beaten thirty men and teenage boys to take the victory and the spoils of this war.
I stumble toward the men at the perimeter of the fighting ring. They’re all cloaked in black, hard looks on their faces and black ink etched over their cheeks. My hands tremble at the thought of wearing those same marks. The marks of the Twelve. But I’ve earned them. I’ve earned the right to stand with them and be one of them.
To be free.
“Congratulations, you’ve won the Game,” the Jack
al speaks, and I shiver at the cold tone of his voice, so unlike the warmth he usually extends to me.
I nod my head. I want this over with. I want a hot meal and an even hotter shower.
“Welcome to the Twelve. You’re replacing the Hawk. Who do you choose to be?”
Free. I guess a hawk is a good embodiment of freedom, but it feels strange to take a dead man's name, like climbing into his bed with the sheets still warm. I look around at the other men that make up the Twelve. Their names are what they’re known as on the streets, what their gangs cover themselves with as protection and a warning. I could have that too. I could make myself a queen of my own empire. I could rule the streets and never go hungry again.
I could escape the cycle of poverty my mother has left me in.
My eyes land back on the Jackal, and I lift my chin until I no longer feel like I’m looking up at him.
“I am the Wolf.”
