by Harley Stone
Matthew Parker needed someone to rip his larynx out through his asshole, and I was just the man for the job. Bet the bastard would have a hard time talking his way out of charges then.
“Do we need to call in someone else?” Emily asked.
“What? No!” I couldn’t even believe she’d asked such a thing. I was in. I was so fucking in, I could already feel my hands wrapped around that little peckerhead’s throat, ready to give him a taste of his own medicine. My face felt hot, and my heart pounded against my chest. Never in my life had I wanted anything as badly as I wanted to fuck this motherfucker up, which—as I watched the growing concern on Emily's face—I realized might be the problem. “No. I’ve got this.”
“You sure?” Naomi asked. “Because steam is coming out your ears and your eyes are starting to glow. It’s cool that you care and want justice as bad as we do, but we can’t let you out on the street like this. You need to get your game face on.”
Emily nodded, jabbing me with a finger. “If you lose your temper and blow your cover, we’ll miss out on this opportunity. We have a plan. It’s a good one, and I will bring the wrath of God down on you if your temper screws it up. If you end up in jail and Matt walks free, you and I are gonna have a problem.”
“Maybe we overshared,” Naomi said to Emily, talking about me like I wasn’t even there and acting like she wasn’t just throwing down the coat rack and making death threats. “Next time, we should stick to the task we need performed and not share the why.”
Emily eyed me. “Yeah, but I wanted him to know what he’s dealing with. Matt’s manipulative. He’ll try to talk his way out of it. And when he can’t, he’ll come after Tina. She’ll need our protection. I have a feeling about this one, and my senses are telling me she’s in more trouble than she can imagine. Nobody ever believes their husband is capable of murdering them. Especially not a husband who looks like Matt.” She pointed at his picture. “He’s wearing a pocket protector, for crying out loud.”
Naomi frowned. “Maybe we should call in Bull.”
They wanted to replace me. I needed to get myself under control, because there was no way they were yanking me from this case. They didn’t need my fists or my fury. No, there were other ways to knock a motherfucker off his feet. I could do it their way. Matt needed a missile of karma up his ass, and when the smoke cleared, I wanted to be standing over his corpse, holding the launch codes. Determined to bottle my rage, I filled my lungs with air, held my breath while I counted to ten, and then blew out my anger. Feeling marginally better, I repeated the process. Both ladies watched in fascination as I felt the excess blood drain from my face. Unclenching my fists and rolling the tension out of my shoulders, I said, “Okay. I’m good now.”
“Neat trick,” Naomi said with a smile.
“Thanks. Kept me out of the sin bin a time or two.”
“The sin bin?” Emily asked.
“Hockey slang for the penalty box,” Naomi provided. “Our boy here played center, which meant he was needed on the ice making plays. He had to keep his temper in check, or his coach would kick his ass.”
She knew about me. Feeling played, I arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were a fan.”
Her smile widened. “There are a lot of capable veterans in the Dead Presidents, but we make sure we get the right man for the job. Now that your inner hockey beast is contained, I think you got this, Kaos. Actually, I know you do.” She looked pointedly at the prospect patch on my cut. “This is your chance to prove yourself, and you won’t let us down.”
Her faith in me was humbling and welcome as she reminded me of what was at stake. One of my favorite things about the Dead Presidents was that everyone started at the bottom. They were unimpressed with the accomplishments of my past, requiring me to perform in the present. The ladies were giving me a shot to do just that, and Naomi was right. I wouldn’t fuck it up.
But this was about more than a patch on my cut.
This was about helping a terrified single mom and her wayward son get out from under the thumb of a narcissistic son-of-a-bitch. I’d keep my cool to help Tina and Dylan.
Rolling my shoulders again, I cracked my neck. “All right. What’s the plan to bring this shitstain down?”
Emily smiled and steepled her fingertips. “Well, it starts with pizza.”
4
Kaos
PIZZA.
When Emily first muttered the word, I thought it was a metaphor for something, but no, I was delivering pizza.
Neither my bike nor my Escalade made for a believable food delivery vehicle, so I borrowed Naomi’s Subaru. As I picked up the order, I couldn’t help but chuckle at my assignment. Since life before the service had consisted of nothing but school and hockey, I’d never actually had a job. Now, my volunteer work had me pretending to be gainfully employed at Pietro’s Pizzeria. If my old hockey buddies could see me now, I’d never hear the end of it.
Well, until they saw that picture of Tina all covered in bruises with a black eye and a split lip. Then they’d gladly slip into the same company T-shirt I was wearing and join me on this little adventure. When we finished with Matt, Tina wouldn’t even need a divorce.
Matt lived in an upscale neighborhood in Duvall, a suburb of Seattle. As I navigated in his direction, I decided being a pizza delivery man wouldn’t be so bad. It’d get me out of the house and keep me busy, enabling me to discover unfamiliar neighborhoods and meet new people. If I ended up losing my shit, botching this job and killing the motherfucker, maybe I’d give it a try.
After I carefully disposed of his body, of course.
The navigation app led me to a perfect family home with two executive-level vehicles parked in the driveway and another at the curb. Just as Tina had said, Matt was hosting himself a little get-together to watch basketball. She knew about the party because during their last supervised visit, Matt had invited Dylan. He knew damn well the boy wouldn’t be allowed to attend, and only did it to stir up shit with Tina.
I couldn’t wait to ruin the bastard’s day.
Parking behind the car at the curb, I cut the ignition and tried to make sense of the house. I’d pictured something dark and ominous, but the two-story craftsman was painted a cheerful blue. In my mind, there had been bars on the windows, but these windows were flanked by white shutters. A matching picket fence lined the professionally cut and edged lawn. Colorful flowers lined the walkway, and there wasn’t a weed in sight. A welcome sign even hung over the doorbell, and the mat beneath it celebrated spring.
This was the home Matt had shared with his wife and child.
He had stashed pictures of his abused hooker here.
The bastard had beaten the shit out of his wife just on the other side of that door.
It should have looked like a prison.
Boxes in hand, I headed up the driveway. The front window was open, allowing me to hear the game buzzer followed by indecipherable mutterings of the announcer. Cheers responded. The game was in full swing, and Matt and his buddies were into it. Good. Their distraction would make my job all that much easier.
Keeping the paperwork Emily had given me out of sight between the two pizza boxes, I situated the receipt on top of the box and checked the pen I’d snagged from the pizzeria. When it drew a black line on the box, I knew I was good to go and rang the doorbell.
I’d been expecting the man in the photo to answer, so the stout balding man who opened the door threw me off. Before I could say anything, his gaze zeroed in on the boxes in my hand, and he shouted, “Who ordered pizza?”
He swung the door wider, revealing a living room with two brown leather sofas and a matching recliner. The place was crowded with men. Heads turned toward us, and I scanned the faces finding no sign of Matt.
“Who cares? Just grab ’em and shut the door,” someone said. “The light’s reflecting on the TV.”
The stout balding man reached for the pizzas, but I stepped back.
“Sorry, I have a message for a Ma
tt Parker and need a signature.” Nobody else would do. If I didn’t get Matt’s John Hancock, today would be a flop. I’d be burned, and the ladies would have to come up with another plan that didn’t involve me. I had not come this far to be cut out now.
Someone shouted for Matt.
The blond haired, blue-eyed, dimpled pretty-boy came around the corner and smiled at me.
Much like his house, Matt was a deception. He reminded me of a kid I’d once played hockey with. The motherfucker would smile and wave at the crowd with one hand while he cup checked his opponent with the other. I’d never had much use for people who took cheap shots, and I still carried around a bit of PTSD from those fists or sticks to the groin. Everything about Matt Parker made me want to drop the boxes and rearrange his pretty face. Making the outside of him look as repulsive as the inside would be hella satisfying.
But that wasn’t the job.
So, I plastered a smile on my face and forced myself to ask, “Matt Parker?”
He nodded. “Yeah, but I didn’t order any pizza. There must be some sort of mistake.”
“No mistake. The order was placed by a…” pretending to read the ticket, I said, “Bill Orwell. He wants you to know he’s sorry he can’t make it to your party, but wanted to send over a couple pies as a thank you for the invite.”
“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” A dark-haired man stood from one of the couches and glared in our general direction. “I know you’re after that raise, Parker, but inviting the boss…? That’s low, bro. Even for you.”
“Got something on your nose there, Parker,” someone else added. “Should probably shove that beak further up Orwell’s ass to wipe it off.”
“Oh, come on, you all know I didn’t invite Orwell,” Matt argued, turning to face the group. “Which one of you assholes set me up?”
Tina said mentioning the boss would stir up a hornet’s nest, and it sure did. I was only hoping Matt didn’t refuse the pies to appease his boys. Doing my best to play the role of a disinterested minimum wage employee, I said, “Look, man, they’re paid for, and I have other deliveries to make. Eat ’em, toss ’em out, give ’em away, I don’t care. I just need your signature on this line so I can bounce.” I angled the boxes toward him and held out the pen.
“If that old bastard ever shows up to watch a game with us, I’m out,” someone announced.
“Yeah, me, too.” Matt said, taking the pen from me. “Next game, you all better bring your own beer, because I’m not supplying if you’re gonna treat me like this.”
He signed the receipt, and I gave myself a mental fist bump as I pocketed the paper and slid the packet of paperwork out from its hiding spot between the boxes. I slapped it on top and passed everything to Matt.
He instinctually accepted the package even as confusion contorted his face. “What the hell is this?”
I gave him a shit-eating grin and took a big step back, preparing to make my escape. “Divorce papers. Congrats, motherfucker, you've been served.”
The shock that registered across his features was some next level shit. Pleased, I turned to leave.
“Divorce…? Served? Wait. Tina… Have you seen my wife? Where is she?”
He sounded genuinely concerned. No, more like heartbroken and desperate. Had I not seen the proof of his brutality, I would have second-guessed the situation. Now understanding why Emily and Naomi had shared the photos with me, I ignored him and kept walking.
“Please, you have to help me. She’s… she’s messed up in the head. I’m worried about her, man. If you have any idea where she is… I only want to get her some help, you know?”
“I’m sure you do,” I said over my shoulder, not buying his lies for a second. “I'm sure you’d like to beat some help right into her, asshole.”
I almost made it to the Subaru before he shouted at me to wait. I’d had enough of his bullshit, so I gave him what he wanted. I stopped and turned to face him. “What?”
“Have you seen her? Is she okay?”
After what he’d done, he had no right to ask. And that forced concern in his eyes… it only made me want to knock his ass out. “She’s still sporting the bruises from when you tried to strangle her, but she’s good. Way to show concern about your victim. It’s really fuckin’ believable.” I gave him two thumbs up like the smartass I was.
His expression fell. “That wasn’t me. I didn’t lay a hand on her. She has some mental problems and she… Man, I think she’s self-harming. She’s a danger to herself and our son.”
I was onto him, but that clearly didn’t mean a damn thing. The bastard was still trying to convince me. And he was good… really fucking good. I wondered if he believed himself. Goddamn pathological liar. He might be able to gaslight the authorities, but his sad expression and business-casual khakis and button down on a Sunday didn’t fool me. I didn’t trust men who weren’t even comfortable enough to dress down on a weekend. “Sure. She strangled herself. Seems perfectly legit. For the record, I’m not interested in any Arizona ocean front property you have to sell, either.”
“How dare you.” He glanced behind him, but we didn’t have a crowd. Everyone was more interested in the game than they were the delivery man. Matt straightened his shoulders—so he no longer looked like a kicked puppy—but kept up his game. “I would never hurt my wife. I just want her back safe.”
I chuckled, letting a little of my anger seep into the sound. “Yeah? Well, I’m pretty sure back with you is the most dangerous place she can be. Stay away from her if you know what's good for you.”
Emboldened by my jab, he leaned forward. “That a threat?” Taking in my worn jeans, T-shirt, and boots, he turned his nose up at me like I wasn’t shit. I hadn’t bought his innocent routine, so now the bastard was trying to put me in my place. “By a delivery boy? Maybe you should stay in your lane so you don’t get hurt.”
Thought his nice house and high-paying job made him a bigger man, did he? Didn't matter. I knew who the fuck I was. Let him underestimate me; I enjoyed it. One phone call, and my financial advisor could liquefy enough assets to buy Matt’s company and send him packing if I really wanted to.
But I was not about to let him think he could bully me. “If you think you can put me back in my lane, you’re welcome to get your scrawny ass over here and try.”
I don’t know what he saw in my eyes, but it was enough to make him look me up and down and realize I was a hell of a lot bigger than he. His social status wouldn’t mean shit when I knocked out his teeth and put him in the hospital. Snapping his mouth shut, he wisely turned and went back into his house.
Disappointed, but content with the outcome of our little confrontation, I got behind the wheel and called Emily. She must have had her phone in hand, because it didn’t even ring before she answered.
“Kaos? How did it go?”
“Made the drop. Chickenhawk signed.”
Sounding relieved, she laughed. “Chickenhawk, huh?”
“Trust me, it’s fitting. This shithead struts like a hawk, but clucks like a fuckin’ chicken.”
“An alive and uninjured chicken, I trust?”
“Yes ma’am. I was a model of self-restraint.” I was so pissed I could barely get the words out. My hands shook as I started up the car. The fucker had gotten under my skin, and I needed to get out of there before I did something stupid like march my ass back into that house and put Matt Parker through a wall.
“You don’t sound very restrained.”
“I’ve played my hand and done my part. The game face is down. It took everything in me not to put my foot up his ass.”
“We’ll get him, Kaos. In a way that doesn’t land you in jail and implicate Tina. I’ll meet you at the fire station. You can let off some steam in the basement gym. I’ll even call ahead, and Shari will have a strong drink waiting for you.”
I turned the corner and stepped on the gas, getting as far away from temptation as possible as I headed for the Dead Presidents headquarters. “You’
re too good to me. See you soon, boss.”
5
Tina
I KEPT ONE eye on the time as I used my phone’s browser to check out the local help wanted ads. It was three-twenty-two p.m., which meant the first televised basketball game of the day had started. Where was Kaos? I pictured him turning into my neighborhood and getting an eyeful of the beautiful blue cage I’d broken free from.
God, I hated that house.
It was Matt’s dream, but all I saw was a prison. And I’d stepped into that cell and locked myself in all too willingly. It hadn’t started out like that. When I got pregnant with Dylan, I had every intention of finding a job as soon as he was born. But, without my degree, nothing paid enough to cover the cost of day care. Matt came from money and made more than enough to support us. I let him talk me into staying home until Dylan stopped breastfeeding. And then until he started kindergarten. Somewhere along the line, I stopped fighting for myself completely.
I couldn’t argue with Matt’s logic. Besides, when we’d lived in our old apartment building, being a stay-at-home mom hadn’t been all bad. I’d made friends in the building, and my sister was within walking distance. Matt worked long hours, but I wasn’t entirely by myself with Dylan when he was gone.
Then Matt surprised me with the house.
Most women would be over-the-moon at the immaculate modern kitchen and the giant walk-in closets, but all I saw was isolation. Duvall was twenty-five miles from my friends and sister, and I didn’t have a car. Matt had grinned from ear to ear as he showed me around my pretty blue cage, but I felt the walls closing in on me.
Regardless, I didn’t want to be miserable, so I tried to make the move work. I filled my lonely days with gardening, cooking, and interior design. Heck, I even tried to fit in with the catty, pretentious housewives of our upscale suburban neighborhood. But I hadn’t come from money and couldn’t care less who was carrying around a knock-off purse. No matter how I tried to keep busy, I missed my squad.
