Teller
Margot’s waitingfor us in the parking lot of the funeral home. I’m not sure what her father told her about my phone call. But she’s dressed in all black, even has her hair tucked up under a black knit cap—like she’s planning to rob a bank with us.
“She’s fucking adorable,” Jiggy mutters.
“A little murder get your libido up?” Dex asks.
“It’s always up.” Jiggy grins.
“For fuck’s sake,” Rock mutters. “We’re not done yet. Focus.”
I stop Z from opening the tailgate of my truck. “The less she sees the better.”
Rock, Jigsaw, Murphy, and I meet Margot in the center of the parking lot. Her anxious gaze sweeps over us, stopping at the bloody spots on my side. “Are you hurt?” she asks.
A strangled noise hums in Jigsaw’s throat but I ignore him.
“I’ll be all right.” I jerk my head toward the crematorium. “I’m not sure what information your father gave you…”
“He said to give you whatever you need.” Her gaze skips over us again, like maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to do what her father asked.
“Show us how it works.” I nod to the low brick building. “That’s all we need.”
“Oh. All right. I can do that.”
Jigsaw and Z follow us into the building, to what looks like an oversized cinderblock furnace with metal plating around the outside. She walks us through the process of burning the bodies. It’s slower than I realized. And it seems like a cleaner way to leave this Earth than what these guys deserve. It’ll certainly be less messy than how we disposed of Grinder’s old parole officer a few months ago in the basement of Loco’s diner.
We sure have seen a lot of death this year.
Some of it caused by us.
Others, we stood by and allowed, because it’s what our outlaw code demanded.
Does all this death make us men or monsters?
After we’ve shoved the first body into the fire, I pose that question to Rock.
He stares at the flames for a few beats. “It’s either us or them. That’s the life we’ve chosen.” He glances over. “I’d rather be on this side, standing next to my son, than burning.”
“Me too.” After a few more seconds of silence, I ask, “Should we have let Sticks go?”
Whitey and Thumbs had to die, no doubt. Sticks had been a bit of a question mark. At least until he made a run for it.
“If he ratted out his brothers, what do you think he would’ve done to us?” Wrath asks. “Not worth the chance.”
“Just another loose end to tie up later,” Z agrees.
My cheeks heat, either from the flames in front of us or because Wrath and Z overheard our conversation, but I keep my expression blank. “What about June?”
“Ain’t gonna be any evidence left.” Wrath nods to the flames. “Even if she goes to the cops, what exactly is she going to tell them?”
“Next contestant!” Jigsaw shouts and elbows us out of the way.
Z makes a shooing motion with his hand at me. “Go have your existential crisis conversation somewhere else, Teller. I’d actually like to get home to my wife before the sun comes up.”
“Can’t go any faster,” Dex warns, helping Jiggy move the corpse. “You heard what Margot said.”
“Mr. Whitey’s gonna have to wait his turn,” Z says.