Page 89 of Fool Me Twice

Cane dropped his head to the floor in relief, clutching his bruised and bloody body as he turned over on his back and panted.

“Fuckers. Those fuckers,” he breathed, staring up at the ceiling.

When he felt like he wasn’t going to pass out anymore, he looked around at the absolute mess of his apartment.

He got back to his feet, cradling his ribs. He grabbed his gun from the planter and walked back over to the two he’d shot. The one he’d left bleeding and awake had tried to pull himself down the hallway toward the guns, leaving a bloody trail. He’d given up halfway though, and was now propped up against the wall, blood pooling around him.

Cane walked over to him and grabbed the hit man’s bloody face, pressing the gun between his eyes. “Who sent you?”

The guy clenched his jaw and Cane bared his teeth.

“You’ve got three seconds. Your gorilla kind of pissed me off, and I’m no longer feeling charitable.”

“There isn’t one name,” the guy choked out, pain making his voice weak.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“The head gangs got together and decided. They want you gone.”

Cane swallowed, not letting it show on his face. “Is that so? How lovely for them to get together and agree on something for once.”

“You’re a liability to them. The police. The curse. They don’t want it coming back on them,” he gritted out.

Cane pressed the gun harder into the hit man’s head. “Well you can tell them I don’t feel like going anywhere.”

He knocked the guy out with the butt of the gun and leaned against the wall with a grunt. Now his bruises had bruises, and he was pretty sure some shit was fractured, not to mention the bullet graze on his face, which was still dripping blood.

And now he had four unconscious assholes strewn around his apartment to deal with.

“Cane?” Hart’s voice rang out. “People are gathered in the hallway and you left your door unlock—OH MY GOD!”

“Tell those fuckers out there to mind their own business,” Cane called, finding it hard to shout.

Hart ran around the corner, dressed in one of Cane’s shirts with his hair messed up and looking distinctly unlike Cane had ever seen him. Even undressed and fucked to within an inch of his life he’d never looked this…disheveled.

Cane couldn’t concentrate on that though, because Hart’s eyes were widening to the size of dinner plates, slowly taking in all the blood and the people on the floor.

“Cane…what the fuck?”

The swearing caught Cane off guard, so much so that he started to laugh. He didn’t know why it was so damn funny, but it was. Until his ribs protested and made it hard to breathe. He clutched them tighter and thunked his head back against the wall. “Shit.”

Hart rushed over, carelessly knocking into one of the hit men and not stopping. It was like he didn’t even see them anymore. His hands hovered over Cane but didn’t touch, eyes frantically moving over every inch of him like he was the only thing in the room. It was almost manic. “Are you okay? Do you need an ambulance?”

“Fuck no. Who do you think they’ll call? I don’t need the police breathing down my neck again,” Cane said, sucking in a pained breath. “I’ve had worse, anyway.”

“Worse than this?” Hart said, face growing darker. “Who were they?”

Cane frowned at the abrupt question. “Why does it matter? You gonna do something about it?”

“Who are these people?” Hart asked instead, switching conversational tracks like he couldn’t stay on one. “Are they dead?”

“I told you I’m a black mark now,” Cane said. “This is what that means. They don’t just let people who know their secrets ride off into the sunset, or get taken in by the police where they could cut a deal. And no, they’re not dead.”

“They’re trying to kill you!” Hart hissed.

“Trying, yes. Bless their hearts.”

“How are you so calm about this?”