Page 61 of Poisoned Pawn
“Could have done that in the first place,” Maddox states, eyes narrowing as he tries to figure out if I had another angle with my original plan.
“Driving him off a cliff makes it look like a tragic fucking accident. Little harder to claim dismemberment and falling into a barrel of acid as an accident, not to mention it’s fucking messy. You think your gut can handle it, Maddox?” I can’t help the dig. I know he used to be Theo Rogers’ personal assassin.
He sneers, but Roxanne cuts off whatever he was going to say. “Let’s get started then. We can work out the other details once we are on the road.”
Her words give the impression we are riding together but fuck that. We’ll end up at the bottom of a cliff if I have to endure being stuck in a car with them for five hours, but I keep my mouth shut for now.
Zak and I head to the barn while Maddox and Roxanne go and collect Vinnie, leaving Star in the house to pack up.
I see Zak eyeballing the trunk full of weapons as we enter. I leave him to have his fill while I fetch a sheet of tarpaulin.
“Should I start calling you John,” he asks behind me.
I smile as I turn around and see him holding one of several Microtech Ultratech knives. The exact blade John Wick uses.
“One of the best blades I own. They belonged to the guy who owned the house before me.” I watch as he handles it, caressing the handle like its precious. Only a man with an affinity for knives would wear a look like that on his face.
“Your uncle, right?” he asks casually as he swipes the blade through the air.
I’m not surprised he knows who owned the house. I knew they would dig deep to find Star. It also means they know my real name. I wonder how long it will be before that subject comes up.
“Yeah. Keep it,” I tell him, hauling the tarpaulin to the doors.
I step out just as Roxanne and Maddox arrive carrying Vinnie. Zak pockets the blade then joins us.
“Come on, there’s a small outhouse at the back of the house perfect for what we need.”
The concrete outhouse is musky and damp when I open the door, and several large spiders run for cover as we enter. Shelves cover the back wall, but are mostly bare, and there’s a large, lidded barrel in the corner.
I quickly spread the tarpaulin out, covering the ground and about three inches up the wall. I leave Roxanne and Maddox to dump the body while I go and fetch an axe and some overalls.
When I return, they’ve stripped Vinnie down to his boxers, his clothes piled in the corner. I’ll burn them later along with my own. I drop the axe next to Vinnie and begin pulling the plastic overalls up my legs.
“You done this before?” Maddox asks, assuming his usual stance of feet apart and arms folded as he scowls at me.
“A couple of times. Not my favourite thing in the world, but necessary at times like this.”
He simply nods. “Maybe I’ll stick around in case I ever need to do it,” he suggests, and I don’t doubt he’s referring to disposing of me.
“You’re welcome to. No better way to learn than from the best,” I tease knowing it will piss him off, which isn’t hard to do.
“Yeah, I don’t think so. Maddox and I will go clean up the blood. You got a hose?” Roxanne asks, pushing Maddox toward the house as he throws murderous glances at me over his shoulder.
“Yeah, round the side,” I call as they walk away. Zak stays, standing in the doorway as I finish putting the overalls on and pulling on a pair of latex gloves.
“You’re seriously pushing it with him, man. And it’s not cool.”
“And he’s not doing the fucking same?”
“He’s protecting his family.”
I raise my brows and step forward. “Tell me something, Zak. What would you do for Roxanne?”
He doesn’t even hesitate before answering. “Whatever it takes. Burn it to the fucking ground if I needed to.”
“And there you have your answer.” I spin around, going inside and closing the door behind me. I spend the next hour dismembering Vinnie and depositing the pieces of him into the barrel. By the time I’m done, all that’s left of him are his clothes and a pool of blood littered with pieces of broken bone and torn flesh.
I wrap up the tarpaulin and take it and his clothes plus my blood splattered overalls to a metal drum at the back of the outhouse and set fire to it. Acrid black smoke plumes up into the sky as I contemplate what I just did. I don’t hold an ounce of remorse or even a small level of disgust at the fact I just chopped a guy up. Some might consider that a sign that I’m a psychopath, but I consider it a sign of a man willing to do whatever it takes to protect the people he loves. If that makes me a psychopath, then I’ll claim that label and wear it like a fucking badge of honour.