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Dane didn’t bother masking his irritatedsigh. Maybe he’d be more patient if they hadn’t just trekkedseveral miles through tree-filled dusk, then dark. “Stop worryingabout the goddamn coyotes. The faster we get his head, the fasterwe can get back to the car and get the hell out of here.”
Sawyer glared at him. “If you’d let me goget a digger…”
“You really want to risk that right now?”Dane waved his hand toward the ramshackle house twenty yards awayfrom the ancient cemetery they were currently desecrating. WhenDane first saw it on the satellite images from the tracker they’ddropped on the Crow van, he hoped it was vacant. They weren’t thatlucky. Light shone through salmon-colored curtains, flickering in aTV-is-on kind of way. Not to mention the rusty Ford Ranger sittingin a tiny parking lot about forty feet behind Sawyer.
“We have our orders, Dane. Does it matterhow we—”
“Unless you want to up the body counttonight. You think those are friendlies in there?” Dane starteddigging again, fearing they would lose the full moon’s light behindthe incoming clouds before long.
“You don’t?” Sawyer positioned himself backat the edge of the shallow grave.
Christ. Try using your fucking head foronce.” They’d been watching the entrance, where the main roadturned off into a gravel path leading to the parking lot. Once theStorm Crows left, Dane and Sawyer waited to be sure they didn’tcome back, and nobody else had set foot on the roads. “Think aboutit. Broad fucking daylight, the Crows felt safe enough to pull up,dig a giant hole, and throw a few bags of evidence in. Should tellyou what you need to know, Saw.”
Reaching in with a gloved hand, Sawyerbrushed a layer of dirt away and wrapped his fingers around theblack end of a garbage bag. Just as Dane had gotten used to therancid, rotting smell of congealing blood and early decomp whenSawyer tore open the first bag, but they both applied a fresh layerof menthol ointment under their noses before he tore into thesecond.
“Move.” Dane crawled around, knowing that anentire tub of Vicks wouldn’t insulate Saw enough for decomposition.Sawyer didn’t argue, but he didn’t retreat as far as Daneexpected.
Dane slipped his hand into the muck, gooeyblood and ooze seeping squelching around his leather and latexgloves. He felt around until he touched what had to be hair, upagainst a solid skull.
“Fuck.” Sawyer covered his mouth and turnedaway.
“Coyotes seem so bad now?” Dane smirked ashe held Ben’s head up. The Crows probably used a power tool toseparate his neck from the rest of him. The way the ragged skinhung loose on the throat gave it away along with the spine’s cleancut. A face once fit for magazine covers now looked like a cheapSpirit Halloween mask. The slack jaw revealed missing and brokenteeth. Too few to identify with dental records. And the skull waslittle more than gritty mush around the ears—one of which wasmissing.Maybe a souvenir hanging from a Crow chain?EvenBennett’s golden hair was matted and caked with blood and othermatter. At least they didn’t cut out his eyes.
He held the head closer, staring into theempty gaze. His eyes used to be so blue. So fucking bright. LikeAdam’s. Red burst capillaries covered each sclera, but even so withthe glaze of death, they were Ben’s eyes.Might beenough.
“Toss the bag.” Dane waited for Sawyer toslide his duffle bag in front of him and dropped Ben into it. “Giveme a hand.” He extended his own, waiting, but Sawyer stared at himlike he’d just asked him to recite the first seventeen digits ofPi.
“A hand with what?”
Dane groaned. “Literally. Give me one ofBen’s hands. Actually, fuck it. Give me both.”
“Oh!” Sawyer laughed and dragged thepreviously torn bag to his side. Dane watched him hold his breathbefore he dug in. He flung the appendages like dead snakes. “Thatall you need, bro?” Sawyer didn’t wait for confirmation beforepushing the garbage bag back into the grave.
“Good enough.” Dane zipped the bag and slungthe strap over his shoulder. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
Sawyer’s brow creased. “Seriously? But thebody’s—”
“Grab the goddamn shovel.” He didn’t checkto see if Saw followed him until they got to the car and startedpacking up. After cleaning up with bleach and baby wipes, theychanged into cleaner pants and new shirts. Dane settled into thepassenger seat of the gray Toyota Corolla and tapped a quickmessage to their boss.
Dane:Got the prize. Sending it your wayASAP. Heading back to the temp agency.
Crossing his arms, he let his chin fall tohis chest, determined to grab a few minutes of sleep while Sawyerfinished shoving the soiled clothes into the trunk. He hadn’t sleptfor shit since he left Chicago—and it wasn’t because he’d spent aweek hanging out with Ben and his slaver buddies, and the nextthree days staking out a Crow safehouse after the bikers capturedBen in a shootout.
The driver’s-side door opened and the seatcreaked as Sawyer got in. He eased the door shut, then came thejingle of keys, the roar of the engine. Dane counted the secondsuntil the car lurched into motion, rolling down the path withoutheadlights. And counted. No movement started. His eyes flashed opento find Sawyer glaring. “Are you waiting for us to get caught,motherfucker?”
“You know damn well—”
Dane tossed his head back against theheadrest. “Let it go.”
“They’re gonna find him, Dane.”
“It isn’t our fucking problem. It’s theCrows’ mess. Should’ve buried him deeper if they didn’t want thelittle shit to get dug back up.”
Sawyer shook his head, putting the car ingear and peeling out onto the main road. “It’ssloppy. Andthat isn’t you. Look, I get you’re pissed at the goddamn world, D,but that doesn’t—”
“We got what we came for, Saw. And withoutme, your stupid ass would’ve gotten spotted. So maybe before youstart pointing fingers about being sloppy…”
“He was your friend, Dane.”
