Page 81 of The Dearly Departed

Because even if he wouldn't admit it, even if he was too stupid to realize it, he had played a long, long, long game.

And I was the biggest fucking loser.

I had lost everything.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

An assassin.

A hired killer.

A fucking hit man.

That was what he wanted from me.

I could feel my life slipping through my fingers like grains of sand as I hurried through the house on my way to the door with Dean on my heels. Everything I was, everything I knew, had been as good as terminated the moment I agreed to Gerald's terms.

He would reach out when he needed me, and I was to report to him and accept my orders with no questions asked. If I refused, he would anonymously hand me over to the cops, and once I was within their custody, he would be free to approach Isaac and Shawn.

Kill or be killed, was what I’d heard, though he hadn’t said it quite in that way. He might as well have though.

I reached the door, desperate to escape this side of hell, knowing I'd be back soon enough. I was ready to leave—I needed to—when Dean surprised me by pressing his palm to it before I could twist the doorknob.

"It gets easier," he said, keeping his voice low. "When you stop remembering all their names … it does."

"How can I forget a name I was never given?" I fired back.

He swallowed, and there … I saw it. That little flicker of humanity flashing across his eyes. There was a good guy in there. A soul. He just didn't let it show around Gerald. It was his weakness, and I bet I could use it against him someday … if I had to.

"David," he whispered. "The waiter you killed. That was his name."

It was a startling gesture, one that reached into my chest and twisted against my heart. He lifted his eyes to my face, searching for mine beneath the mask, and I accepted the proverbial olive branch with a single nod.

He fished a flip phone out of his pocket and held it out to me. "Gerald or I will call or text when you're needed."

I took it from him and tucked it away without a word.

"Don't let anyone else see that phone," he warned. "And if they do, I'd suggest you don't let them answer it."

Then he walked away toward the dining room, where we'd left Gerald eating his third slice of pie, and I opened the door and stepped back out into a world that had no clue I’d just signed my life away.

I headed toward the hearse, parked in the driveway. Déjà vu struck like a hammer to the brain, and I remembered, just a handful of nights ago, peeking through the drapes and seeing Leonard's wrapped body in the back. Tonight though, it was empty. He was still gone, far, far away, in a place I was certain I'd never go.

Do any of Gerald’s get into Heaven? I wondered, retrieving the keys from my jacket pocket.

Friends. I shook my head at the thought. It was a tough pill to swallow, a capsule made of broken glass and splinters, and maybe it was the denial talking, but I still wasn't sure I believed such a friendship between Leonard Llewellyn and Gerald Crowley existed. I needed more proof.

But that's the whole point of this, I reminded myself. Because my life had ended the minute I dumped poison down that guy's throat. But I could spend the last days, weeks, months—maybe even years, if I was so lucky—of my freedom finding answers and destroying my father in the process. I just needed to keep that in mind, stay focused, and—

"What is your name?"

I closed my eyes to the sound of her voice and muttered, "You're making this a habit now."

"What?" I could hear the smile in her voice.

"Stopping me from getting the fuck away from here," I answered, turning to lean against the side of the hearse to stare at the vampiric vision of Analise, standing amid the moody glow of strategically placed lights.

"Well, I'm going to be seeing more of you, so I figured we should at least be friends."