Page 7 of Sinners Reunion

“Yes, she is, but you weren’t supposed to know that. Think you can keep it between us three?” Lice Pick eyes me. “Please?”

“I think I can do that.” I pause for dramatic effect. “If you tell me why I’m here.”

He groans and grips his bald head in his hands. “I can’t do that. Jim said if we tell you anything⁠—”

“Chad Smith!” a man bellows from outside. Footsteps pound up the stairs, and a man in a suit barrels through the doorway. A large white bird perches on his shoulder, and it flaps its wings as the two men turn to look at him. “I gave both of you very strict instructions. Very simple instructions. If you can’t manage this much, how will I trust either of you on the road trip?”

“So a group of serial killers has kidnapped me to take me on a road trip? You could have just asked.” I lift my shoulders in the best shrug I can muster. “I would have moved my schedule around for you.”

The suited man swipes his hands down his face and mutters something into his palms. “Cut her loose. It doesn’t matter that she knows. Ever heard of the Cross-Country Trio?” He nods at me. “She’s all of them.”

Lice Pick and Blayne turn their heads toward me at lightning speed. No one’s keeping their fucking secrets today, I guess.

But how does this Jim know about me?

“She’s also the Cross-Country Sniper, Assassin of Abilene, and a few others of note,” Jim continues. “If anyone belongs amongst us, it’s her.”

“She can’t weigh more than a buck fifty soaking wet,” Lice Pick says. Disbelief weights his voice. “How’d she pull off the Marvin County Massacre?”

I want to answer him. I want to tell him that it was just as complicated as it seems. I want to tell them that I learned from the best killer in the business, who also turned out to be the worst man whore in existence, but that’s beside the point. Unfortunately, the medication sweeps my system, and I can tell them nothing. My tongue is a slug in my mouth. My head tips forward.

“Oh, she’s out again,” Lice Pick says, but his voice is miles away.

And now . . . so am I.

Chapter Three

King

Gary pulls the car up the winding drive that leads to Jim’s lake cabin. Jim owns the cabin, the entire lake, and everything within a thirty-mile radius. He’d planned to make it into another retreat, but Florida Man draws far too much attention to this beautiful section of America. We’d never be able to hide here.

The nearby swamp is excellent for disposal services, however. Those reptilians make quick work of any evidence we offer their gaping jaws. This and Jim’s Louisiana wildlife reserve have really been a boon.

As we pass the small clearing just below the cabin, I see another of Jim’s purchases; RVs stand in rows, the entire fleet waiting for us to set off tomorrow morning. Jim’s is the largest, naturally. It’s more of a tour bus than an RV. He’ll share his house on wheels with that blasted bird.

I’ll be traveling alone. It’s how I prefer it.

It’s how I’ve always preferred it.

There have been times in my life where I thought that had changed.

Once, I believed I could settle down, be a provider and a supporter to a woman and a little girl who needed it, but that dream would never be realized. The ultimate denial was her death, and it showed me that I had it right all along.

Attachment is the downfall of man. We are better alone.

I’m happier this way, and I’m far too old to change now. Hell, I was far too old to change ten years ago. Maybe it was never meant to be.

The trees cluster again as we crawl up the driveway. When they break apart once more, the cabin peeks through the remaining branches. It’s a three-story log number that looks as if it were built by the hands of a god. I’d much prefer carrying out our fun here, but again, Florida Man.

“Wow,” Gary breathes. He tightens his grip and leans over the steering wheel to get a closer look. “That’s a nice place.”

“You know Jim.”

“Spared no expense,” we say in unison.

“Jim said your attire is in your upstairs bedroom.” I shove my phone into my pocket. “We’re dining in the basement. The dining room wasn’t grand enough, apparently.”

“Oh, I don’t think I should go to dinner,” he says with a shake of his head. His jowls waggle. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to impose. I’m just part of the staff.”