Page 72 of Burn For Me

Pulling the phone out of my jeans pocket, I saw it said I had a text message from ‘Cherry Popper.’ Who the fuck was Cherry Popper? I opened the message and smirked.

It’s Mathers. I need some chickens deep-fried.

I stared at the strange message. To the best of my shaky memories of that night, we hadn’t eaten any fried chicken that I’d made. I mean, I couldn’t remember enough to say for certain, but it didn’t sound like something I’d do, so I could only assume he meant the girl from the dumpster.

I’m not in the chicken business anymore.

I’d make it worth your while. No one makes chicken like you do.

I tapped the phone against my chin as I thought. On the one hand, the demons in my head had been remarkably quiet while tucked away on this dusty little farm. On the other hand, that morning, I’d caught myself talking to a large spider that had moved into the shed until it had gotten sick of me standing there and taken off up into the rafters. That was a low moment, even for me.

How well do you want them? I asked.

Extra crispy.

I sat up on the couch, a spark of excitement coursing through me.

How many chickens are we talking about?

Consider it an extermination.

I’ll think about it.

After typing back, I stood up to pace around the small living room. I couldn’t stay here doing nothing all the time, and I also couldn’t be normal—that was becoming clearer with each passing day. I took another lap around the living room while my brain mulled over the pros and cons. Giving in, I sighed.

I’ll cook for you.

I’ll leave you a list at our favorite spot. Just ask the bartender for Sam’s list. It will be there in a couple of hours.

Okie dokie.

I knew that response would throw him for a loop. I could picture the look on his fucking face now. I was only mildly disappointed when he didn’t send anything back.

It was wrong to be filled with this much excitement over the thought of killing who knew how many people, but I couldn’t deny that I wanted to do it. I never would’ve thought that one drunken night would lead me down this path again, but if I was going to jump into the deep end of the pool once more, I might as well do it for a cause.

Peeking at the timer, I saw that it had forty minutes left, which gave me just enough time to go and check my supplies. Then, I could pick up the list.

* * *

Three hours later, I was pulling into the same spot on the side of the road that I’d parked in when I’d decided to walk into the dingy bar the first time. My stomach rolled as I looked up at the sign, and I had to quickly swallow back down my dinner. Apparently, my stomach remembered being here. Hopping out of the truck, I made my way inside.

The patrons sitting around didn’t stare this time—in fact, they quickly turned away like they were worried that looking at me might draw my attention. I walked up to the bar and the bartender, who had his back to me.

“One second,” he said gruffly, and as he slowly turned around, his eyes stayed fixed on the beer mug he was drying. When the bartender looked up and his eyes found mine, he sucked in a deep breath, his eyes going wide. The guy swallowed hard, the beer mug stilling in his hands, which were noticeably shaking. He looked as frozen as if the mother fucking Medusa had just wandered in.

I’d been stared at a lot. I’d even gotten used to receiving terrified stares, but that was usually because of the burn on my face. This was new. I felt like Al Capone or something.

When the man didn’t move and simply continued to stare, I decided to prompt him.

“I’m here for Sam’s list,” I said.

Like I’d shot the man out of a fucking cannon, he bolted to the far end of the bar before sprinting back like he was doing a hundred-meter dash, white envelope in hand. He held it out with just the tips of his fingers. So this was how a tiger in a cage felt.

I had no idea what all that was about, but I wasn’t about to ask—some things you didn’t really want to know. I wandered back out to the truck, opening the envelope on the way. Hopping in, I scanned over the addresses. I didn’t know these locations, but if this had anything to do with the motorcycle club Chase was at odds with, then they needed to be destroyed in close succession. Days or weeks in between wouldn’t work, or they would scatter like ants and reform somewhere else.

I hoped he knew what he was asking, because once I started this, there wouldn’t be any turning back.

Opening my phone, I mapped out where all of the targets were and then pulled away from the curb to go and have a look for myself. I needed to know where the buildings were and what the surroundings were like. The hardest part was going to be figuring out the best way to get inside, and of course, what was going to be the best and most efficient way to burn them down.