Page 77 of Penn

Moving to crouch in front of her, I take her hands. “He was a problem before I fell in love with you, Dixie. You just gave us even more of a reason to take this asshole out.”

“And he’s going to see how big of a mistake he’s made,” Rooster says.

“No, he’s going to learn the consequences of making a series of bad mistakes. Specifically going after one of our girls,” Pacino says. “And working with the Venom is just basically a guaranteed early death. That’s on him.”

I kiss Dixie and leave with Pacino and Kannon, meeting Capone on his bike. “Let’s do this.”

“Let’s ride,” Capone says, pulling his helmet over his head.

We ride out to Castlerock with purpose. That purpose: to start the first phase of taking him down. I want him begging for mercy before I kill him. I want to hear him beg for death because I’ve ruined everything else in his pathetic life.

It doesn’t take long to reach the wealthy suburb of Castlerock, and it’s strange to handle business in the middle of the day. Normally, the darkness helps us like an ally, but we need daytime for this one.

We park our bikes in the driveway and walk up the front walk like we own the place. Hell, I might buy the house when it goes into foreclosure after I make sure he has next to nothing to his name and can’t afford the mortgage payments. Just because I can.

Kannon begins snapping his fingers as we walk up the front steps, and I elbow him. “This isn’t West Side Story.”

“Might as well be at this point. That’s what it looks like,” he says with a laugh.

“Watching TCM when you can’t sleep again?” Capone asks.

“They just don’t make shit like they used to. Everything these days is crap. And don’t get me started with television or music.”

“Can we focus?” I ask, even as I fight the smirk.

We’re approaching the fifteen-year anniversary of his wife and child’s death. Kannon doesn’t sleep much around this time of year. And his alcohol consumption doubles, if not triples.

Knocking on the door, I don’t bother to soften the approach. I want it to sound like cops.

The curtain in the window beside the door moves, and a frightened blonde’s eyes widen. I half-expect her to leave the door locked and call the cops, but the lock clicks before the door swings open.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her voice surprisingly strong compared to the way her hand shakes as she holds the edge of the door.

“Caroline Patterson? Stephen’s wife?” I ask, keeping my tone flat and not overly angry.

“Yes, I’m Caroline. Is Stephen okay?”

I almost roll my eyes. Who would send a group of bikers to deliver bad news to a woman about her husband?

“So far, he is,” Pacino says.

“If this is about business, you’ll need to call him. He isn’t home right now.”

Figures he isn’t here. “We actually came to speak with you.”

Her shoulders slump. “What has he done now?”

Apparently, this isn’t the first time strange men have come knocking at her door. “He’s living a double life, and we thought you should know.”

“Again? Great. Who is it this time?”

“Her name is Dixie, and she’s a bartender in Gravelton. She’s also pregnant.”

She gasps. “Tell me he didn’t kill her.”

“Why would you say that, Mrs. Patterson?” Pacino asks.

“Because he killed his last mistress who refused to get an abortion. I’m guessing you’re here because this Dixie woman didn’t.”