Page 4 of Snake Eyes & Bad Luck

He’d thrown many people into it, watching them sinking below the murky surface with concrete blocks stuck to their feet.

On the other side of the lake was another dock, a boat, and the barn where they kept the horses. Callum studied the length of greenish-brown planks, looking for any reasonable explanation his crew wasn’t back in town yet. No blood, no rotting body parts, no vicious animal tracks; it was annoyingly peaceful. He moved his attention to the other dock. The stool that he expected Grahm to be perched on was abandoned. Lowering his own tail into the water, he left his shirt on a ledge of the dock and sank into the cold depths. The growth of weeds under the water reached up, like hands brushing against his belly scales.

Callum darted across the water. His tail pushed him fast, a bullet fired from a gun, he came up on the other side and pulled himself onto the dock in quick succession. The other dock also was suspiciously clean. No fingers chopped off at the knuckles, no trampled heads with hoof-shaped dents, and no fucking blood…so where the fuck were they? If anyone found out his boys did a job without him and didn’t come home to pay their dues, everyone would do it. A kingdom built on bones crumbles so easily.

His tail whipped the stool off the dock as he charged toward the barns. They were empty of all four horses, meaning the boys were still out there with them. He cursed under his breath, pulling open all the stalls to find the hay undisturbed. They didn’t come back at all. His patience was thin, a single strand of floss against a sharpened dagger, and when he left the barn to look at his dock keeper’s cabin, the distinct snap echoed in his mind. The lights were on inside, little plumes of steam coming out of the chimney. His fangs grew in his jaw as he approached. The cold muck under his scales was the perfect cover to any sound he might make. He wrapped his fingers around the door knob and listened.

“Ah, fuck.”

“Right there, right there, don’t stop.”

Callum inhaled sharply through his nose in frustration. The sounds of Grahm betraying his trust echoed off the cabin into the silent forest around them. Callum stared deep into the trees, searching for any clues that the idiots even made it back. Maybe they got stabbed and Grahm got bored waiting. He decided, fuck it, might as well get my dick wet? While Callum loathed to be understanding, he did get it. That didn’t stop the irritation from licking up his insides.

Okay, just a little pain. He’s still gotta pay for disobeying…but I won’t kill him.

Callum twisted his body, whipping his tail to break open the door. A scream echoed off the wood as he slid inside, filling the entryway of the cabin. Grahm gasped, “Boss! Boss, I can explain.”

“I remember tellin’ you not to fuck around,” Callum snarled, pulling out his hunting knife from its leather sheath at his side. While he left his shirt on the other dock, he was still strapped with his two leather belts. One held a waterproof pouch, currently empty as he hadn’t expected to go anywhere. The other kept his knives, a rogue’s favorite tools. “And where do I find you?”

“Boss,” Grahm wheezed, standing up in front of the bed with a blanket to cover his exposed cock. Callum’s eyes swept the cabin. It was for Frenmen, an older goblin who tended to the horses and alerted Cottonmouth to any Paladin’s wandering the woods again. The cabin was well kept, warm with a crackling hearth, and herbs hung to dry from the exposed rafters. It was a one-bedroom place—one side the bathroom, the other the bedroom with a dining table and kitchen set all working around the giant fireplace. A cauldron sat aside, having clearly been used recently to make a hefty stew. The remnants of that dinner were still on the table.

“Where is Frenmen?” Callum arched a brow.

“I gave him a couple coins to go trade places with my lady friend for the night. I did what you asked, I stayed here the whole night, watching for the boys, but they haven’t showed.” Grahm’s face was full of terror. Hard to be brave without boots on and his dick out. Callum scowled as he pointed the blade at Grahm.

“Get. Dressed. Yer keepin’ all yer fingers solely because you’ve got some fuckin’ sense to not leave yer station. Count yer lucky stars and get them fuckin’ boots on. Now!” He barked, tucking away his blade. He should have at least stabbed the fool in the arm or the leg or thumped him good for wasting Callum’s time. But the outlaw simply didn’t care enough to teach him a lesson. Grahm hadn’t left the dock; he’d merely cheated the system, and Callum had to give credit where it was due. Bribing Frenmen to trade beds so he could get some tail while waiting for the idiots to ride in?

Well, at least someone’s getting ass. Callum hadn’t found anything lately he’d felt even the slightest bit interested in. Being the boss had its perks, but they all tasted like mud in his mouth.

Callum stood up on his tail outside the cabin, searching the trees. Morning warmth was steadily cooking the swamp and frog croaks echoed from all over. He crossed his arms over his chest. So, fucking bothersome. However, when Grahm stumbled out of the cabin, Callum did trip him with his tail. Hearing the giant buffoon hit the ground with a grunt did put a smile back on his face.

Chump.

“Get up,” Callum huffed, slithering forward. “I wanna know for sure if those fools got run through or if they’re hiding out with the stash.”

Grahm, to his credit, didn’t say anything as he climbed back up to his feet. Only after a few, silent, labored steps did he sigh, “They know better than to double cross ya, Boss.”

Callum grunted in answer. They better, but then again…maybe I’m losing my touch? Maybe I’ve finally started to show that I don’t want this anymore?

The problem with being the boss was there’s no way out. He couldn’t just stop being Cottonmouth. He took the throne from someone else. There were enemies everywhere. One ounce of weakness and they’d skin him alive. Some people wouldn’t be happy if he handed over the keys. They wanted him dead.

Understandable. But not the desired outcome.

“You don’t think something happened to the train, do you?” Grahm asked, marching alongside Callum. The pair easily cleared a few miles in a short span of time, keeping their eyes peeled for movement…but there wasn’t any. It was the woods, they creaked and shifted around them, the sound of breathing. Gloomsdale’s roots slithered through the mud and if one held still long enough, they could watch shadows disappear.

There’s more to fear in this swamp than just me.

“Why do you ask?” Callum furrowed his brow.

“Well…on account of that.” Grahm pointed off in the distance. Callum followed his captain’s digit through the trees. From where they were, Parandor was a hazy shadow on the horizon. Close enough to the edge of the woods to see the swaying grass and glinting gold of the SunBringer’s favor. However, from where they were, he could see a train, up in smoke. Massive, smog clouds floated off of the destroyed steel beast.

“What do you fuckin’ think?” Callum hissed, fury pumping through his veins. The pair rushed forward to the edge of the trees. They couldn’t see the extent of the damage, but it was obvious that the train crashed into something. What, they couldn’t be certain. “Them fools are dead.”

“Dead-dead,” Grahm muttered.

Callum snapped a lethal glare in Grahm’s direction. The scaley idiot clamped up his mouth fast, staring straight ahead and avoiding the icy daggers of Callum’s eyes. Maybe I ought to have gutted him back at the cabin. Callum sighed, returning his attention to the field. Fuck…well, there goes weeks of planning. The train robbery was meant to help fund another plan of his that was now put on hold until he could gather the right amount of coin.

“Uh…hey, Boss?”