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Silence descended on the garage. I edged even closer, gripping Cooley’s jaw so tightly that my fingers dug into his cheeks.

“You touched my wife,” I growled. “You put this switchblade against her skin—”

I pressed the knife’s edge to Cooley’s jugular. He winced.

“No, no, wait—come on, man. You need me to find Barber. If I don’t check in soon, he’ll know something is wrong and he’ll disappear for good. You’ll never see him again.”

I paused, weighing his words.

“Better not be bluffing,” I moved away, pocketing the switchblade. “Not that it matters. Blackbeard, Gatling—dump his body at the police station.”

Cooley swore until he was red in the face, kicking and fighting for his life as I walked out of the garage and into the night.

I didn’t bother going back home, let alone attempt to sleep. It would be useless anyway. I twirled Cooley’s knife on the bar, gouging a perfect circle into the wooden countertop with the blade’s tip. To think this knife had touched Hattie still made me sick to my stomach.

By sunrise, Big G joined me in the clubhouse, rummaging around in the kitchen until the scent of coffee filled the air. Crash stumbled into the room half an hour later, squinting sleepily and rubbing a hand over his stubbly hair. He yawned as he plopped down onto the stool next to mine.

“Didn’t I tell you to go home, kid?” I said.

He shrugged, propping his elbows on the counter.

“I did. For a while. But my roommate is getting married, and I can’t afford rent anymore, so I have to find somewhere else to live.”

A pause of expectation lingered in the air.

“Well, you’re not living here,” I said.

“The broom closet is pretty comfy, actually,” Crash replied. “It’s clean and dry. You wouldn’t know I was there. I’m a light sleeper, so I don’t make any noise. And I can earn my keep.”

I turned to look at him with a suspicious squint.

“You never left, did you?”

Crash pressed his lips together with chagrin at getting caught and shook his head.

“So you’ve been sleeping in thebroom closetall this time?” I added.

He shrugged.

I sighed. Big G emerged from the kitchen and placed a steaming cup of black coffee in front of me. I grunted a wordless noise of appreciation. He flicked a glance in Crash’s direction before he spoke.

“The package was delivered to the police station, as requested, boss,” Big G said.

“Good,” I grumbled into my coffee.

It wouldn’t take long before word began to spread. Rudy Welch would hear about his partner in crime—tortured, bloodied, and very dead. Anderson Barber would find out that he was flying solo now, with some very pissed off people hunting him down to do the same thing to him.

I wasn’t concerned about losing Barber. Credence was a damn good bounty hunter. He’d find Barber eventually, and we’d finish the job. If Welch walked free for any reason—found not guilty at the trial, or got out on bail—we would extend the same treatment to him.

Big G tossed a wad of cash onto the bar in front of Crash.

“Hey, kid,” he said. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and fetch breakfast for everyone? Hit up the Riverstone Cafe. Order the whole menu.”

Crash’s eyes widened. Before I could protest, he snatched the money and bolted out the door. I shot Big G a look.

“He’s not our Prospect. Why are you assigning him errands?”

“Because the kid hasn’t said no yet,” Big G replied. “As long as he’s willing to be a pushover, I’ll happily keep him busy. I don’t turn down free labor.”