Page 36 of Casual Felonies (Wildlings #1)

RAMI

Truett fucked me into the mattress as soon as we got home, then passed out, dead to the world. He’ll be up in a few hours, ready for more, so I don’t have a lot of time.

Maya’s waiting for me in the foyer, her eyes falling to the gun in my hand.

“Don’t try to stop me, sis.”

She holds up her hands. “I’m not trying to. I just… I need you to come back in one piece, okay?” She wrinkles her nose. “And I might need your help with Maverick because he didn’t like Aunt Hedy’s explanation. At all.”

“I’ll talk him down when I get back,” I say before stepping into the elevator.

What I could not explain to my sister—hell, I could barely explain it to myself—is that a switch has been flipped inside me. It may have started with the shootout last night, but after Whitaker went after Truett, I don’t think I can go back to the way I was before.

It’s not about anger or revenge, even. I barely give a shit about the reasons Whitaker ordered the kidnapping, but in my soul, I have to send a message. If you try to get to the Wildlings through our loved ones, it’s the last thing you’ll do.

I’m thinking through what that message’ll look like when the doors open on the garage floor. I startle to find Silas leaning against the door marked Exit .

“How’d you know I’d be here?”

“You’re being tracked by Wimberley.”

“What?”

“It’s not that special. We’ve all had trackers embedded in us since we were kids.”

I swear, I am going to have a very serious conversation with the dads—and Aunt Hedy—as soon as this is all over.

“So what? You’re not here to prevent me from going after Whitaker, are you?”

Sy shakes his head. “You know who I am, right? What I am?”

“Maybe?” I answer truthfully. “I’ve never felt unsafe around you, but…yeah.” I scrunch my nose and then go with the truth. “I’m pretty sure you don’t have dead bodies in your apartment, but you’ve definitely killed a few people.”

Silas adjusts on his feet, maybe as surprised as I am that I’d come right out with it.

“Definitely no dead bodies in my place, but I’ve taken up your dads’ torch as far as rich assholes go.”

“I… I’m guessing, then, that you don’t have any objections to me taking Whitaker off the map.”

“Not one single objection. I just want you to get through that process alive.”

“You don’t think I can kill him on my own?”

Silas shrugs. “You’re good at killing and you’re getting better at stealth, but you shouldn’t go on this kind of mission alone. At least not initially.”

“Well, fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

Sy sends me a sheepish look. “I believe in you, Rahm. I’d pretty much decided you’d never see—even if you suspected— this side of me. In this case, though, I don’t want you to get hurt right when you’re falling in love.”

I flush. “Thanks, Sy.”

“Just know that there is nothing you could do that would make me harm you. But I will happily show my darkest impulses to anyone who tries to go after my family.”

He says this lightly. Not like a threat. Like a fact.

“Got it.” Pivoting away from that terrifying subject, I say, “So we’re good with taking out Whitaker, and anyone else who gets in our way?”

“More than good.”

“You know we’ll have to make this quick, right? There won’t be time for extracurricular activities, like, with the bodies.”

Silas lifts an unconcerned shoulder. “There are plenty of people who get my full treatment. I’m perfectly fine to make this one a quick in and out.”

“Got it.” I send him a grin. “I’m assuming I don’t wanna know…”

“You do not.”

“Sweet.” I take a deep breath. “Note to self: do not ask the serial killer questions the answers to which you do not want to know.”

Sy chuckles. “I should probably cross-stitch that on a pillow.”

We make our way into the parking garage and Sy hits his key fob. A sleek EV fast car, low and matte black like his soul, gives off a subtle beep.

“I thought you’d have a bigger ride,” I say, slipping into the two-seater. “You know, for the bodies.”

He gets in behind the wheel and puts on a seatbelt, then waits until I do the same. “Safety first.” Backing out of the space, he explains, “We used to have larger vehicles before we could get rid of the bodies on site. Those pulse rifles are handy, even though they represent a cultural loss. ”

“The culture of?—”

“Taking a life.” We start out on the road, and he turns to me. “Did you know that your grandparents used to help your dad and uncle get rid of bodies by feeding them to the family alligators?”

“Millie and Dave?” I shake my head. “No, I did not.”

I look over at him, and he’s smiling, as if tickled by this detail. “Bit of poetic justice, your dads feeding the perpetrators of that Florida concentration camp to the family gators.”

I snort. History classes taught us that those assholes had fucked off to some private island of theirs when fascism went out of style. I wasn’t sad to hear they’d gotten what was coming to them.

“I feel bad for the gators because they’re still around, you know.

They’re old, but everyone loves a Scooby snack now and again.

” He taps his rearview, which pulls up the GPS directions for Whitaker’s house.

“So if I get assigned an op in East Texas, I cut up the bodies into bite-sized pieces and stop by. You know, for old time’s sake. ”

“Is that your subtle way of telling me that if I ever need you to take someone out, you’d be up for the challenge?”

“Oh.” He bites his lower lip. Still speeding down the highway, he turns to look at me. “Was that subtle? I wasn’t going for subtle.”

“It… No. Not subtle in the slightest.”

His shoulders relax as if he’d been anxious about my answer.

“Oh good. I wasn’t sure if I had been clear enough before.” He gestures to his head. “I never know what the normies understand.”

“So…what are we talking about here? Sociopathy? Psychopathy?”

He shakes his head. “Those tests are too easy to manipulate.”

“Then what is your self-diagnosis?”

“Well,” he says, speeding up as we turn onto an empty highway.

“ Some of what I am is classified, but I think it’s okay to tell you I’m the result of illegal genetic manipulation and a horrifying early childhood.

So while there’s some validity to a secondary psychopathy diagnosis, my genetic gifts allow me to hold multiple unsavory tendencies while still being capable of emotions.

I love the people important to me and am probably capable of romantic love, though…

that seems unlikely. I also have some, if limited, concern for the consequences of my actions.

It just doesn’t bother me to take a life. ”

All of this is said with a flat affect.

“It doesn’t bother you? Or does it feed you?”

Silas’s answering smile is the most disturbing thing in this entire conversation.

“I don’t get to talk about this very much,” he says, seeming…happy? “The fathers understand me, but they don’t like me very much. The rest of the cousins like me, but they don’t understand me. Like, at all.”

“If you don’t mind me saying, it’s a little too soon for me to say whether I fully understand you or not. But I’m also genuinely fascinated.”

“I am rather fascinating,” he says, checking the rearview GPS.

Whitaker lives just outside of town in a large, gated development with two- to three-acre estates.

“Fun fact: this isn’t a public development. Each of these plots is owned by a member of the Whitaker family,” Sy informs me as we approach the guard shack.

Before the guard has a chance to approach, Sy produces a weapon and shoots the man in the chest. He slumps forward on his desk .

“Don’t worry. I didn’t kill him.” Sy waggles his gun at me. “Tranquilizer gun.”

A question forms in my mind, and I laugh.

“What?”

I snort. “I almost asked my serial killer cousin why he carries a tranquilizer gun with him.”

Silas bangs his palm against the steering wheel, tossing his head back and laughing. “That’s a good one. I’ll hafta remember that one.” He elbows me. “You’re not half bad, Rami.”

“Thanks, I think.”

That makes him laugh even harder, and we make our way to the back of the development. I whistle under my breath. “Must be nice to be related to the guy with all the money.”

“The sad thing is he’s really good at helping his family members find what they’re good at. Him giving his family houses isn’t just charity. He’s shown each of them how to make money in a way they enjoy.”

“Probably so he can leverage their strengths should the need arise.”

“Agreed.” His brows meet in the middle as we park across the street from the house indicated by GPS. “I’m still trying to figure out why my uncles haven’t taken him down yet. Are they leaving him for us? Like a test? Like the way they had you following Valentine?”

“I don’t really give a shit. This guy tried to hurt Truett, so he dies.”

“On that, you and I agree perfectly.”

Silas reaches into the central console, producing two more of those blaster-type weapons.

I chuckle. “Thought you had to give those back to Dexter?”

“Oh, I got the specs and printed these in my apartment.”

I decide that’s not a detail I need to explore further and once again switch out my old-fashioned gun for a blaster thingamabob.

I take a few breaths to center myself, focusing on the task at hand.

It’s not surprising that Whitaker’s mansion is the biggest in the development.

Aside from taking up an entire block, there are outdoor seating spaces, a massive swimming pool, and what appear to be cattle or horse barns in the back.

“This is a really peaceful setup.”

“If you want some additional practice, that first house we passed is owned by Whitaker’s nephew,” Sy says, not following my line of conversation. “He likes little girls. We can get him on the way out.”

The way he says it, with no emotion, makes me want to ask him if that kind of thing genuinely bothers him, or if he’s been trained to know it’s a bad thing.

I decide I don’t want to know the answer to that question just yet.

“You know what? Yeah. Fuck him.”