Page 15 of The Fang Arrangement (Celestial Witches #2)

“ B onjou,” Clement says, as he helps me load the gin into the back of the truck.

He’s the best brewer within an hour of New Orleans, and business has been booming. Things taste so much sweeter when they’re illegal.

“Hey, Clement,” I say, as we check over our shoulders, making sure the cops or any unsavory types aren’t watching our pick up.

“Have you spoken to Achille or seen him lately?” he asks about his grandson.

“No, sir, I haven’t,” I tell him honestly and the man nods with frustration.

“You hear anything? You’ll let me know? That boy never fucking listens or checks in.”

“Yes, sir. Speaking of next week, the boss wants to double our order for the week,” I tell him.

He takes a deep inhale, taking off his flat cap, running a towel over his sweaty head before putting the cap back on.

“I’ll see what I can do. You tell him daytime crew only now, ya hear? I don’t care how much money Mr. Oz wants to throw at me. I’ll brew his gin, but I ain’t dealing with his night crew and if I hear anything about Achille joining the night crew I’m done. I don’t care about the consequences.”

I furrow my brow, placing the produce boxes overtop of the crates of gin.

“I was hoping to join the night crew,” I tell him honestly.

That’s the next step.

Oz’s daytime rum runners make a decent enough living.

But the night time crew is bona fide, the entire town respects and fears them.

They stroll around New Orleans in their tailored suits with money to burn like there’s no tomorrow.

I know it’ll mean getting my hands dirty, they’re considered gangsters to most, but I’m tired of having just enough to get me and my ma by.

I want it all.

“You listen to me. You don’t want nothing to do with that night crew,” Clement says, and I give him a nod, though I don’t agree. Clement might be a wiz at what he does, making hand over fist selling illegal gin. He’s a wise man, but he’s wrong about this.

“I’ll see you again next week,” I tell him, and he arches a dark brow at me.

“Yeah, I’ll see ya, and it better be in the fucking sunlight,” he says, pointing to me before getting into his Chevrolet Superior.

He’s probably had a bad encounter with one of the night guys.

They’re tough, rougher around the edges.

It’s how we keep the operation running. People need to pay up on time and they need to keep their mouth shut if we don’t want to get shut down.

The last thing we need is someone spilling their guts during another fucking raid.

Oz keeps his circle tight because he’s a smart man. Though I haven’t met him, I report directly to Eugene. But from what I’ve heard, and the talk around town is that you don’t fuck with Oz.

I think about all the times my pa hit me and my ma, how I never did nothing and now we live in a shit hole that barely has running water. I wasn’t the man I needed to be then, but with him out of the picture, I could be.

I’m gonna prove myself. I’m gonna get on the night crew and get us a real house.

Maybe I could make enough that she could open a storefront, she could tailor the suits and dresses for the rich in New Orleans, no more of the odd jobs that pay next to nothing.

In fact, maybe I could make so much on night crew that Ma wouldn’t even have to work anymore.

The sun is beaming; the air feels like fucking soup against my face as I make the drive back to town.

How am I gonna prove myself? What’s it going to take to even get on Oz’s radar to prove I can be the man that he needs me to be?

It was avaricious what I wanted.

My pa would’ve told me God would’ve been disappointed by my greed, but he wasn’t alive anymore and we were better for it.

Once he died, we moved out of the fucking swamp and made things work in New Orleans. It wasn’t easy, but when I fell in with Oz’s crew, things got better. Maybe having clean clothes and not worrying about my next meal went to my head because all I wanted was more.

I wanted respect, along with the lifestyle that came with being in Oz’s inner circle.

I’m so lost in thought that I’m startled by the man standing off on the side of the road. He’s clutching his stomach and waving me down. I glance around, seeing no one else besides the man. The brakes creak as I stop the vehicle and look out the window toward him.

“You alright?” I ask.

He’s still hunched over, grabbing his stomach before suddenly standing up straight, a gun in his hand as he points it at me.

“Yeah, I’ll be alright as soon as you get out of the truck,” he says.

In my peripheral vision, I see another man coming out of the field. He has a knife and not a gun.

“Listen, I don’t want any trouble. I don’t think my boss will take kindly to you stealing his produce,” I lie. The one thing you don’t do when you’re smuggling liquor is let anyone know what you have in the back of the truck.

He barks out a laugh. “You can tell Oz exactly who stole his gin. We’re Henry’s crew.”

Fuck.

“Henry can’t source his own liquor?” I say, slowly grabbing the switchblade out of my pocket.

“Enough chit chat. Get the fuck out of the car or I’ll shoot you right there. Which would be a huge pain in the ass to clean.”

“Go on and get out of the truck and we’ll let you live so you can tell the mythical Oz who stole from him.” The other man laughs.

Neither of them are dressed nicely, both of their shirts a tacky off-white covered in sweat stains. Their suspenders are stretched out and their trousers all seem one size too big. I turn the vehicle off, taking the keys out of the ignition.

I open the door, the second man glaring at me.

“Look at this, Clint, he’s got a real pretty boy working for him,” he jokes.

“Shut the fuck up, Dale, go look in the back,” the other man says, pointing his gun toward the back.

It makes me wonder if he actually has bullets, and it has me feeling bold.

Not only am I not going to let these two men steal Oz’s liquor, but this is the opportunity I needed to prove myself.

Maybe I can subdue him and get in my truck and get the hell out of here quick enough that they can’t chase, I don’t see a car nearby.

“Give me those keys, boy,” Clint says and I take a few steps toward him, my hands in the air and the switchblade in my sleeve, the keys looped around my finger.

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” I say, getting a little closer to the man.

“Sure. The agreement being we take your shit and we let you live. You can walk all the way back to New Orleans.”

“Oz will retaliate,” I say.

Clint laughs. “We’re plannin’ on it,” he says, taking one hand off the gun, no longer holding it straight as he holds out his palm to take his keys.

“This could have ended differently,” I say, moving as fast as I can, smacking the gun to the side with my left hand, and sinking the switchblade into his kidney with my right.

He nearly collapses on top of me. He goes for the gun, his fingertips nearly reaching for it when he goes limp underneath me.

I climb off him, grabbing the gun, and staring at him for a long moment. What have I done? I’m covered in blood as I grab the gun and my heart races in my chest.

“Oh, hell yeah. We’re about to have one fucking payday!” Dale screams from the back of the truck, startling me.

Clint’s dead on the side of the road, one press of my knife is all it took.

My hand shakes as I open the chamber of the gun, It’s loaded, three bullets.

He would’ve shot me, there’s no doubt about it.

Knowing I was defending myself and Oz’s product doesn't make the realization of what I did any easier.

I hold the weight of the metal in my hand, knowing that if I let Dale leave I’ll be arrested or worse. Fuck, am I really going to do this?

I round the back of the vehicle. Dale is climbing out, a big ass grin on his face, until he sees me covered in blood. His face goes shock white, and he goes to hold his hands to surrender, but I don’t even give him the option. I fire the weapon; the kickback is fierce and my ears ring from the pop.

It was a clean shot, killing him instantly as blood pools beneath him, darkening the dirt. The sun beats down against my skin. I’m covered in sweat and blood as I look at the man I just killed. The second man I killed.

I should feel more, right?

My body is filled with adrenaline as I grab his ankles and drag his body into the nearby soybean field. It won’t offer much protection, but maybe enough for me to get back to town.

The only person I saw on my way here is Clement, and he won’t say shit. I just need to get to the warehouse and make sure no one sees me covered in blood.

I’m panting, overexerted as I nearly toss Dale into the field, only to have to do the same with Clint.

By the time I hide their bodies the best I can, I’m so tired I can barely stand. I’m filthy and thirsty as I get back into the driver’s seat and drive away from my crime with only one thought in my mind.

This could change everything, but at what cost?

I’ve been sitting in the same clothes I killed Dale and Clint with for the last five hours, tied to a chair. I thought when I arrived at the warehouse and told my tale to Eugene I’d be rewarded, honored for protecting Oz’s supply.

Now I’m wondering if I’ve just destroyed my whole life.

I’ve held my piss for a ridiculous amount of time and I smell so fucking bad I consider vomiting on myself.

My neck aches as it hangs low and I stare down at the warehouse floor, when suddenly and quietly, a pair of leather shoes is all I see. How didn’t I hear anyone walking in? The man grips my chin with his ice-cold fingers as he stares at me with a cool expression.

“Handsome this one. You killed those men who tried to steal from me?” he asks.

I admire him for a moment. His suit is crisp and expensive, his face harsh and stern as he digs his fingers in my cheeks.

“Yes, sir.”

“How did you do it?” he asks, not letting go of my face.

“I stabbed one with a switchblade and shot the other.”

“How did it feel?” he asks, his face getting closer to mine. He’s single-handedly the most intimidating person I’ve ever met.

“It felt good,” I say, feeling like I can’t lie to him, almost like I’m under some sort of hypnosis.

“Would you like to feel this good every day…” He tilts his head and I assume he’s searching for my name.

“Warin.”

“Do you want to feel that all the time?”

I look around the room, there are a few more men here, but I can’t make out their faces.

“Yes, sir. I promise if you let me join your night crew, I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t.”

“I can change him,” a deep voice says from the shadows and Oz clicks his tongue.

“No, I think I might take him for myself. He’ll be better than the last one,” Oz says and I swallow thickly.

What the fuck does that mean? “You’ll leave your old life behind.

Whatever family you had is gone, you’re dead to them.

But you, young Warin, as long as you listen to me, you’ll have everything. ”

Everything. Money, respect, and maybe one day I’ll be as powerful as this man.

“I sure hope you enjoyed the sun today,” Oz says with a feral grin and my brows furrow as he leans forward. I try to shuffle away from him, but it’s no use as something sharp digs into the side of my neck, making me gasp.

There’s no moving, there’s no getting away. All I can do is sit here and slowly feel my consciousness drift away. My head feels light and my throat is stinging as I blink.

Oz is holding my face.

“You must drink for the transformation,” he says, holding his wrist to my mouth.

What the fuck?

The coppery taste fills my mouth and I find…it’s not so bad.

The man pets my hair in a nearly affectionate way. “Now you are a son of darkness,” he whispers.

Looking back, if I would have known that was the last time I’d ever feel the sun against my skin, I would have spent it more wisely.