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His intimidating height was typically the first thing women noticed.

His gruff voice came next, sounding richer, darker and older than his forty-three years on the planet, and he was rough, but also deemed handsome and on occasion polite and courteous—when he saw fit to act so.

Women usually complimented him on his arctic blue eyes, then his neck-to-foot tattoos, followed by his silky, thick blonde hair, threaded with platinum and silver.

He now had this stunning log cabin home, two floors of wooden beauty, thanks to a motherfucker who burnt his garage down that was attached to his prior humble abode.

After that unfortunate instance, he decided to scrap the whole damn thing and start from scratch.

Besides, he had way more money now—an upgrade was overdue. What more could he ask for?

Once he finished dressing, he looked at his phone and saw he’d missed several phone calls from the same number.

He read a couple of text messages from the sender, but didn’t bother responding.

Slipping on his black leather jacket, he made his way back downstairs to his work area, turned off the mp3 player he’d left running, then placed the two coolers in the back of his black Ram 1500, which was parked right by the side of the house.

He hopped in his truck and sped towards the highway to make a special delivery.

He turned on the truck radio. Moneybagg Yo’s ‘WHISKEY WHISKEY,’ featuring Morgan Wallen, blasted from the speakers.

The black dice hanging from the front mirror knocked about and swayed as he rolled over rutted and lopsided terrain, happily singing the lyrics to the song as he gripped the steering wheel with his right hand, and let the left one hang out the window, catching the breeze.

Just under three quarters of an hour later, he slowed to a crawl as he approached the vast estate.

He knew that if he drove another three hundred feet, he’d trigger an alarm and an army of paid skulls would come tumbling towards him as if he were made of bowling pins, ricocheting in his direction, their guns drawn.

So he stayed right where he was, turned the music off, then killed the engine. Moments later, he placed both coolers on the side of the isolated road.

He slipped his phone out of his jeans pocket and made a call as he looked around, the sun blinding him, forcing him to blink and narrow his peepers.

“Hello, you son of a bitch,” came Grandpa’s croaky, deep voice. “I’ve been tryna reach you. I haven’t—”

“Well, you reached me alright.” Kage placed one hand on his hip, looking directly at the sun now, his eyes adjusting to the radiance as he kept his phone secure to his ear. “Them white-tailed deer? I brought ’em back to you.”

There was a brief silence on the end of the line.

“Deer? What do you mean you’ve brought them back to me? What did you do?”

“Oh, what any good hunter worth his salt would do, Grandpa.” He sighed. “I aimed. I fired. I skinned ’em. Packed ’em up on ice. You sent them my way for a reason. I’m sendin’ them back for a purpose. Signed. Sealed. Delivered.”

“What in the hell is wrong with you?! Taz and Percy were sent to talk to you. Come to an agreement! We have a contract. There was no need to pack anybody up! You’ve gone mad again!”

“Talk to me ’bout what?” Kage snorted. “Ain’t shit to discuss.

Not between you and me, nor anyone associated with the likes of you.

Besides, you don’t talk to me, nor does anyone you send my way ever have good damn intentions.

They ain’t Jehovah’s Witness or carpet cleaner salesmen goin’ door-to-door.

These were your lil’ assassins. I’m ’bout sick of yer shit. ” He turned and spit.

“I don’t know what crazy ideas you have in that roly-poly, jim-jam, flim-flam head of yours, Kage, but I am trying to negotiate with you, boy! TALK TO YOU! That is it! Now you’ve gone and done it!”

“Were you gonna talk to me like how I was talked to when you burnt my damn garage down to the motherfuckin’ ground?

Like how when you threatened my mama, and made ’er put me in a funny farm as a youngin or else you’d cut her out of her inheritance, and shoot me dead?

Or was it like how I was talked to when you sent a bloody bear head to my door in a paper sack?

Maybe it was the chat you wanted to have after you kidnapped me and my cousins, and didn’t like how I was talkin’ to you in front of mixed company?

Then you turned around, pulled some twisted strings, and had me tossed in another gotdamn mental hospital, you son of a bitch! WAS WE TALKIN’ THEN, TOO?!”

“It’s where you belonged! YOU WERE SICK IN THE HEAD!”

“And now you wanna send folks my way to talk to a crazy man like me, huh? Talk sense with an insane in the membrane member of the wicked Wilde family? Well, don’t that beat all, Grandpa.

It makes perfect sense. Everyone knows mentally ill folks are the best conversationalists, and can be reasoned with.

” He snorted. “You must take me for a fool. You tell anyone who will listen that I tried to kill you when I was only thirteen. Well, seems to me, ain’t gone be too much more talkin’, Pawpaw.

I’m all outta words. I let my Havak Element rifle, chambered in 7 PRC with an amazin’ suppressor—so as to not scare my owls and deer—do all the communicating that was necessary.

Don’t worry, you can talk to Dweedle Dee and Dweedle Dum’s mamas at the funeral home, write somethin’ nice in their obituaries. Scribble it down in bird shit.”

“What have you done? KAGE!”

“Both men, who ain’t no kin to me, thank the Lord, are packaged like prime rib in disposable coolers, ’bout a quarter of a mile from your gate.”

“WHAT?!!! Kage, you better be makin’ that up! Them boys ain’t done nothin’ to you!!!”

“Oh, believe me, my imagination ain’t all that creative.

I prefer proper facts ’nd figures, and I figure you sent them to private property.

They got a proper welcome to the pearly gates.

Now, you can properly bury them. Case closed.

Now, as a courtesy, their heads are on top, so you know which is which, bitch.

Tell their mamas it’s time for those black dresses and closed caskets, and tell your mouth to kiss my hairy white ass.

Pucker up, buttercup. You better hurry. Soon as these cougars ’nd such get a good whiff of this fresh meat, they’ll tear these coolers apart and have the supper of a lifetime. I heard that people taste like pork.”

He could hear a bunch of whispering and commotion on the other end of the line.

“Don’t you EVER—”

“Naw! Don’t YOU ever! Don’t you ever send another motherfucker my way unless you want him to leave in pieces.

You knew not to fuck wit’ me, old man, but you took your chances, anyway.

You say I’m crazy, but you ain’t seen crazy yet!

I’M JUST NOW WARMIN’ UP! COME GET ’EM, OR I’M GONNA DUMP THIS SHIT ALL OVER THIS GOTDAMN ROAD FOR THE VULTURES!

They move fast, and pick the bones clean…

I did you a favor by returning them to you in the first place.

YOU NEED TO THANK ME, YOU UNGRATEFUL PIECE OF HORSE SHIT. DIE, BITCH! DIE!”

“You’re completely out of your mind, unhinged… YOU LUNATIC ASS MOTHERFUCKER! KAGE! I’M GONNA RIP—”

He ended the call, got back in his truck, and drove away, singing to the tune of, ‘JamWayne’s, ‘Country Boy.’

“…Get stoned in the mornin’! Get drunk in the afternoooon!”