The Hitman's Vice by Allegra Grey

Author:Allegra Grey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, crime, contemporary, mafia, new adult
Publisher: Evernight

Chapter Four

DANE

Poosey Conservation Area, Missouri, September 7

Leave it to Bennett to be as big a pain in the ass dead as he was alive. The thought was becoming a mantra with each shovelful of dirt Dane tossed to the side. His phone vibrated, again, and Dane groaned. He stopped digging to check it.

Adam: Status?

Dane wiped flecks of dirt and grass off the phone screen. Really? He shoved it back into his jeans. The St. Michael coin clinked against the case, and he patted the mud-caked pocket before wiping sweat off his nose with the back of his sleeve. His wary gaze swept around the pitch-black country landscape, lit only by faint starlight and a waning moon. He barely heard the rasp of their shovels and Sawyer’s muttered complaints above the yipping coyotes and screeching bugs. Quiet country nights, my ass. Dane took a deep breath of soupy, hay-and-mud-scented air, steeling himself for the next round of excavation.

On the opposite side of the freshly dug grave, Sawyer stabbed the earth with a trowel, grunting as he lifted a hefty chunk of dirt, dropping it on a growing pile beside him. “Who was that?” His voice rasped. Too loud to be a whisper but softer than usual.

“Boss.” Dane hefted his own shovel, dropping more damp earth between his knees. Good thing I’m not attached to these pants. “Wants an update. I’ll give it to him when we get back to the car.”

“Again?” Saw sighed. “We’re gonna be making reports every half hour at this rate.”

Dane shrugged. “Could be worse, considering.”

“Guess so. I’m taking a break.” Sawyer stuck the trowel in the top of the pile like a cherry on a sundae, and sat back, stretching his legs out in front of him. Dane sympathized with his partner’s pained groan. His own hamstrings burned, and his feet felt like they might split at the arches. A blister the size of Illinois was swelling up across his right heel, too. My boots were meant for hiking, but I wasn’t. Especially not in the goddamn Missouri woods with coyotes yipping like teenagers who just discovered a new band. Probably pissed we were interfering with their next meal.

They could complain to the goddamn Storm Crows. The Crows were one-percenters—the kind who welcomed professional fucking killers into their storied ranks. Dane suspected it when they watched three Crows carrying multiple trash bags to their decoy utility van. Now they’d dug one up and found Ben’s hands inside—prints burned away with acid—there was no doubt.

Dane’s legs didn’t hurt half as much as his jaw. He swung his chin from side to side, testing the ache. I know I asked Sawyer to hit me, but damn. He continued scooping dirt out of the hole, his eyes searching out any hint of a shiny plastic surface amid the dirt. All that moaning, and you aren’t the one with a swollen face.”

“You’d rather be going back to Duro without a bruise on you? Like, ‘Sorry I let your partner get iced,

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