Dex’s softball biceps flexed as he raised his right hand and cupped it over his mouth.

Happy face.

27. Six in Total

27

Six in Total

Evan lay on his back in the darkness, waiting for the gas to hiss through the vent and knock him out. He was tired enough to sleep without the encouragement, but there was no way René could know that.

He had just drifted off when a distant gunshot woke him. And then another. They kept on at regular intervals, one after another.

Six in total.

The vibration of the final bullet held the air for an extra few moments, unwilling to let go. At last there was complete silence.

Evan stared at the ceiling.

To Alison, to the boy, he sent a simple thought: I’m coming soon.

Then he fell asleep on his own.

28. The Grim Reapress

28

The Grim Reapress

The next morning Evan was roused from sleep with a shotgun pressed into the side of his neck. He opened his eyes, looking up the length of the barrel past the neon orange stock at Manny. Manny grimaced, those teeth flashing—Jaws from James Bond gone rapper. “Get your culo up.”

Evan eased to a sitting position. The metal bore remained shoved into the side of his throat. Nando stood five feet back and to the side, a second shotgun at the ready.

“You’re wanted downstairs,” Manny told him. “But I’m thinking maybe you have a accidente right here. You made a move on me. I reacted.”

Evan’s eyes slid to Manny’s finger on the trigger. His knuckle was white, the trigger partially depressed. Another half pound of pressure and the opposite wall would be wearing Evan’s trachea.

“Samuel. Yoenis. Álcides. Memo. Luis. Eddie. I will not forget those names.” Manny’s voice shook. “We took them out to the woods last night. And said good-bye.”

Tears leaked from his eyes, but he kept the shotgun level, making no move to wipe his face. He glided the barrel up Evan’s chin, ground it across his cheek, shoved his nose to the side.

Evan didn’t meet his eyes. He looked at the far wall. Kept his body language neutral. Hoped he hadn’t pushed Manny far enough that he’d contradict René’s orders and kill the golden goose. Though Evan had stared down more gun barrels than he’d care to recount, decapitation by beanbag presented new intricacies he didn’t want to contemplate.

Santa Muerte’s skull head grinned from the side of Manny’s neck. The Grim Reapress. She wore a blue cloak bedecked with roses, one skeletal hand clutching a scythe, the other an hourglass. At the moment of death, she was said to sever the silver thread of life.

Evan wondered if now was the moment that the scythe would fall, that his own thread would be cut. He stared ahead. Waited for a one-centimeter movement of Manny’s knuckle.