Alamort

42. Crew

T he car rocks from the force of the trunk slamming down. I throw the work clothes Bennett requested on top and lean against it while waiting for the others. Someone must have texted Elijah for a job because I received a location close to here less than 30 minutes ago. Unfortunately, it’s not unexpected that pedophiles exist in nearby towns.

What caught me off guard is knowing one of my brothers went around me to ask for a job instead of coming to me. It’s unanimous among all of us when we need a release. I fidget with my black t-shirt. The thought of us falling apart fills me with unease. This isn’t an obstacle I thought we would ever face.

The crunch of gravel being stomped on draws my attention, followed by another set of footsteps approaching us at a leisurely pace. Bennett’s body is shaking when he reaches for his clothes, ripping them off the trunk, shrugging them on. I observe his tantrum with wide eyes as he storms to the driver’s side of the vehicle, the sound of the door slamming echoes around us.

In a matter of seconds, Saint lazily saunters towards the back passenger’s side door. I’m about to question him about what’s happening, but he shrugs nonchalantly and climbs inside without waiting for me to speak. This is a fucking weird night.

With a sudden jolt, the car comes to a stop and smoothly shifts into park, strategically parking a couple of houses away from our target’s location. The entire drive over here lacked the usual hype Ben brings. There were no cracking jokes, music, or excitement for tonight. Only the screeching of the tires as he took turns too quickly and Saint in the back gripping the “Oh shit” handle for dear life with every acceleration of the motor. The car turns off, and he puts the keys in his pocket, leaning his head against the headrest of the driver’s seat. His eye’s almost swollen shut, and a dried, crusty line of blood along his neck.

“Bennett.” I look at Saint for help. Saint raises his palms towards me and mouths, “No idea.”

“She burnt Mindy.” He sniffs and wipes his nose on the back of his hand. There is only one she that would fuck with any of us. The car is so quiet that I could hear a pin drop. My eyes flit from Bennett to Saint.

“She burnt down your car?” My words come out strangled. That still doesn’t explain the black eye. She’s a hundred pounds on a good day. Is she alive?

“Yes!” He snarls. “I showed up too late, and Mindy is fucking destroyed. The car that Dad, Ty and I built. Fucking gone! The little bitches took off into the trees before I could catch them.” He huffs.

“Your eye?”

“Well, she didn’t quite get away.”

As Ben begins his story, I can’t help but notice Saint’s intense focus. His eyes locked on his every word, as if not breathing would guarantee he didn’t miss a single detail. I swear he purposely leaves us in suspense.

“I put my hands around her throat and almost squeezed the life out of her. When she wouldn’t shut her mouth, a couple of bashes into the ground definitely did.” Saint has stopped breathing completely, his posture tense, ready to jump at any second. At him? Out of the car?

“Is she…?” Saint asks softly, not wanting to say anything too permanent.

“Oh no,” he chuckles humorlessly. “Your little techie managed to sneak up on me before I could finish the job. Spouting some shit about we ‘have it all wrong’ and when I didn’t let her finish, she punched me in the face! I would’ve taken a knee to the balls before she fucked up my money maker.” He throws a fist into the old dashboard. Saint’s body returns to his usual casualness, losing the tenseness he had moments ago when he thought Bennett had killed her.

“So…” Saint says.

“So, she limped off somewhere. It’s difficult to talk shit to a tiny girl who has a knife to your throat. She’s stabby.” He absentmindedly rubs his neck, feeling the cut like he can still sense the knife.

“You let River get one over on you?” Saint snickers, settling back into his seat. “Amateur.”

Ben ignores him, popping the trunk, a signal he’s ready to move forward. Saint sensing the hostility slinks out to meet me at the back of the car. He looks to me for answers before nodding his head towards Bennett. I shake my head at him, not knowing what to tell him. We both take a second to take in the surrounding area.

The suburban neighborhood is a camouflage for blending in seamlessly for a pervert. The houses merge together with their uniform shape and size, but the vibrant colors and well-maintained landscaping add individuality. People would consider this the perfect picture family home in a friendly neighborhood.

The streetlights cast long, eerie shadows that creep towards the edges, obscuring the view beyond the illuminated sidewalk. That’s where we will stick to. The “Neighborhood Watch” signs, the nice pristine lawns, and the luxury cars create a deceptive sense of safety. Cookie cutter life is the word.

All of us are in our signature work attire, a sea of black. It’s easier to blend into the night and the color easily hides blood. I hand out a pair of leather gloves for each of us, the scent of new leather wafting through the air. Gripping Ben on the arm to give him his, he snatches them from my grip without looking at me and jogs across the street, disappearing around the dark corner of the two-story house to the back door.

Saint wrings his hands in front of him, the leather squeaking as he frowns at the front door.

“What?”

Malice usually joins us on these outings. After years of friendship, we’ve learned what his tells are. Sometimes it’s as simple as zoning out by staring off into a distance and other times, if it’s negative, a wince.

It’s very rare that Saint would be fronting right now with no switch in sight but calling him out might make him more antsy. He shakes his head, brushing off the question before waiting on me to make the first move. He sticks close to one of us on these jobs if he comes with. I wonder if he’s just as confused as we are that Malice is absent.

I follow Ben’s lead, sticking to the shadows. The house is devoid of life. It stands in stark contrast to its surroundings, with no light to be seen. It’s wrong, especially when every other house on the street has their porch lights switched on. Saint rummages through his hoodie, searching for his lock picking kit, his gloved hand gripping the doorknob cautiously. With a silent twist to the right, the door opens effortlessly. His brows crinkle as he examines his hand, then turns to look at me, wetting his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue.

Something is off. The house stands ominously, its silence serving as a haunting invitation. From the entryway, the rooms appear stark and empty, with no evidence of anyone living here. The distinct odor of the fresh paint and lacquer is the first thing that hits me. Someone has been busy with renovations.

The sound of heavy, booted footsteps stomping down the wooden staircase, ring through the house as I maneuver Saint behind me, pressing him against the wall for safety, my heart beating a mile a minute. Responsibility weighs heavily on my shoulders, over everyone in our small circle, but Saint especially. I want nothing to stall his progression from how far we’ve come since we were kids. If I can protect him, I will. Even if it’s from his own mind.

“Crew. You’re going to want to see this.” Ben’s voice is devoid of emotion. “I cleared the house. It’s fine.” He adds. Both of our bodies relax. With Saint close behind, I make my way up the staircase. We enter a sparse home office tucked away in the loft area. The pungent smell of a recently lit cigar lingers, overpowering the fresh paint. Behind the desk, a naked man stands with his limbs stretched out in a star position. I drop the bag of toys I brought on his desk and creep closer to observe the man we were sent here to kill. Holy shit…

“That’s Brian.” Bennett mutters from behind me. Brian Bush’s lifeless head hangs heavily on his chest, immobilized with his limbs stretched out, while a black envelope is securely stapled to his hairy torso. Upon closer inspection, I notice the fine layer of dust that settled on the bookcase behind, evidence of recently drilled holes. As I lift his chin with my pointer finger, I can’t help but notice the sickly grey complexion and the careless, bloody mess left behind by the peeled-back skin on his cheek. The sight of burn marks on his abdomen, the flesh still puffy and raised, indicates the intensity of the burning object. In addition, his fingers have been cut off at the second knuckle and cauterized. This was done out of anger. It’s sloppy.

“It appears we have mail,” I say. Ripping the black envelope off of Brian’s chest. We all collectively neglected and pushed it aside last time, placing our focus on Priya. It should’ve been more alarming that it was at a job, but now it poses a problem by making another appearance in a place it shouldn’t be.

They both fixate on the glaring elephant in the room. My twin rubs his hands over his bruised face, giving the letter a tired look.

“Honestly, I totally forgot about the last one. I figured it was a hoax the first time. Outta mind, outta sight type shit.” We both wait for Saint to say something. He simply stares at it, his mind transported to another time.

“Who is it addressed to?” Saint asks without moving his eyes. Bennett’s hand moves at lightning speed, snatching it from my grasp.

“You.” His eyes scan Saint’s face to see his reaction. Acknowledging him with a nod like it’s what he expected. Ben opens it. His eyebrows raise and he faces it towards us to do the same.

I know something you don’t know.

The words are taunting. Childlike. Saint’s eyes refuse to look at it.

“Saint?” I press. He glances at it briefly, then down at his hands.

“Yeah?”

“Well, what do you think?” Bennett asks impatiently.

“It’s him.” He whispers. The discomfort in my gut is prominent as I recall the way Saint was when we were younger. A dirty, malnourished boy with bruises littering his body. His father thought his shoulder length hair was too “feminine” back then, so he shaved it. We learned from Saint that he believed he was being punished for something he’d done. All of us brushed it off, choosing to prioritize his happiness over delving into his personal life. Not even the school tried to save him. It’s disgusting how many kids are failed by the very system that is designed to protect us.

Bennett shakes his head side to side, disagreeing and in disbelief. “Nah, man. You’re trippin’. There’s no way.” He laughs, but there’s an underlying tension in the sound.

Saint’s complexion is ghostly pale, all traces of his usual tan have vanished within a matter of minutes.

“Ben. It’s the same black card, same red writing that he used to have me deliver to his victims’ families. The pose, I remember it so vividly. He used to make me chain them up. But I’ve never seen him choose a man.” He swallows hard.

My brother scoffs at the ridiculousness of what he’s implying. “Impossible. We killed him. All four of us.” He looks at me. “Right?”

I don’t know how to answer. I thought we did, but something has me second guessing. Saint’s eyes bulge out of his head, never closing. His head shakes in a constant back-and-forth motion.

“I…thought we did,” I say.

“There was no body. We tied him to his bed and set it on fire. There wasn’t a body. We should’ve checked.” Saint says over and over again, squeezing his eyes shut. Ben and I stand silently, taking in the sight of him.

“Saint. I swear to God if you don’t shut the fuck up. He’s been dead for years. Me, Crew, Ty and you, killed him.” His tone is harsh and defensive, but anyone who knows Bennett knows it’s because he’s scared.

Saint ignores my brother in favor of pacing. His restless steps echo throughout the room. The veins in his neck visibly pulsate as he repeatedly jerks his head from side to side, as though grappling with an internal struggle. What the hell is going on with everyone today?

“I need to tell you guys something,” he says, still pacing. We patiently wait. “Malice doesn’t want you guys to know.” I stand taller, crossing my arms over my puffed chest. Throughout our entire time together, we’ve maintained an open and honest relationship between the five of us. I never thought Malice would be the one to break that with how important Saint is to him. It was a red flag when we heard them briefly disagreeing before they stopped as soon as we entered the room.

“What?” The question comes out harsher than I intended. I’ll blame it on the bomb he just dropped.

“Priya, she’s been receiving the same letters.”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘receiving the same letters’?” I grit out. I’m trying to be patient because, according to him, he’s not supposed to be telling us anything.

“Fuck man, I can’t.” His eyes screw shut tightly, tugging on his hair before taking a deep breath. “She’s gotten a few of these letters. Malice and River have been working on it separately, of course. There’s footage of a man in all black coming to deliver them. Priya thinks it’s Malice fucking with her, so she isn’t that concerned. Tosses them into the nightstand next to her bed and doesn’t think about them again. Not that we’ve noticed.”

There’s a lot to unpack here. The secrets a breach of trust, and while I understand Saint isn’t solely to blame, I expected better from our connection. I was foolish enough to think it was anything more than that. Where do his loyalties lie? What about Saint’s? Why would Priya think it’s Malice? I scoff, allowing the indifference I wear for everyone else to wash over me. Emptiness fills my chest, strangling my usual rage into a box that I can deal with at a later time.

“What do you think, Saint?” I say calmly.

“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to tell you guys, but he’s kept me busy in our room looking for shit on Priya. I thought he was helping.” He stops pacing to stare at both of us. “This is my father. I can feel it. Something had to have gone wrong that night. It’s been eating at me every time I see you guys. Not to mention I don’t know what he’s hiding from me. There are bigger spaces in time I can’t remember. He doesn’t fill me in anymore. I’m lost, and it’s making me insane.”

“What do we know about the letters?” Ben asks quietly, refusing to look at Saint. Opting to stare at the dead, naked school dean instead.

“Whoever is delivering them isn’t my father. He wouldn’t chance being surprised a second time. He’s been inside her room and through her things. Mal thinks he wants her. He doesn’t know why.” His pacing slows and he plays with the hooped piercings on his lip.

“We could put cameras in her room.” Ben suggests. The first time we got lucky. Saint lived with him and we could plot his death with Elijah to cover it up for us. This time? I don’t know where to search for his piece of shit father.

“Why now?” I ask, “It could’ve been anytime in the past four years he could’ve reached out. But he chose now.”

“Priya?”

I nod my agreement to whichever one of them said it while I stare outside through the window overlooking the quiet street. The only thing that has changed is her. He’s going after her. What’s his endgame?

“Is she in on it?” I question.

Saint shakes his head. “No, she’s clueless. I told you she thinks it’s Mal.”

“Yeah, well, you also failed to fill us in on this recent development of your guys’.” Bennett sneers. Saint cringes under our stares of scrutiny. This changes things for us. All of us.

“We can bring her home?” Bennett proposes, looking at me. It seems I’m not the only one who took Mal’s secrecy to heart.

“No.”

“Think about it, Crew. If she’s at our house, there’s no way she can receive a letter without us being here to intercept it. Catch the guy. This goes beyond revenge.” His feet tap the ground, letting me know he’s nervous. “I may not like Saint 95% of the time and Malice even less, but no one deserves what he had to go through.”

“No,” I say with finality. It’s not happening. I will not allow someone who killed one of our best friends to live in the same house as us. As Ty did.

“Put some cameras around her room and we will go from there. Saint, call Elijah and see what the fuck happened.” I’m curious to know why he’s been sending us to locations that Saint’s father has been finding. Is there a leak? Did Elijah turn his back on us? Bennett’s hand slams on the desk to get my attention.

“If we lose another one of our ‘brothers’ that you claim you love because you’re so blinded by revenge. I’ll never forgive you. You will lose everyone .”He promises as he storms out of the room, down the stairs, slamming the back door on his way out. Everything is falling apart. It’s all connected to her. We should just kill her. That would give me back my brothers. What’s left of us, anyway. Tyson dying was because of her stupidity and because of that Elijah won’t come around anymore.

Saint is pulling away from us because Malice is forcing him to keep secrets and stay busy. If Saint is keeping secrets from us, it’s safe to say that all our goals may not be aligned. We did all of this to have her here to now protect her? That’s what it feels like. Where is the justice?