Shit.

Was that the sound of crunching bones? He couldn’t tell over the screams of his victim and the whine of the backhoe. Fuck, he should’ve taped the guy’s mouth shut, but at the time he’d relished the idea that no one would hear the fucker screaming his last words.

He swung his body sideways out of the operator’s seat and yelled, “Corny, shut the fuck up, I can’t hear what I’m doing up here!”

He was pretty new to the mechanics of working a backhoe but seemed to be picking up the details quickly. It was a three-step process. Step one, dig the grave for the motherfucker that dared to touch his girl, moving the dirt to one side. Step two, place the motherfucker in the grave. Step three, bury the motherfucker alive so he could slowly suffocate to death on dirt as it filled his mouth and nostrils while he screamed.

The flaw in Mack’s plan? He’d decided to use the backhoe to shove the guy in the hole to save time. Now, looking down at the somewhat mangled body, he decided he didn’t have the instant backhoe skills he thought he’d have to delicately place a human in a grave without crushing them. Perhaps he should work on that. Though judging from the screams, Cornelius was plenty alive enough to participate in step three of Mack’s plan.

Mack dropped down off the backhoe and crouched next to Cornelius, studying his body. He winced at the carnage he’d caused. There would be no coming back from this, even if he’d felt a modicum of pity for the guy.

“Sorry, about that man,” Mack said as the shouts died down into gurgles of pain. He placed a cigarette between his lips and lit up. He didn’t smoke often but had picked up a pack after Lucy left. “Though,” he murmured thoughtfully, eyeing the broken ribs poking through flesh and the bloody, torn rags of his shirt, “I’m not opposed to your suffering a little extra here, Corny. Heard a rumour from your buddy who I killed a few hours ago that you were the one that laid hands on my girl. That you slapped her before stuffing her in a fridge. This true?”

Cornelius coughed up some blood. Mack took that as a yes and punched the guy in the face, snapping his head to the side. “There, now we’re even. Don’t you feel better, Corny?” When Cornelius didn’t say anything, Mack grabbed him by the hair and dragged his head back around. “Stay with me now, man. I need you awake and breathing for step three to really work.”

Mack waited until Cornelius cracked an eye then stood, his cigarette dangling from the corner of his lips. He reached down, gripped the other man by the belt and the collar of his shirt, hefting him up and then dropping him into the hole Mack had dug with the backhoe. As soon as Cornelius hit the bottom he started screaming. Mack cracked a grim smile and took a few more drags before pitching what was left of the smoke into the hole.

Perfect. Step three would be a success. Bury the man alive. Mack didn’t have a fridge handy so he was going to have to go old fashioned, dirt on top of human, but he trusted Corny wouldn’t mind.

“So much easier with one of these,” he muttered, working the controls of the backhoe and lighting up another cigarette as he worked. Tunelessly he hummed the notes to ‘Radar Love’, one of Lucy’s favourite songs, while he worked.

With Cornelius Vega’s untimely death, Mack got the last of the men involved in Lucy’s abduction, ensuring vengeance on anyone and everyone he could get his hands on in his city that had anything to do with her suffering the night of the King wedding. By taking out half the Mexican cartel stationed in the city he tipped the balance of power toward the Russians. Mack didn’t give a shit who landed on top as long as the jobs kept coming his way. And he didn’t think the Russians would care about his interference since his partner was married to the head guy, not that Sitnikov would be thanking him any time soon.

There was nothing Mack could do about the men that took off with Maria, the woman who was kidnapped with Lucy. He had to trust that Niccolo DeLuca would finish business on the other end of wherever his woman was taken. Mack sincerely hoped DeLuca got his woman back in one piece. Otherwise there would be a war coming to their city and he wasn’t sure it was one Mack and the Russians could win. DeLuca had resources unlike any they could scrape up. He wasn’t a man they wanted as an enemy.

Now that his business was finished, and Lucy was avenged, Mack was ready to forget. He was going to go home, get fucked up and forget her gorgeous face, curvy body and those caramel eyes that haunted him unlike anything in his life. Not his abusive mother. Not his treacherous, cheating bitch of an ex-wife. Not even the brutal things he’d experienced or participated in with the military. No, only Lucy seemed capable of reaching into his chest, touching the dead carcass of his unbeating heart and sparking it back to life.

“Then she fucking left me,” he muttered viciously, wrenching the wheel of his truck on the gravel road, spraying dirt and rocks into the ditch as he turned onto his property.

He wasted no time, walking in his front door and grabbing the neck of a whisky bottle in one hand and his rifle in the other. He didn’t even bother stripping off or showering the bloody deeds of his night away before starting on his forgetfulness. Too much fucking work and there was no Lucy around to nag at him about bad habits.

He kicked the door open and headed toward the back of his property. Didn’t matter that it was nearly pitch black, hardly any moon to relieve the night. He had a pinpoint locator on his scope. He could shoot just as accurately in the dark as the light. The only thing that might harm his accuracy was the amount of whiskey he planned on drinking. Hopefully by that point he’d run out of bullets and maybe pass out wherever he lay down. Seemed like a fair plan.

* * *

“Holy mother of god, you smell like a fucking ashtray that drowned in last night’s whiskey! And what is that brown stuff… that’s not… is that blood? What the fuck, Mackenzie?” a voice screeched in his ear, waking him up with a vengeance.

Mack was halfway to reaching for his gun when his throbbing brain kicked into gear and he realized the voice with a tone that only dogs should be able to hear was actually his sister and not an enemy he could shoot. Damn. He lifted his head blearily off the couch and contemplated shooting her anyway just so she would stop making that sound and he could go back to sleep. Apparently, he’d decided to stumble back to the house for a soft landing after he finished shooting in the early morning hours, rather than pass out on the cold, hard ground. Twisting his head around he looked up at his older, scowling sister and thought maybe he should’ve chosen the outdoors. Wouldn’t have been the first time.

She sighed dramatically, rolled her eyes, flipped flaming red hair over one shoulder and stalked toward his kitchen. Mack winced when he heard her banging around, then relaxed once he realized she was simply making a pot of coffee. He was willing to suffer through the noise if it meant he could have some caffeine when she was finished. God, his sister could be a real bitch when she wanted to be. He was actually surprised to see her. Though they loved each other, were even as close as siblings could be, they didn’t often see eye-to-eye and she rarely showed up unannounced.

Mack pushed himself gingerly into a sitting position, shoving his hand through sweaty, blond hair, spiking it back on his head. He watched her warily as she flounced back into the living room and threw herself onto the couch beside him.

“Motherfucker,” Mack groaned, reaching for his pounding head and glaring at her. She smirked at him, not even pretending she hadn’t just bounced him on purpose. The moment he regained any sort of strength in his limbs he was going to snap her neck like a chicken bone. “The fuck you want, Tawny?”

The smirk slowly slid off her face, an expression of sad resignation replacing it. “It’s been a week, Mackenzie,” she said quietly. “I want to know where Lucy’s at.”

He growled, low in his throat and dropped his head into his hand, elbow on his knee and massaged his forehead. “Told you already, Tawn. I dropped her back home. It’s where she wants to be. She’s none of our business anymore.”

“Of course, she’s our business!” Tawny said sharply.

Mack flinched. “Fuck, Tawn, watch your damn voice. I’m hurting over here.”

She rolled her eyes and kept talking. “We love that girl. All of us! We don’t just dump and forget our loved ones, even if they need space. You saw plenty of traumatizing shit overseas, Mack. You needed space when you came home. Yeah, we gave you space, but me and Abel, we were always nearby when you needed us.” He tried to speak, but she cut him off, talking over him. “You saw men go into shock, yeah? You know what it looks like, hon! The emotions get all jumbled up. I think it was even worse for your girl because her mind just sort of splintered between her two lives; the safe but boring community that raised her and the exciting but suddenly dangerous city that hurt her. Is it any wonder she went running like a scared rabbit back to the place that birthed her?”

Mack turned his head to stare at his sister. A few tears were escaping and trailing down her cheeks. Maybe she hadn’t known Lucy very well, but she knew her brother, knew how much he loved Lucy, knew how much he was hurting for his lost love. He would hold it all inside and slowly splinter apart until there was nothing left. Mack reached out and drew his sister gently toward him until her head rested against his shoulder.

“What if she doesn’t love me anymore? What if she doesn’t want me back?” he asked gruffly.

Tawny laughed, the sound a little watery. She swiped tears delicately from under her eyes, careful not to smear her make-up. “That girl tattooed stars and hearts on herself because that’s how you make her feel. She’s head over heels for you, baby brother. She just needs to wake up and remember.”

He nodded slowly. “What should I do?”

“You go get the girl, stupid.” He stood so abruptly she fell sideways across where he’d been sitting with a startled grunt then laughed out loud. “Dumbass! She’s only had a week to get over the shock of being buried alive. Why don’t you give her a little more time?”

Mack turned and looked down at her, nodding at her wisdom. “Yeah, good idea, Tawn. I should give her some time. How much time you think?”

She laughed again and pushed herself off the couch. Rolling her eyes, she said, “At least as long as it takes for you to shower the ashtray smell away. You smell so bad, Mackenzie. I can’t even.” She headed toward the kitchen and tossed over her shoulder, “I’ll pour the coffee. Meet me in the kitchen and we’ll talk strategy.”