by Rachel Hera
But he was no longer of any use. Not in the state he was in, anyway.
Philip lifted Cole’s head off the ground, and swiftly ended his brethren’s life with a snap of his neck before carefully moving the body onto the synthetic material laid out beside him, tucking Cole’s corpse in carefully. Then he zipped up the body bag and dragged it out of the garage and into his car’s trunk, which had a blue tarp laid down on the off-chance that any bodily fluids escaped the dead fox. It was a shame that Blake hadn’t used one. It would have made cleaning up so much easier.
“You set us up,” Marissa’s voice came from behind him. Her tone was accusatory.
“No. I was just working on a personal agenda,” Philip said, getting down on his hands and knees and beginning to scrub the blood off the floor of the garage.
“I thought a leader was supposed to look out for his underlings,” her voice rose. “And now Cole’s dead.”
“The trust of the Pack and the Angel is more beneficial to me than either of your lives. I could care less if you died. That’s why I am a leader. But know that you’re only alive because you are my sister. Cole was a pawn. Consider yourself a bishop. Now get to straightening up the chaos that you and the pawn made in the house. ”
“Are you even going to tell me what you’re planning on doing next?” she asked.
“While you go back to the Den, I’ll stay here and bide my time. Now that things have shaken up quite a bit, I do believe the real observatory mission begins.” Philip stopped scrubbing and looked at his sister. “Didn’t you hear me? Get cleaning.”
She threw another glare his way before disappearing into the house. When she was gone, Philip sighed, resting his hands on his knees and stretching out his neck.
Maybe the three years they’d spent there hadn’t been a waste after all.