Finding Mayhem

by Layla Frost

“You’re a prick. A fuckin’ bootlicker, kiss-ass without a brain in his damn skull.” I didn’t say anything. The bastard was baiting me, and I wasn’t about to bite. I’d already happily beat his ass until he would piss, shit, and puke blood. Or he would’ve, if he was going to be alive that long. ’Cause once Nox arrived, the pathetic bastard tied to the chair wouldn’t survive the night. He knew it, too. That was why he was pushing me to kill him. To get it over with. Killian Nox was a friend to Mayhem, going back to his high school days when he ran the streets with Judge and Jury. Like us, he worked in the gray—though his was darker. He was a finder. People. Objects. Information. Similar to a PI, just with a metric fuck-ton more weaponry, manpower, and murder. On occasion, he helped our clients disappear from their monsters. Or helped us find the monsters and drag them into the light. He also loaned out his men when we needed backup. In return, we helped him with whatever his case called for. Information. Added muscle and manpower. Transport. Sniveling minion retrieval.