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“Nowhere you need to worry about, bright eyes.” Henri winked at Robbie and pushed open the door that led to the narrow staircase they’d climbed up to get there. “Remember, fifteen minutes,” he said, and when Robbie nodded, Henri disappeared down the stairs.
As his feet hit the ground floor, Henri quietly opened the side exit and slipped out into the night, careful not to make a sound. The silence in the air was louder than any noise he’d ever heard, and as he followed the same path Jimmy had taken, he made sure to stick to the shadows.
It was cold down there by the river tonight, the wind making the air feel like tiny needles were pricking his skin as he moved faster, and as the sound of feet on gravel crunched up ahead, Henri followed it.
As he tracked the sound to the left and headed toward the #6 Bridge, Henri’s mind began firing off all kinds of messages to his brain, and images and memories flashed through his mind like an episode of This Is Your Life—just a really fucked-up one.
There was the night his mother had died, her face all bloodied and bruised…
Victor locking him in the shack alone, sometimes for nights on end…
Joel leaving him behind without a trace…
And Jimmy and Victor sending a “handler” to handle him, the day he’d turned ten…
He had been a victim of circumstance his entire life, and as he crossed the road and headed under the bridge, he spotted Jimmy up ahead and decided that tonight, he’d be no one’s victim.
Henri removed his gun from the back of his jeans and made sure the safety was off and the suppressor was on. Then he ducked across the street to the embankment littered with garbage, needles, and who the fuck knew what else.
He had one shot at this or he was as good as dead. There was a reason Jimmy was still alive today, and that was because he never hesitated where others did. But there would be no hesitation from Henri, not when he finally had a chance to end this monster’s reign of terror.
Henri darted under the bridge, the whistling wind providing just enough noise to keep his steps stealthy, and when he spotted Jimmy crouched by one of the pillars with his head bent over the duffel—no doubt reveling in the blood money he’d just acquired—Henri decided it was time to make his appearance.
With his gun raised, Henri stepped up behind the old man and pointed the muzzle at the back of his head. “Hey there, motherfucker. Remember me?”
Henri barely recognized the cold tone of his own voice as he stared down at the asshole in front of him, but Jimmy sure as hell did.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Victor’s boy.” Jimmy chuckled, and the sound made Henri want to retch, but he kept his eyes on the target, knowing one wrong move and the tables would be turned. “I should’ve guessed you’d be here tonight. If anyone could make you come out of hiding, it would be Joel.”
Henri clenched his jaw as his fingers tightened around the gun.
“Tell me, though, because I could be wrong,” Jimmy said conversationally, as though he didn’t have a semiautomatic aimed at the back of his head. “Isn’t Joel shacked up with two men who…aren’t you? I mean, I know you two were close as boys, and, well, later as fuck buddies or whatever, but this is a little bit desperate, don’t you think?”
Henri shoved the gun flat against the thinning red hair of Jimmy’s head. “Shut up,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Oh, sorry. Did I hit a nerve?”
He’d hit several, but Henri wasn’t about to let Jimmy know that. “You didn’t hit shit. You’re done, Jimmy. You can’t win here tonight. You can’t talk your way out of this or have one of your thugs come save you.” Henri bent down. “I’m going to kill you and no one is going to care. Now get up.”
Jimmy went to look over his shoulder, and Henri pressed the gun so hard into his head that he was shocked he hadn’t fractured Jimmy’s skull.
“I told you to get on your fucking feet.” The order was issued through teeth that were clenched so hard that Henri was surprised they hadn’t cracked. As Jimmy struggled to his feet, Henri stepped in close and urged him forward, using the gun as a guide.
“Have to say, I’m impressed.”
Jimmy had always been a talker, and even now, as Henri led him down to the edge of the river, the arrogant bastard still thought he could talk his way out of this. It was going to be Henri’s pleasure to prove him wrong.
“You were always kind of the…runt of the litter. Milder, meeker, never wanting to hurt anyone. Yet here you are, pointing a gun at me.”
