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“You don’t count as a human being, so I don’t mind hurting you.”
“I understand, I understand,” Jimmy said. “What you’re really trying to say is that you’re still a pussy. Still a weak little shit who hides instead of fights. But now that Joel’s dead, who you gonna hide behind?”
As Jimmy’s words echoed in the darkness, Henri’s blood ran cold.
He’d known somewhere deep down that there was a possibility that the shot he’d heard had hit Priest. But in the back of his mind, he’d fooled himself into thinking that if Priest had died tonight, he would’ve somehow felt it.
But now Henri’s hand began to shake. “You’re lying.”
“Why would I lie? You have a gun pointed at my head.”
“You’re trying to fuck with me, and it won’t work.”
Jimmy chuckled, and the sound made Henri’s skin crawl. “It already has.”
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Henri spat out, his vision now turning a furious shade of red, as he steadied his hand and shoved Jimmy closer to the edge.
“Okay, but I want you to know it warms my heart to know that even with all your failings, we managed to make a man out of you.”
“You didn’t make anything out of me.”
Jimmy shrugged as he looked out across the murky water. “I’m about to make you a murderer, and no matter how much time passes, that’s something you’ll never forget.”
The ringing in Henri’s ears was so loud that it drowned out all other thoughts. He stared at the monster in front of him and thought of all the people Jimmy had killed, all the families that he’d terrorized—and then Henri thought of the boy he’d loved and would never see again.
“Murderer” was a title he could live with if it meant that Jimmy Donovan no longer walked the earth. He pulled the trigger, Jimmy fell face-first into the Calumet River, and Henri made good on the promise he’d sworn to uphold tonight.
HENRI STARTLED OUT of sleep and jerked upright in the dark. As sweat poured off his brow and his heart thundered out of control, he looked around the unfamiliar room he was in and began to panic.
His breathing was erratic and he felt hot all over. Just as he was about to reach for a light so he could see where the hell he was, there was movement beside him, and he remembered—Bailey.
Fuck. Henri squeezed his eyes shut and brought his hands up to his face. The dream had been so real that he felt as though he were still inside it. But he wasn’t, and everyone who mattered was alive—Robbie had texted not long after Henri pulled the trigger to tell him that—and now everything was, as they say, ancient history.
As he tried to calm himself down, Henri felt a hand on his leg.
“Hey.” Bailey’s voice was soft and raspy from sleep. Henri looked down and could make out the sharp angles of Bailey’s face. “You okay?”
No, he fucking wasn’t.
Bailey rolled to his side and said, “Bad dream?”
Don’t I wish, Henri thought. He tried to banish the memory that had somehow managed to escape the black hole he’d locked it inside of. But knowing he needed to say something, he managed, “Yeah, that must’ve been it.”
“Come back down here,” Bailey said, and then tugged on Henri’s hand and placed a palm on his chest. “Your heart is racing.”
“I know,” Henri said. “Stupid dream.”
“Mhmm. But that’s all it was.” Bailey pressed a kiss to Henri’s shoulder. “Just a dream. It’s over now.”
Right…
A few minutes later, the soft sound of Bailey’s breathing indicated he’d drifted off again, but as Henri lay there, staring at the ceiling, he knew there was no way sleep would find him now. That guilty conscience he’d been so good at ignoring sure had, though, and as he turned his head on the pillow to look at Bailey, Henri knew he’d never truly be free, that this nightmare would never be over.
What he’d done that night was a reality that he had to live with, but how in the world could he ever expect Bailey to?
