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“Fucker shot me. Get him. Get him.”
I look at the men, into their faces. Some of them are twenty, others a few years older, barely past boyhood. They look scared and incapable, despite their size, their phony muscles.
None of them want to do this.
It’s like they’ve just realized where they are, what they’re doing.
“Is any amount of drugs worth this, you idiots?” I growl. “I’m Murphy Moran. I built this city with blood. I started before some of you were even born. Did you really think this would end well for you? You have two choices. Leave, run, and hope I don’t catch you. Or try to open that door, and roll the fucking dice. I’m fine with either. This gun’s got thirteen bullets left. That gives me a few fucking spares.”
I take another step forward, waiting for one of them to cross the line where Juan sits – clutching his leg – instead of lurking behind its protection.
They exchange glances, looking for leadership, but their leader is whining on the floor.
“Get—get—them,” Juan says, his voice wavering.
“Feeling woozy there, Juan? Maybe those drugs thinned your blood.” I turn to his men. “He’ll bleed out in about three minutes. You don’t want to be here when a Cartel boss dies, even an ex-boss. They will hunt you as well.”
It’s a lie… the Cartel won’t give a damn who was here. They probably want Juan dead after he disgraced himself and lost control of his men.
But they believe it because they’re green and inexperienced and way out of their depth.
“No, no,” Juan breathes, cradling his gun to his chest.
His men ignore him, ducking their heads and make for the door, their footsteps loud on the marble as they leave Juan and me staring at each other. He can barely hold his gun straight, he’s woozy from the panic.
“Gun down, Juan,” I growl. “Or the next one goes in your head.”
He lowers it slowly, looking defeated as he gazes up at me.
I dart forward and push the door open, grabbing him by the throat and shoving him up against the glass wall. Molly stares at me from the other side, her mouth falling open, stunned in that way people get when they’ve never been near visceral violence like this.
“You need to apologize,” I growl, squeezing Juan’s neck, his one good leg kicking as his shot leg hangs.
His eyes water as I crush, harder and harder, his words echoing around my head. This motherfucker was going to poison my city, my future family, my life.
“Murphy,” Molly says, snapping me from some sort of daze.
I tighten my grip, even more, the rage moving through me like waves of fire through hell. All the protective instincts in my body roar at me to end this man’s life for what he said about my woman, for the threat he posed to my family.
“Murphy.” My woman rushes around the glass and places her hand on my arm, soft and soothing after the standoff. “You’re going to kill him.”
Juan gasps, wriggling, his face turning red as I hold him pinned in place. I can’t respect a man like this, a monster like this, who rules with fear and blackmail and not with his own strength.
He thought he could ambush me, take my family, and now it’s just me and him as he hangs there pathetically.
He doesn’t fight back.
He gasps and wriggles and pleads with his eyes.
This man would’ve raped my woman if he’d killed me, and now he’s silently begging me to spare his life.
“Murphy, please,” Molly says. “I don’t want you to go to prison. Please…”
The word prison punches into my head, twisting painfully, as I think about the time I’d lose with Molly and our children.
“I want a family,” she murmurs, as though voicing my thoughts aloud. “I want a future together.”
With a snarl, I release my grip, and Juan drops like a sack of shit onto the floor. He slumps against the glass window, one hand at his throat and the other on his leg.
“Fucking apologize,” I growl.
“Sorry,” he wheezes, voice breathy from where I’ve crushed his throat.
I turn to Molly, my eyebrow quirked, silently asking her if she accepts his apology.
She nods shortly, a note of fire flickering through her eyes, as though she considered telling me to kill him for a passing moment.
“What do we do now?” she asks.
“I rally my men. Juan will go to the Feds. And the Cartel will leave my city.”
“No,” Juan wheezes, laughing maniacally. “The Cartel will never quit.”
“Even when I give them your properties, Juan, all your land back home?”
He makes a choked noise, sputtering, as though he can’t stomach my words.
“My properties are…”
“Under aliases, yes,” I say, nodding. “Which I have now attained, and I’m going to distribute between the heads of the Cartel. You see, you dumb fuck, I think ahead… that’s why you’re the one on the floor.”
