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Victor’s voice is stone-cold, devoid of all emotion. “Silas’s orders.”
The words stop Chambers’s pleas, and though he is reluctant, he moves to swing his legs beneath him so that he’s in a kneeling position. I’m surprised, and I tilt my head a little as he looks up at Victor, clearing his throat.
“Tell him . . . tell him thank you for everything he’s done for me. And that I’m sorry for fucking up so badly.”
Though I wish we were not here, not in this position tonight, there is some small amount of honor in the way Chambers faces the consequences for his choices, and I offer him a silent, respectful salute.
Victor nods once and then pulls the trigger.
Allie doesn’t scream, but her knees unhinge, and I catch her as she looks wildly from Chambers’s body to her brother, and finally, to me.
“No,” she whispers pleadingly. “Please, Dominick, no.”
I growl in her ear, forcing her to listen. “He brought this on himself, and he got what he deserved. You do not even want to have a glimpse of the hell those women and children in that truck would have been heartlessly sold into. At his hands, Allie. The world is better, and we are all safer without him.”
She cries, the tears flowing as she sobs silently into her hands, but she nods so I think she heard me. TJ clears his throat, turning to me with as much dignity as he can.
“Just let us go, me and Allie. We’ll go and you’ll never see us again. We won’t say a word. Please.”
I know the last word was a fight for him, and yes, he’ll plead, not for himself but for his sister. There is strength in him, more than men in my line of work often have.
“There’s no need. She’s not going anywhere. She’s mine.”
TJ nods, seemingly understanding that I’m not killing him on the spot. He’s lucky. If he’d been knowingly trafficking those in the truck, I would’ve meted out harsher punishment than even Chambers received. His blood connection to Allie would not have saved him.
I would’ve made it hurt, sent a message to the city about what I allow and what I do not.
But TJ was deceived and thought he was doing something good.
Besides, I was the one who called Zallow and set all this in motion, hooking TJ up with Tony. It was not intended to lead to this, but regardless, I must bear a drop of the onus for beginning this mess with that small action.
Eventually, Zallow breaks the silence of our staredown, pulling out his phone and making a call, most likely to Silas.
“Vic’s driving the truck. It’s a mess. Tony was making a traffic run. Need a cleanup and someone for Vic’s ride.”
“Send Mac,” Victor whines to Robbie. “I don’t want nobody else driving Suzanne.”
Victor turns to me, shrugging. “Suzanne’s my baby. 1970 Plymouth Roadrunner. 325 horsepower, but the clutch is still a bit finicky. Mac’s the only one I trust to get her home without stripping out my gearbox.”
That he can talk about his car when his fallen brother is at his feet tells more about him than I think he realizes. Zallow relays the information and hangs up.
“Okay, it’s covered.”
“Where are you taking the truck? The women and children?” I ask.
Zallow looks to the closed door, haunted as if he can see inside. “We’ve got a place where they’ll be safe, and some connections. No harm will come to them.”
With a mental checklist complete, I turn to Logan, silently telling him that it’s time to go. There will be more to deal with tonight, so much more, but what we can do here is done. Silas’s Eagle Raiders will take care of their own and the victims, so it is best if I am no longer here.
As TJ climbs in the front seat next to Logan, I open the door for Allie, ushering her inside. As she ducks her head, Zallow’s voice makes her freeze. “Hey, Angeline!”
I turn, lifting an eyebrow in question. “Two things. One, Myra says thank you for all the baby shit and told me to invite you to dinner or she’d have my nuts in a vice. So consider yourself invited.”
I smirk at that, knowing that inviting the devil into your home must be hard for him, but he’s more scared of making his woman unhappy than he is of me. It’s oddly sweet. But by his tone, he doesn’t truly want me to come over. Smart man.
“And two. Quit sending shit to my Old Lady, asshole.”
His face and voice remain that lightly threatening growl, which is his normal tone of voice. But a moment later, he breaks into a laughing grin, and though it is maudlin under the circumstances, I smile back and give him an unusual gift. Honesty.
