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He’d hit Whitney, for fuck’s sake.
Cesare’s tap on my back made me glance back to see he was pointing toward the left side of the building, making me veer in that direction, figuring he must have seen something I had missed.
And then, there he was.
On a roll-away cot with a gun tucked under it.
Out cold.
“Kinda anticlimactic, don’t you think?” Cesare whispered.
But, apparently, the guy slept light, because he shot up so fast, grabbing his gun as he went, that it was hard to take aim until he’d managed to squeeze off two rounds.
“Fucker,” Cesare hissed. “This was a nice suit,” he added, making me realize he’d been grazed even as I took aim and watched as the guy’s body jolted as my bullets landed.
Two.
Three.
Four.
“Think he’s good,” Cesare said, stepping forward toward the body. “You sentimental fuck,” he added, smirking over at me. “The thigh and the shoulder. Then two to the head. It’s practically poetic,” he concluded, giving the guy’s leg a little kick.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here. I’m sure the Lewis Crew is still scrambling, but I’d rather not wait around to make sure.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. You just wanna go send Anthony home, so you can make puppy-dog-eyes at your girl,” Cesare said, tucking his gun away and making his way back through the building.
He wasn’t wrong, so I didn’t bother insisting otherwise.
It wasn’t until I dropped Cesare back at his place, popping in for a couple of minutes to check it out, then got back in my car, that I got the call.
Anthony had never made it to the diner.
As if that news didn’t make my heart go into practical fucking arrest, then I was told the whole of it.
Wren was taken.
Whitney had gone after her.
And no one had any idea what the fuck to do about it.
Me, I was already doing an illegal u-turn and hauling it up toward Wren’s ex’s neighborhood.
After getting some details about that whole situation out of Whit, I’d gone ahead and done some digging myself. Just in case I ever needed to pay the bastard a visit.
Did I risk parole doing shit like that?
Yeah.
But if that bastard was going around threatening or hurting my woman, then, yeah, it would be worth it.
So I knew his apartment building.
I knew his number.
And I was pounding my fist on it until a voice from behind me made me stop.
“It’s been a busy night for that apartment,” a teenage girl said, nodding at me.
