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I stand in front of him, placing my hand flat on the hood of his truck. “You look tired, Dave. Late night?”
“Not really. Just out having a few drinks.”
I move my hand from the hood and take another step forward so that I’m standing directly beside him now. His headlights flash again as he tries to quietly unlock his truck. He shifts his weight from one foot to the next, as though his fight or flight instinct is telling him to run.
He should. He should run fast and far.
Thanks to him, my weapon supply is short. I had to call in a favor with Chandler Carmichael, another arms dealer—motherfucking Hades of New York City and a member of the Obsidian Brotherhood. My demons rule New Orleans. Theirs rule the whole goddamn world. Literally. Chandler is married to the queen of Ayelswick. And now I owe him one.
The air thickens as a dense fog of fear seeps down and settles around him.
I breathe in and get ready. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can get back to Makenna. “Here’s the thing, Dave. I already talked to Anthony.”
He grabs the handle on his silver F-250 and opens the door.
What the fuck is he doing? He thinks he can run? He can’t. I’ll find him.
The cool, steel edge of the door frame slams against my body when he thrusts it open. The sharp bottom corner bites into my knee damn near to the bone, igniting a full-blown flame of pent up anger and adrenaline. A warm trail of blood soaks through my pants as it trickles down my leg and over my knee. The moment my eyes meet his, he realizes his mistake.
I reach forward to grab him by the collar, and his hand shoots out in an effort to block me. I grab his wrist and twist his arm behind his back. He bites back a growl. His other hand reaches blindly into the air as I shove him toward his truck. His head rears back and slams into me, sending a painful jolt to my jaw. He’ll pay for that one.
I take a fistful of his hair in my hand and slam him, face first into the hood of his truck. He grabs at the air, trying but failing to pull himself free. His blood stains the silver paint as it seeps from his busted lip and probably broken jaw.
“Look at me,” I growl, taking a fistful of his hair and forcing his eyes upward. He drops his hand in defeat. “Listen carefully.” I pull him closer, so close I can almost taste the blood on his brow. “Before the end of the day, they’ll be fishing your body out of the Mississippi River. If there’s anything left of it once the gators find you first.” I pull my gun from my pants and hold it to his temple. “Morano thinks you’re afraid of me. Are you afraid of me, Dave?” The smell of piss hits me hard, answering my question. “Good.” My eyes narrow. My finger moves to the trigger. “You should be.”
Tears spill from his eyes. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”
They always want to talk to the gun. They never want to talk to the man. I’m not interested in his secrets. I already have all the information I need.
“This is your official countdown. You have five seconds to get right with the Lord.” I pull the slide. “Five…four…”
He’s sobbing. His face is a mess of snot and tears.
“Three…two…” I take a breath and pull the trigger.
I unbutton my shirt on the walk back to my Range Rover, using this one to wipe the blood from my hand and face. Days like this are why I keep a spare.
I call Franco on my way to see Eva. “I need a cleaning service at the warehouse. Give it a good wash and make sure they put it on Sylvester’s tab.”
It’s a code he’s learned to translate. He’ll drive the truck into the river and make sure there are ties to Morano all over it. That shouldn’t be hard, considering Dave was on his payroll.
“I’ll take care of it,” he says, then we end the call.
* * *
By the time I get to Eva, I’m anxious, ready to get back to Makenna. I’ve been gone almost two hours. Her ceremony is in an hour, and I still have to go home and shower before I can touch her. I need her to touch me back. And I can’t do that until I’m clean, until I’ve washed away all the remnants of my wrath. I won’t have any part of that side of me touching her. She deserves better than to be touched by hands that have been soaked in another man’s blood.
I’m waiting in Eva’s bedroom, listening to her sing in the shower. I time my heartbeats with the seconds that tick by until I finally hear the water shut off.
She steps into the room. Her body is wrapped in a towel and her wet hair hangs down her back. She sucks in a lungful of air as I grab her by the throat and shove her against the wall, squeezing the life out of her with my fingertips.
“Did you really think you’d get away with it?”
She doesn’t answer. Then again, my hand is wrapped around her throat, so I don’t expect her to.
With my other hand, I reach into my back pocket for my phone, then pull up a video of her father tied to a chair in Franco’s garage. He’s in a t-shirt and jeans. His eye is swollen and blacked. I told Franco to only hurt him enough to scare him. He’s not my problem. Eva is.
“How does it feel to see someone you care about in danger and know there’s no way you can help them?”
