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“You called for me, Gord. You asked for me to be here. So you’re gonna lower your pieces, and you’re gonna show me the fucking respect I demand.”
“Lower yours,” Gordon commands. “You don’t point that at me and think we’re gonna be cool.”
“Right, except you already threatened my brother.” Felix squeezes the trigger so only one shot explodes from the end and bounces in the dirt by Fuller’s feet. I jump in fright and cry out when my platform shifts. It’s perilous at best. Deadly if I don’t maintain my balance. “I’m not sure if you know this about me, Gord, but I’m not a fucking boyscout pretending to be a gangster. I’m your god, and there’s no fucking chance in hell I’m gonna workforyou.”
“Not for me,” Gord argues. “With me. We could combine our efforts and—”
“I’m not working with you either, dickhead. If you wanna be in the same room I’m in, the best I can offer is to unzip my pants and allow you to suck my cock while I work.” Grinning, arrogant, he reaches down with one hand and unsnaps the button. “You should probably show me your skills first. I have plenty on the payroll already who know how to get me off.”
“I think you’re confused.” Fuller whistles again, perhaps to have his men lift their weapons. Maybe to have them turn them on Felix. But they don’t move. They don’t do a damn thing.
Frustrated, he turns to ascertain why. “We’re not getting anywhere today,” he booms. “These gentlemen do not wish to do business.”
“No shit,” Felix giggles. Like a child, he bounces and brings his weapon back up to peek through the sights. “You’re the burger flipper, Gord. And I’m the CEO. I think your britches got a little large for a sec there.”
“We’re done here.” Unafraid—or desperately trying to look that way—Fuller orders his men, “fire. They won’t work with us. So we’ll take their fuckin throne and keep it for ourselves.”
He aims his handgun toward Felix and flexes his finger around the trigger. But when no one else follows suit, he looks around again. “I said fire!”
“Oh, dear.” Drake reaches around and takes a gun from the back of his jeans, placing the end against Fuller’s temple. “You tried to climb the ladder too fast, Gord. You were always about the shortcuts andget rich quickschemes. You wanted Cordoza’s seat at the table, though you were willing to settle for Felix’s. In the end,” he flips the safety off and smirks, “you forgot Felix’s reach goes further than yours ever will. Your soldiers are not your own.” He flashes a devilish grin when the men turn their guns away from Felix and point them at Gordon instead. “You want me to take you in, bud? Or…”
My stomach flips, and nerves make it harder for me to breathe. For my lungs to catch up, or for my heart to slow. I watch desperately as Gordon slowly raises his hands in surrender, and when he angles further my way, the tears on his cheeks. The complete and utter devastation at his failed plan. “Don’t tell Violet,” he rasps. “Okay? Let them believe I died a hero.”
“You want the accolades for something you didn’t do?” Drake snarls. “You want to go down in history as something you’re not? You’re a fucking coward! You’re a crook, and you’re a loser. You couldn’t stay afloat on your own, so you killed and lied and stole, and in the end, you did it for yourself. Not for Vi. Not for Tilly. You did it for you! Because if it was for them, you would have figured something out and stayed.”
“I did it for them,” he chokes out. “Because I’m a loser. Because I’m better for them dead, than I ever was alive.”
“You don’t deserve the lie.”
“Please,” he whimpers, his chest bouncing as his new reality slams down over him. He’s caught. It’s all over, and in the end, his greed undid him. “I don’t want to take the lie from them,” he cries. “I don’t want to saddle them with that shame. They don’t deserve it.”
“I’m not gonna execute you, Gord.” Drake takes a single step back and lowers his hand. “You don’t get the shortcut today. You don’t get to skip to the end so fast.” He looks to Archer and lifts his chin. “It’s your case, Detective.” Then he broadens his chest and speaks louder. “Detective Fletcher. It’s yours, too. You can take him in.”
“I’m not going to prison,” Gordon snarls, the ferocity in his tone enough to chill me. “I will not sit in that fucking cell while my family grows older and moves on without me.”
“Sounds like something you should’ve considered before you jumped the fence and decided to play house somewhere else.” Drake takes out a set of shiny, silver cuffs and starts forward. “Consequences and all that jazz.”
“I’m not going to prison!” Fuller swings around on his heels and brings his gun up to point straight at my chest. Adrenaline pounds through my blood when I realize I’m looking down the barrel of a gun, and the man holding itwantsto die.
“Oh shit.” I frantically start twisting my hands once more. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”
“Put your gun down!” Drake roars, aiming his weapon again. Fletcher does the same. Archer. Felix. And a dozen other men. “If you shoot her, you die.”
“Kinda the point, brother.” Gordon narrows his eyes and tightens his grip on the handle. “I’m not staying behind to watch the news articles that bring shame to my family.”
“I said put the gun down!”
“I’m sorry.” Gordon Fuller’s hands shake. His jaw quivers. Lines fan out from his closed eye, while the other lines up his shot and expels tears to blur his vision. “It was never supposed to go down this way,” he rasps, gulping, his throat bobbing with the movement. “Don’t tell Violet,” he whimpers. “Please don’t tell the girls.”
“Put the gun down!” Drake booms. “Now, Gord!”
“I’m sorry.”
I crush my eyes shut as Gordon squeezes the trigger and a blast roars throughout the warehouse. I don’t want to watch. But I hear it. I feel the breeze and count the milliseconds between the explosion and the pain I know I’ll feel. Then I fall, through the rickety floor and down until the rope catches my neck and my spine crackles in response.
My world shatters. Red bursts behind my eyelids, and shouting men is all I hear. Gunshots. Panicked frenzy. Sprinting feet. Dust fills my nostrils. Blood, too.
But no air.
