“I’ll be back later.”
“Jack, I—”
“Enough. I’m leaving.”
She withers under my glare and shrinks away.
The pregnancy. My brother. All of it still implodes in my head. I see myself holding a newborn, and a deluge of panic suddenly swells inside me.
One fucking crisis at a time.
* * *
“Jack, get over here!”
I’m standing in the lobby of Le Zinc, slightly swaying on my feet with the aftermath of Beatrice’s nuclear-bomb confession. François’s voice snaps me to the present, and I look to see him standing in front of me, touching my shoulder.
“You all right?”
A sick feeling claws through my stomach. Who knows, he might have been one of the three sent to hold a pillow over my brother’s face.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Johnny’s going over the exchange later today.”
Exchange. Drug deal. We use so many fucking code words to hide our true intentions. I wonder what phrase Johnny used when he ordered his men to take care of my paraplegic brother.
I follow him, weaving through the white-tablecloth covered tables to where that asshole sits, surrounded by his men. My throat is raw, as though I spent hours screaming. It would be so simple to just kill him right now. All I need to do is reach inside my jacket and aim. Fire.
Of course, I’d never make it out alive.
I examine them. Which one of them did it? I scan their bodies for the tattoo. Why does everyone have to wear suits all the goddamn time?
“Jack, sit down.”
I’ll fucking sit down after I rip your head off.
“What did your wife want?”
How did he do it? How does a man push aside every moral instinct to order a hit on a defenseless person, and not only that, but not have the fucking balls to take responsibility for it? He made them wear leather cuts. He wanted the police—everyone—to believe the MC was responsible. They weren’t.
“Jack.”
Then I forget what the hell he asked me.
Johnny’s lips crook into a grin.
“She’s pregnant.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence and then their voices rise into laughter. It grates against my ears. I see myself reaching for necks and ripping them open with my bare hands.
“He knocked up the MC’s daughter!”
“Hey, that makes two of us.” Johnny’s face cracks with a smile and he leans forward, grasping my shoulder. “Congratulations, Jack.”
Congratulations.
The word slides over me like water on oil.
“I’m glad you took my advice and made her yours.”
I didn’t do it because you told me to, asshole.
The rest of them pat my back, and Sal gives me a look of concern. Whatever. The baby is far from my mind now. I want to find that fucking tattoo.
“We have a big arms deal with the Devils MC today. It’s our first business deal since this alliance, so let’s not fuck this up.”
* * *
There’s nothing but the distant, screeching sound of cars crumpling in on themselves. Piles of flattened multicolored metal surround us, insulating the noise. It’s the same place I buried that piece of shit nurse, and I wonder what he looks like right now. If his bones were ground to dust.
I’m backup, merely standing in the background in case something gets fucked up. Johnny doubled the number of soldiers for this deal. I guess the two-timing prick doesn’t trust the MC.
Crash or Flash or whatever his stupid name is stands in front of François, negotiating. His long brown beard twists around his head, flipping in the breeze whistling through the metal parts.
One of the men beside me rolls up his sleeves. The sun bakes the backs of our necks.
“Sounds good.”
I catch the tail end of François’s conversation with the biker. Adrenaline jolts through my veins and I whip my head when I see a flash, but it’s just the sun reflecting off a car hood. Damn it. It’s distracting. Hard to concentrate.
A crack splits the air and my jacket rips open at the shoulder, spraying blood.
I’ve been shot.
I barely register it before I dive under a heap of scrap metal. The outraged screams of my crew echo in the junkyard as a barrage of bullets smash into metal.
“CEASE FIRE!”
I whip around with my arm outstretched, gun aimed at that Crash motherfucker, but he holds up his hands, imploring us to stop. If it wasn’t them, who the fuck was it? The gunshot came from their side.
There’s movement to my right. The glare from a biker’s gun. I barely see him, hidden in the heap of junk above me. He aims right at my face.
CRACK!
His head whips back as I fire a well-aimed shot, and I don’t look to see him fall.
“What the FUCK!”
More gunshots thud in the heap I’m hiding behind, connecting sharply and glancing off. I’m going to fucking die hiding behind this thing.
A sear of pain slices down my neck, and liquid warmth blossoms over my skin. Fuck. At least it’s shallow.
They’re all above me. I aim a shot at another guy trying to take me out from above. I get him in the leg and he screams, then I pay attention to François, who blasts Crash’s chest open with his shotgun.
I dive out from the scrap metal and launch myself toward the car as deadly zips thud into the ground. The scrape of a shoe—I clutch my gun and aim around the car, a hair trigger away from firing. Brian points his gun at me.
“Jesus!”
He takes a few seconds longer than me to lower his gun. I don’t like the attitude on his face. We have no fucking time for it.
“What the fuck is going on?”
He ducks behind the car with me. “They set us up.”
I glance once around the car, and a hole the size of my head blasts through the frame. Jesus. Blood trickles down and I think of her hair, tickling my neck. Beatrice. She’s alone at the house. All the things I said. Why did I have to be such an asshole? Why didn’t I tell her that having her around saved my life?
My shoulder throbs and the wound on my throat bleeds freely. The windshield shatters and bullets pepper the interior as Brian hurls himself over the hood and fires.
Fuck this. We’re going to die.
Brain is blasted off his feet and lands on his back, his mouth exploding with color. Fuck! I rush to his side as a dark hole made in his jacket slowly smokes. He coughs up bright-red blood and his eyes roll back.
Jesus fuck.
I take the knife strapped to my ankle and I cut away his jacket and shirt, immediately covering the dark hole in his chest with my palm.
“Come on, you fuck!”
Goddamn it, he got shot in his arm, too. I cut away the jacket completely and roll up his sleeve.
And that fucking cornicello stares at me, right where she said it would be. Shock slowly runs through my body as Brian wheezes for air next to me. His limp hand searches for me. He was one of them. My body burns with white-hot rage.
I dig my thumb into his bullet wound and he opens his red-stained mouth in a wordless, bubbly cry.
“You piece of shit.”
“J-Jack! I can’t breathe!”
His lungs make a horrible wheezing sound. Fuck, I couldn’t ask for a better setup.
“You killed him, didn’t you? Who gave the order?”
But he can’t talk. He just inhales, making that rattling sound. Then I just reach over and pinch his nostrils shut. Brian tries to breathe through his mouth, but there’s too much blood. He weakly grasps my hand and bloodshot eyes beg me for forgiveness as I choke off his air supply.
Drowning in your own blood must fucking suck.
Blood-filled bubbles expel from Brian’s mouth. He gasps, the blood gurgling in his throat. Blue tinges his lips and capillaries burst in his eyes.
It must be excruciating.
I relish in it.
His eyes see
m to glaze over and his fingers loosen around me. Then Brian’s hand finally thuds to the ground, limp.
Rot in hell.
This is perfect. Clean. If only I could wipe the panic away.
“JACK!”
One down. Three to go.
A hand violently grabs my arm, and suddenly François’s face swims in front of me. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m calling your name!”
Pops of gunfire crack through the air, one at a time, followed by heavy thuds. I look around the car to see the rest of the crew picking off the bikers one by one.
“Brian!” he drops down to the body and shakes his frozen shoulder.
“He’s dead.”
The temporary relief falls as my neck singes with pain. My head churns as I look at the carnage in the junkyard.
* * *
The lean boss sits behind the desk, a pulse bumping in his forehead as we wait for the inevitable explosion.
Then he slams his fist into the wood, knocking over a picture frame.
“What the fuck happened? How did you manage to fuck this up so badly?”
I finger the patch on my neck, turning over everything in my head. “They shot first. Their guy aimed a gun right at me. That’s how I got this.” I point toward my shoulder.
“It was a setup,” François agrees.
“What the fuck?”
Johnny sinks back into his chair, brow furrowed in disbelief.
“They killed Brian.”
No, I did.
“Goddamn it—motherless fucks—putain de merde. They’re all fucking dead! We’re finished. We’re done with the Devils.” He rises to his feet as his face turns beet red. “I tried to end this shit! I gave them another fucking chance because I was sick of our guys getting hurt for no fucking reason, and they fucking spat in my face.”
Something bothers me about it. “I don’t know.”
He whips his head at me. “What don’t you know?”
“It seemed too sloppy. They were going to lure us there? For what? And why send their worst guns and no backup?”
“You said he aimed the gun right at you.”
“I know what I saw,” I snap. “I just think there’s more to this.”
Johnny shakes it off, baring his teeth. “I want them all dead. They wanted a war, and I’m going to give them one.”
Sal leans across the desk. “Frankly I agree with Johnny. They’ve done nothing but disrespect us since we’ve made this alliance.”
“I’m going to blow that fucking compound to kingdom come.”
Jesus.
“John—it’s a bad fucking idea.”
“Who asked your opinion?”
Underneath my skin I smolder. He’s one of them. I know he is. But how am I supposed to get to him?
“Your wife has family there. So does mine.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Since when do you give a shit about bikers?”
Since I married and fell for one of them.
“Do we really need more heat from the CSIS? The Trudeau heist wasn’t enough?”
Finally the guys murmur in agreement.
Why the fuck am I giving advice to this piece of shit?
He sits on his desk and runs his hands through his hair. “All right, everyone get out. Not you, Jack.”
Fuck.
The door to his office closes behind the last man and I wonder how Johnny’s brains would look splattered on the wall behind him. He crosses his arms and eye-fucks me.
“You need to divorce that girl.”
Well, that’s not what I expected.
“What?”
“You’ve got to get rid of her.”
I slowly rise from my chair as fire hot enough to burn my clothes radiates off my body. “No.”
He narrows his eyes. “The alliance is over. You realize that the first thing she’ll do is head over to the police station and tell them she was coerced into a marriage with you, right?”
Never.
I stop an inch from Johnny’s face. “She’s my wife and she’s going to stay that way. Not you or anyone is going to convince me otherwise.”
A widened look crosses Johnny’s face until he lets out a small laugh. “You’re a fucking idiot, Jack.”
Don’t punch him. You can’t do this here in front of everyone.
“Fuck you.”
“You sure you want to take that tone with me?”
“She’s mine. I’m not giving her back.”
I can’t stand another moment in his presence. Slimy fuck. I turn my back on John and wrench open the door, slamming it behind me. Who the fuck does he think he is?
“Jack, wait!”
“What?”
Sal grabs my arm as I storm out of Johnny’s office, pulling me near the exit door in the kitchens. His face is tense and he won’t let go of my arm.
“What did he want with you?”
“He wanted to talk to me about my wife. He wants me to divorce her.”
Fucking idiot.
“Are you?”
“No!”
“Why the fuck not, Jack? She’s a liability.”
“I don’t care,” I snarl. “She’s pregnant with my kid. I’m not throwing her to the streets or giving her back to those fucking deranged lunatics.”
Sal’s face is ashen and a thread of anxiety unspools.
“What?”
“John’s not going to let this go. In his mind, your wife is going to put you in jail the moment she has the chance. You, Johnny, who knows how many others. All she has to do is run to the CSIS and they’ll give her a new identity.”
I slam my fist on the stainless steel counter. “She’s not going to do that.”
She had my name tattooed on her ass, for Christ’s sake.
“Doesn’t matter what you think. He’s going to take care of her, one way or the other.”
Take care of her?
An icy feeling spreads through my veins.
Like Mike?
Oh God.
“He wouldn’t.”
Pleading brown eyes meet mine. “You think he gives a fuck? Get her out of town today.”
“Thanks, Sal.”
I throw my shoulder into the exit door, nausea rising up my throat. My wife and baby are at risk. He’s right. She can’t stay here, not when I’m being shot at and I don’t even know who to trust anymore.
My lungs crush like crumpled wings and I fight to draw breath at the thought of her leaving me. I never stopped to think of how much I needed her.
It won’t be forever.
BEATRICE
Wine-red walls rise to a ceiling with intricate crown molding. I stare at all the rich details, the abstract art hanging on the walls, as Maya’s baby climbs over me and babbles happily.
Maya sits beside me in her long skirt, waving at her baby.
“I’m really glad you picked me up, but won’t Johnny be getting home soon?”
She shakes her head and lets out an exasperated sigh. “He’s being an ass.” Her eyes roll over to me. “How’s Jack?”
Also being an ass.
Pain makes a sharp dent in my happiness as I think of the ugly things he said right before he left. He was furious and rightly so, but it still hurt like hell.
“I just found out we’re having a baby.”
Maya’s high gasp hits my ears painfully. “Congratulations!”
“Thanks.”
Matteo sits on my stomach and gives me a toothless grin that makes my heart melt.
“Can I take him home with me?”
She laughs and plucks Matteo from my body. “Yeah, maybe when we have a date night.” She shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re fucking pregnant! Oops!” She hastily covers her baby’s ears.
“I didn’t think I would ever be accepted by the family until I had his kids.”
“They’ll accept you or they’ll get their teeth knocked out.”
Somehow I doubt Jack will ever knock someone’s teeth out for me. “It’
s never going to happen.”
“Hey, I saw what your husband did to those guys at the party. He loves you, Bea. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gone to bat for you.”
Hope flutters in my chest. “You think so?”
BAM!
We scream as the door flies open and Johnny’s tall silhouette appears between the walls. He walks in, slamming the door shut, and stops at the sight of me.
My heart slams against my chest.
“What the hell is she doing here?”
Maya stands up, her eyes widening with surprise at the growl in his voice. She sets Matteo down at my feet.
“Don’t talk to me like that. She’s my cousin and I’ll bring her over if I want.”
Johnny turns toward his wife, his features thick with rage. “You brought her? Why the fuck—”
“She’s my cousin,” Maya says, louder than ever.
“I know,” he begins with waning patience, “but she’s also a fucking biker who was coerced into a marriage with one of my men.”
“I trust her.”
He smirks, folding his arms. “Well, I don’t.”
“I’m your wife and my trust should be good enough for you. I’ve known her my whole life, not you! I decide who I want to see, not you!”
Matteo’s cry suddenly breaks the sound of his parents fighting. I pick him up as tears bead in his eyes and I rub his back until the cries subside. Johnny’s taut face loosens somewhat.
“Sweetheart, you have no idea what’s going on right now. We’re at war. I don’t give a fuck if she’s Pope Francis, I don’t trust her.”
He grabs his wife’s shoulders and gives her a kiss on her furious face. Then he stops in front of me. Matteo outstretches his tiny arms. “Papa!”
Even though I fucking hate him, I have to admit that he loves his son. Johnny gently takes him from my arms and holds his son to his chest, kissing the baby’s head over and over as if to reassure himself.
Dark, restless eyes settle on me. “I’m just trying to protect my family.”
Annoyance bristles in my chest.
“She’s married to one of your soldiers.”
“I don’t care, sweetheart. Right now, I trust no one.” Then he turns back to me. “I’ll call your husband to come get you.”
Johnny stalks off with the baby in his arms and Maya fumes after him. I sink into an armchair, depressed.
“He won’t stop me from visiting you. I don’t give a shit what he says.”
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