“Adams?”
“I expect he got a call from The Brit.”
I nod mildly, rubbing at my sore flesh. “Thanks for your hospitality,” I quip, going to the door.
“I have one question.”
I still, my hand on the knob. “What’s that?”
“Who are you and Black hunting?”
“You know the answer to that, Higham,” I reply, picking up my feet and making my way through the scores of officers at their desks, all eyeing me, all with faces screaming for me to punch. How many of the fuckers are bent? How many in the pocket of The Bear? My eyes fall onto Burrows, my pace never faltering, and I hold his hate-filled stare as I pass. “Dead,” I whisper, making sure he can read my lips. So fucking dead.
I make it outside and stand for a moment, closing my eyes and breathing in the freedom.
“Still want me to stand down?”
My shoulders drop, my eyes remaining closed. “Not now, Beau.” I’m working against a ticking time bomb, and my minor brush with the police has seriously delayed my plans. I open my eyes and find her in the passenger seat of my car, Fury at the wheel. The window is down, her arms folded and resting on the edge, her chin sitting pretty on her forearms. “You shouldn’t be here.” Fuck knows Burrows is gunning for me, and I wouldn’t put it past him getting Beau in those cuffs. He has more on her than me.
I stride to the car and flick my head for Fury to get in the back. He looks ready to quit life. Slipping behind the wheel, I start the engine and go to my phone when it rings. “What’s up.”
“You’re out?” Otto asks.
“No, the police let me take your call.” I sigh, pulling into the traffic, checking my mirrors, watchful, because any decent cop would follow me. “What’s going on?”
“Roake is celebrating his release in a bar on South Beach.”
“How lovely for him. What bar?”
“Ventacini.”
I look across to Beau, weighing up my options. I have two. Take her home and miss this opportunity or take her with me and knock one more man off my list of men to kill. Fuck’s sake. “On my way,” I mutter, hanging up and putting my foot down. “What do we have in the trunk?” I ask Fury in the rearview mirror, taking a sharp right, throwing him around in the back as Beau grips the handle above her.
“Full stock.”
Beau faces me as I skid into another road. “How does Otto know he’s at Ventacini?”
And so the questions begin. “We’re tracking him.”
“How?”
“His lawyer.”
“You mean Derek Green?”
I don’t need to know how she knows. Women talk. “Yes, Derek Green.” He came good. He didn’t really have much choice, mind you, but the moment Roake was found not guilty, the tracker was activated as planned. Roake was never going to prison. Only to hell.
“We’re being followed,” Fury says, looking out of the back window.
“Cop?” I ask, checking myself.
“No. Black Escalade. Three cars back.”
I look up at my rearview mirror, seeing the nose of the Escalade nudging out. A smart cop would follow me. So why the fuck hasn’t he, and who the fuck is tailing me? “I don’t have time for this.” I turn the wheel sharply, skidding across the road until the car is facing the other way. “Get down, Beau,” I order, pulling off sharply. “You armed, Fury?”
“Armed.”
I keep my eye on the Escalade coming toward us, although now it’s slowed down. I take my foot off the gas, matching its speed, and we slowly get closer until we’re cruising past. The driver’s window is down, his arm casually resting on the ledge. Bold. So fucking bold. I see the tattoo first, coating the side of his face, a pretty scrolling of words in another language. Polish.
The Hound.
His eyes meet mine.
“Shooter in the back,” Fury says calmly.
“Kill him.”
He fires immediately and blood splatters the back window, the Escalade swerving. “Stand down,” I order before Fury can take out The Hound, putting my foot down and burning off down the road.
“What are you doing?” Beau asks. “He had a clear shot.”
“And so did the other shooter in the back.”
She swings around, looking out the back window.
“Sorry, boss,” Fury says. “Missed that one.”
“Don’t worry.” I pull into a side street and slow to a stop by the curb halfway down. “Stay exactly where you are,” I say to Beau. “I mean it.”
She nods, and I glance up at the mirror to Fury. “Get behind the wheel. Leave the engine running. You’ll know if you need to move.” I pop the trunk and jump out, striding to the back and grabbing a grenade.
I walk into the middle of the road, and as soon as I hear the sound of tires, I pull the pin out with my teeth and release it like a bowling ball, sending it rolling up the concrete, just as the Escalade skids into the street. I watch as the vehicle slows to a stop, as expected, the driver obviously surprised to find my car stationary and me a sitting duck, unarmed, in the middle of the road. He’s reassessing his plan.
I smile as my little bowling ball disappears under the car and The Hound appears, hanging out of the window, a machine gun aimed my way. “Tell me,” I call, mentally counting in my head. “What does it say?”
He smiles, his finger reaching for his face and stroking over his tattoo. “It says,” he rumbles, his English broken, “today you die.”
“You’ve been ripped off,” I reply, shaking my head. “It actually says, today you die.”
I detect his frown from here, and then the realization. It’s golden. The moment of panic I see, the shouts I hear, before the Escalade blows up. It’s fucking golden. Shrapnel flies, flames roar, body parts scatter. I would stand here and watch the fire blaze all night if I had time. Sadly, I don’t. And one run-in with the cops is enough for one day.
I head to the car, pull a machine gun from the trunk, and get in the back. “Drive,” I order, loading and tossing the belt over my shoulder. I feel eyes on me and glance up to find Beau studying me. I hate the interest coating her face. The unspoken praise. The satisfaction knowing another man is dead by my hands. “That’ll be the last man you see me kill,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t reply, turning in her seat and facing the road.
Because she knows I’m talking shit.
* * *
With Otto on the line, I watch the entrance of the private bar from across the road. “Just wait until you can see Green,” he says.
“How many in there?”
“Roake and five others.”
“All his men?”
“Yes. Take them all out, that’s the end of the drugs side of The Bear’s business.”
I take the handle of the door, ready. “You can cross The Hound off our list too.”
“What?” Otto blurts.
“I ran into him on my way here. I expect someone advised him of where I was. So I gave him a little fireworks display.”
“Burrows?” Otto asks, and I hum, noncommittally. “Fuck . . . me.”