Well, let’s be clear on that front. I am scared shitless.
It doesn’t matter, though. This thing is bigger than me. It always was, always has. It’s not my fault I’m the one deciding to end it.
My hand toys with the gun in my coat pocket.
Scenarios run through my head over and over.
Guard outside, man behind the bar. Alarm triggered. Gloria with the shotgun. Guards down the stairs. Locked doors on the main floor. Locked doors on the second floor. Girls need to be rescued.
Cover my back against the right corner when I go up the stairs. Expect Rodrigo, Marissa’s personal bodyguard when I turn left.
Marissa will hole herself up in the office.
Exits. Doors. Windows. People shooting back at me. All accounted for.
Stepping out from behind the brick wall, I stride forward.
I smile at the guard, getting closer. He’s a new one. Marissa never could find loyal men. He thinks I’m a girl looking for a drink.
“We’re closed,” he gruffly states.
I shoot him directly in his heart and step over the slumped body.
Marissa had me get on my hands and knees when I begged to take on Daisy’s debt.
“Davison,” I greet the man behind the bar.
I’ve never told anyone this, but Davison reminds me of my last stepfather. Blonde, thinks he’s too good-looking, completely full of himself, and fucking handsy.
He comes around the bar, hands up.
“What are you doing, Russ?” he calmly asks, almost bored. How many times has he seen a woman and thought she’s just unhinged. That it’ll all blow over.
I shoot his dick off.
The blast isn’t as loud as his screams. He hits the ground, where he’ll have the unfortunate realization that it won’t be a fatal wound if he manages to pick himself up.
See, death would be too easy for a guy like him.
Fucking Marissa is questionable enough, but to stand there and let his girlfriend pimp Daisy out while she’s pregnant?
It’ll be a kindness when he finally gets to hell.
Running feet drowns out the music.
Three make it down the stairs. Or at least their bodies do.
Shooting is easy, Nancy used to tell me. Aim and pull the trigger.
It’s all about the nerves. That’s the difference between a random person with a gun and a triggerman. And there wasn’t a better triggerman in this city than Nancy Mulligan.
And she taught me everything she knew.
CHAPTER 25
Maxim
“Come outside.”
