Possessed by the Killer (Dark Possessive Mafia)

He looked surprised to see me. He stopped dead at the end of the bar and his eyes were wide for one long, agonizing second. I sat back down on my stool and he plastered a smile as his face as he walked to me with his hands spread wide.

“Mags,” he said. “What a pleasure. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

I didn’t know how to answer. I hadn’t thought this far.

My plan was simple.

I wanted to walk into the bar and lure him out of that office so Dean and his guys didn’t have as much fighting to do.

And now I’d gotten about as far as I thought I would.

“I need to talk to you about my dad,” I said, the words coming out in a rush.

Uncle Roy’s face softened. “Of course you do, honey,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I’m trying to figure something out.”

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

I wanted to say, aside from trying to kill me?

Or maybe say, aside from selling me like trash?

But I needed him here. “Did he know?” I asked softly. “When you convinced him to marry me off to Dean. Did he know the whole time?”

Uncle Roy tilted his head, that fake smile still plastered on his ugly face. I hated those squinting eyes, that broken nose, that double chin and awful, twisted teeth. He looked like a rat that spent half its life feasting, and was now old and bloated.

“Know what?” he asked, spreading his hands. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

I couldn’t help myself. I had one chance to ask him, and I needed to take it. Dean was going to come any second, and I had to know.

“Did my dad know you were going to have me killed?” I whispered.

Uncle Roy slowly lowered his hands and his face slackened. “Mags—” he started.

Then the door burst open and Dean came in first, gun raised.

I threw myself to the floor. Uncle Roy shouted something as gunfire erupted. The bearded guy behind the bar took a bullet to the head and slumped down. More men came in after Dean, spreading out into the bar. Shouts from the back room, more gunshots. Uncle Roy kicked over a stool and turned to run, but he didn’t get far. Dean sprinted past me and grabbed Uncle Roy by the back of the neck and threw him against a wall, smashing his face hard against the plaster.

Uncle Roy groaned as Dean threw him into a booth. He hit the back wall hard. Two guys came down the steps, and Gian appeared above me, gun raised. He shot one, but the other returned fire, and Gian’s shoulder snapped to the side. He dropped down as Dean knelt and began shooting. The second guy dropped.

I scrambled to Gian. “Are you okay?” I yelled over the gunfire in the other room.

“I’m okay,” he said through clenched teeth.

A long, deep trench was ripped down his right arm. It bled freely, and I looked around for something to use as a bandage. He grunted and ripped his shirt, grimacing in pain as Trent knelt down next to me and took over making sure Gian was okay.

I got up and looked around. The place was quiet then and Dean’s men stood around looking keyed up and anxious. Uncle Roy cowered in the booth with his hands up and Dean stared down at him, face impassive.

“You know why I’m here,” Dean said. I walked toward them, and more of Dean’s guys crowded into the room. Some were armed, but others weren’t. I had the feeling they used to be Uncle Roy’s guards, but had given up when they realized their boss was already captured.

“I couldn’t begin to guess,” Uncle Roy said, then showed those awful teeth. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“You tried to have me killed,” Dean said. “You sold me out to the Healy family.”

“I would never,” Uncle Roy said.

Dean tilted his head. “Did Big Bruno ever show up to work this morning?”

Uncle Roy opened his mouth then shut it again. He deflated then and he must’ve known.

“How’d you get him?” Uncle Roy asked.

“Grabbed him off the street,” Dean said. “Fucker takes the same route here every morning.”

“Idiot,” Uncle Roy whispered and closed his eyes. “So this is the end for me, then?”

“You chose this,” Dean said. “It didn’t have to go this way.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” Uncle Roy said. “I should’ve been in charge of the family. I was always better than you, but your father was insistent. He had some antiquated ideas about bloodlines.”

“My father cared about family,” Dean said. “In a way that you never did.”

Uncle Roy grunted and his eyes glanced toward me. “You want to know the answer to your question?” he asked.

I stepped forward and nodded. “Tell me,” I said.