“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.”
“It was beautiful.”
Otto laughs, and I straighten in my seat when I see Derek Green appear at the entrance of the bar, lighting a cigarette. The lawyer having a celebratory drink with his client. “Gotta go,” I say, hanging up and getting out.
“James,” Beau calls, stalling me. I look back, and she closes her eyes, swallowing.
“I’ll see you in a minute,” I say, draping a coat over my arm to conceal my gun. “Promise.” I make my way over to Derek Green, as he nervously puffs his way through his smoke.
“I haven’t had one since high school,” he says as the doormen eye me warily. “He’s with me,” Derek thumbs off a few notes and hands them over. “Joining the celebrations.”