Part 29 (1/2)

The devil moved quickly, hissed even faster, waving his gun in the direction of Annalise. She was s.h.i.+elded behind Michael, but not completely, and when Charlie darted to his right to aim for her head, Michael's only thought was to protect her. In both slow motion and terrible fast-forward, he shoved her farther behind him with his free hand as he pulled the trigger.

The bullet barreled through the air, on a hunt for Charlie's brain. But, Michael's move to keep Annalise out of harm's way had the twin effect of s.h.i.+fting the target by inches, putting him in grave danger.

The last thing Michael saw was the bullet ripping through the devil's arm.

Then a feral yell tore from the man's throat.

Michael's world turned warped as his own gun clattered to the ground. Like thunder after a bolt of lightning, the pain came a few seconds later, cutting through every cell in his body.

With a bone-shattering thunk, Michael crashed to the concrete, his skull whacking the floor of the parking garage. Blood poured from him, leaking all over his s.h.i.+rt, turning it crimson.

Everywhere.

His chest bled absolutely everywhere. Terror dug roots into the corners of her body. Her throat burned with tears, and her lungs tried to escape from her as she cried.

Her head roared in protest, her mind shouting no, trying to deny the horror. She dropped to the ground next to Michael, grasping, desperately trying to do something, anything, as she fumbled for her phone.

Panic welled up inside her, spilling over, suffocating her as she grabbed it in her pocket.

Not again. This couldn't happen twice. She couldn't lose someone she loved again. But the blood...it was on her hands, her face, all over him. Her hand pressed against his chest. Oh thank G.o.d, his heart was beating still. But there was so much red. She couldn't see a thing through her tears, wasn't even sure she could hear past her own cries. Somehow she stabbed the numbers nine-one-one with blood-covered fingers on the keypad before she screamed out a sob, the phone clattering to the ground.

Then a long, low moan fell on her ears.

It didn't come from Michael.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she jerked her head toward the sound.

Ten, perhaps fifteen feet away, the man who'd shot Michael dragged himself upright. He clutched his left arm as it bled on his jacket sleeve. With his right hand, he groped around for his gun on the ground.

In the distance, shouts burst through the late-morning air-maybe from inside the building, maybe from somewhere else in parking garage.

She didn't know where they were coming from, or who was on the way.

She knew one thing and one thing only.

He'd found his weapon, and he was reaching for it.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE.

Eighteen years ago Dora Prince had decided. She was backing out. She told Luke at the fabric shop where they'd agree to meet that morning. There in the last row, amidst b.u.t.tons and ribbons, she wrapped her arms around his neck and said, ”I can't do it. I can't go through with it. But I can't be without you either. I'll leave him, and we can be together. I don't need money. I have you.”

He smiled warmly, that smile she loved. ”Of course, Dora. You just need to talk to Jerry Stefano and call it off.”

She drew a sharp breath. The man she'd hired to kill her husband terrified her, with his cold eyes and his even colder heart. He wouldn't be happy. His eyes had glittered when she'd told him the price for the hit, and she was sure he wanted the money. ”Can't you tell him?”

Luke shot her a sad smile and shook his head. ”Oh honey, I want to. But you know how this works. I need to keep my distance. The only way I can run the street operations for Charlie is by keeping myself clean. The less people suspect me, the more I can do his bidding, and the better I can pay my men on the street. The more I earn in the next year, the better the chance we can get away. I promise, baby. Call it off. Give me one more year to close out my deals, and then we'll find a way to get out of town with all the kids.” He pressed his hands to her belly. ”Including ours. I wish I could feel the baby kicking,” he whispered.

She smiled. ”Soon. Another month or so.”

But Stefano didn't take the news well when she tried to cancel the hit, nor did Charlie. The man in charge of a burgeoning drug operation in the city summoned her, picking her up for a drive one day when her kids were in school.

She got into Charlie's car, and he talked as he drove out of her neighborhood. ”Good to see you again,” he said. They'd met once before.

”Yes, you too,” she said, even as nerves p.r.i.c.kled down her backbone.

”I hear you want to back out.”

She nodded. ”I do. I can't go through with it.”

He flipped on the blinker to turn right. ”Ah, but therein lies the issue, Dora. You can, and you will.”

She shook her head, holding her ground. ”I thought I could, but I need to move on from all this.”

He glanced at her, knitting his brow. ”From what? You're my top dealer. You run a magnificent route. I have plans, Dora. Big plans. You can work with me.”

She swallowed, sucking in all her fears. ”I can't do it.”

He slammed on the brakes and pulled over on the side of the road, then stared at her. ”It's too late for you to make that choice,” he said in a snake-like whisper.

”Why?” she asked, her voice quaking.

”You're in too deep. Your husband has gone too far. His questions threaten my business, and when my business is threatened, my family is, too. I don't like having my family threatened. You understand that, right?”

She nodded, bile rising up in her throat. She reached for the door handle. Maybe she could escape. Run. Call the police. But what would she tell them? That she was a drug-dealing, cheating woman who'd ordered a hit gone wrong?

He laughed and pressed the lock b.u.t.ton. ”You're not leaving my car. And you're not backing out. Your husband is figuring things out. I can't have him knowing what I do.”

What he did was launder money through West Limos from guns and drugs sold on the streets by the Royal Sinners, who managed their business in the back of a piano shop. Luke, Charlie's right-hand man in the Sinners, had set up that end of the operation to run so smoothly that no one could link Luke, Charlie, the Sinners, the piano shop, and the limo company. But Dora's husband had started to catch on, only Thomas didn't yet know that Charlie was involved.

Charlie clearly wanted to keep it that way. Oh the sheer bitter irony that she'd met the man of her dreams at a simple work party and had tumbled into this dark underworld of money, drugs, and power. A world her husband barely understood. A world she wanted to escape.

Her heart raced. ”What if I leave? What if I leave town with my family?” Dora asked, casting out desperate ideas.

He scoffed. ”What if? What if? What if?” He mimicked her like a parrot, then grabbed her chin in his hand. ”I'll give you the only what if that matters,” he said sharply. ”What if you do as you planned? Then I won't hurt your children.” His eyes roamed to her belly, and a fresh wave of fear rolled through her. ”Are we clear? You don't cancel the hit, and you come out on the other side with a neat, clean robbery-gone-wrong, executed by one of the finest hit men in the Royal Sinners, and then you are free. That is your last debt to me from the drugs you sold.”

”Why do you need me to order the hit? If you want him dead, you can call Stefano yourself,” she said, clutching at straws.