But my father? They had loads of shit on him and a few other lucky ones. So while I was set free to live out my miserable existence, they still rotted behind bars.
I had my brother back now and an empty mansion.
And guns, lets not forget the guns, and other weaponry and enough fancy cars to make a sixteen-year-old boy shit himself.
But what was that life without some sort of meaning?
I’d trained since boyhood to be part of the Family. To do what was right. To protect Family — blood. But in the end my own blood had betrayed me, a deal with the De Langes gone bad. My father was trying to impress the boss and ended up blowing our covers to Hell.
I tapped the steering wheel of the Mercedes again.
One more mile.
Alabama, of all the places for Amy to end up in, why the hell had she chosen Florence, Alabama?
I pulled into the parking lot and checked the address on my navigation. It said I was at the right spot, but Sergio had said she was a waitress.
I checked the address again.
At a strip club?
Pissed off all over again at my brother, I got out of the car and slammed the door shut. The music made me sick. I had never been a guy for strip clubs, they seemed cheap… like the type of thing men went to when they weren’t confident enough to actually ask a girl out or take her on a nice date.
Disgusted, I opened the door and winced. The smell of smoke filled the air, burning my nostrils. The place was packed.
I searched anxiously for Amy, all I needed to do was grab her, stuff her in the car if need be, and then hightail it out of Hell. I needed to bring her back where she belonged, right the wrong, and hopefully not scare her to death considering she thought I was dead.
The lights lowered as dancers exited the stage.
Still no Amy.
I started making my way towards a security guard who was standing on the far side of the room nearest the stage, when a booming voice sounded over the speakers.
“Tonight we have a special treat for you!” The voice made my ears hurt. A drunken group of college guys pushed in front of me and ran to the stage with dollar bills. Swear my finger twitched on the gun in the back of my pants. But I refrained — barely.
“Hey,” I said loudly to the security guard. “I’m looking for a girl.”
“Keep moving.” He glared.
I could take him, I knew this, he probably knew this, but he didn’t move, or even make eye contact, instead his head was leaning forward so he could see the stage.
“She’s young,” the voice continued. “And so innocent.”
More hoots from the crowd.
“She needs money for college! And who are we to keep her from getting her education?” More cheers. “Please welcome Amy—”
I pushed past the security guard. When he tried to grab me, I turned on my heel and elbowed him in the throat, possibly breaking something — ask me if I cared.
I ran down the hall and nearly collided with a man holding a microphone. “Listen you bitch, I already announced you. You have to go on.”
“No.” Her voice was weak. “I thought I could do it, but I can’t. I can’t. Please don’t make me do it!”
He slapped her.
And I snapped.
With a curse I lunged for him, slamming his body against the wall; the microphone dropped out of his hand.
“Who are you?” he spat, fighting against me.
With a grin, I answered, “The angel of death.” And knocked him out with a right hook breaking a few teeth in the process as blood poured from his nose and mouth.
When I turned around to see if Amy was all right, she was immobile, her face ashen. She swayed forward.
I caught her just before she hit the ground, lifted her over my shoulder, and walked as fast as I could out of that hell hole.
Hands shaking with rage, I buckled her in the front seat, careful not to look at her body as I gently placed her legs inside the car. Anger slammed through me, clouding my vision as I belted her into the front seat. My hands shook so badly it took me three tries to finally latch the buckle—a fourth try would have had me ripping the damn thing from the car and saying to hell with it. I couldn’t control the damn shaking, couldn’t control the anger that I’d kept at bay for five years. Anger that Sergio had forced me to do the unthinkable, anger that my family had told me that the De Langes would never find out. And of course there was also the anger that it was my fault she was in this position in the first place.
I shut the door and then promptly kicked the tire until my foot hurt. When that didn’t make me feel better I got in the car and started the engine. It would be a hell of a long drive back to Chicago, especially with me threatening to go all Hulk at any second, but we had a few stops to make first. I had no one to blame but myself, it had been my bright idea not to fly. I thought it would give me time to think about things.