Owned by the Bad Boy(11)
I straighten myself and attempt a smile, but with the scar it comes off frightening.
Whatever.
I grasp the handle and reenter the brightly lit restaurant. Le Zinc is a well-known mobster hangout owned by the boss of the family, Johnny. I scan the room of white tablecloths for a familiar face. This place hasn’t changed at all. It’s still full of stuffy, pretentious assholes who want a taste of truffle-glazed foie gras frou-frou bullshit while they light up at the table—one of the few places in Montreal where smoking is still allowed.
Raucous laughter from the back echoes and nearly drowns out the music, and then I see Johnny wedged in between his enforcers. Jack sits right beside him—I can’t believe that ex-junkie player has a wife and kid now. François is there, too, but nobody else. Odd.
Johnny’s eyes widen when he sees me, falling on my scar. “Holy shit. Luc!”
“Hey.”
He gets up from his seat and embraces me, pounding my back. “Maudit. You look different!”
“Yeah?”
Johnny looks the same to me. He’s small for a boss—leaner than most guys who grow up in the life—though he packs a hell of a punch. Johnny’s always been shrewd where other guys have been brutal.
“You look good. Stronger.”
Yeah, whatever.
He lets go of me and I greet the others, feigning warmth as I sit down next to them. My head pounds with the roar of this place, but Johnny pours me a glass of white wine and I realize I haven’t had a drink in a year. They all hold theirs in a toast to me.
Choruses of “Salute” echo around the table, and I take a huge gulp. The smooth, dry wine immediately flattens my mood.
“Where the hell is everyone?” I ask Johnny. “Ben and Vito?”
Behind Johnny, Jack’s face darkens. “They turned out to be disappointments.”
News of the biker war reached prison, of course. And I heard about the rats in our crew, and Sal’s betrayal, how he attempted to take John down. Fuck.
“I see.”
“Luc, you’re a stand-up guy. I know you never breathed a word to the cops.”
I recognize the steely look on Johnny’s face.
“But your girlfriend did.”
The warmth from the alcohol immediately rushes to my face. “So?”
“So, we know where she is.”
“Claire?”
A simmering wave rushes through my body, and suddenly I feel hyperalert. I think of Claire’s hand in mine, the way she used to grab me all the time without thinking. A glow suddenly balls in my chest, almost rising to my face. She made me feel like a whole man, and then she fucked me over like I was nothing.
“Out of respect for you, I was going to wait until you got out before I sent some guys after her.”
I think of Claire’s body on the kitchen floor, her honey-brown hair dark with blood, her eyes vacant. A visceral, gut-wrenching punch hits my stomach.
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“You’re not going to lay a finger on her.”
It’s like a vacuum—the sound is gone, and the heat of every gaze is on me. No one questions the boss. No one who gives a damn about their life tells him what to do. Something about being surrounded by murdering psychos who all want a piece of you for a year removes your sense of fear.
A smile widens Johnny’s face, and I grind my teeth. It’s threatening, like a leer. I’ve seen that same look on many guys in prison. His eyes tell the truth: What the fuck did you say to me, bitch?
The sound of Jack choking on his drink breaks through the tension hanging above us.
“You’re out of jail for two seconds and you think you can order me around?”
“I’ve been in jail for a fucking year. I’m entitled to be a little pissed off.”
“You don’t tell me what to do. I’m the boss.”
Right.
“She ratted. She needs to go. End of fucking story.”
My hands ball into fists on the table, feeling their eyes all over me. Heat builds up in my face, turning my blood to lava.
“She’s my woman. My responsibility.”
“Fine,” he snaps. “You want to handle it?”
“I do.”
“Then do it.”
Underneath the table I feel a hard edge pressing into my lap, and I grab the handle of the gun as a cold feeling runs like ice through my veins.
* * *
Twelve fucking months I spent biding my time, waiting for the moment I’d be free so I could get back at the bitch who sent me to prison. I envisioned tying her hands to my headboard and her legs to the end of the bed. I wanted to lick every inch of her body, make her moan for me, suck on those beautiful tits. I never wanted to actually hurt her. Yes, play with her. Yes, make her scream for me. Kill her? No fucking way.