Owned by the Bad Boy(55)
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“She hit him, and he arrested her.”
Holy shit. She got to hit him before I did.
My heart pounds hard, and I feel a wave of vertigo. “If she’s in jail, where’s our baby?”
“Child Protective Services took him.”
“WHERE?”
“I don’t know.”
The phone drops from my hand and blackness creeps over my vision.
* * *
There’s a man strapped to a chair and he blinks under the harshness of the garage lights. His arms are duct-taped, his hands, his mouth, legs, everything. He can’t fucking move to save his life.
A hand grips my shoulder, squeezing hard. Johnny’s face looks strangely sympathetic.
“Luc, I want you to take your gun out, and I want you to use it on him.”
The nameless man strapped the chair moans, his eyes wide with fear.
“He’s not who I want to kill.”
“I want you to get this anger out of your system before we bag that cop. I can’t have a dead cop.”
I would normally ask what this guy did to piss off Johnny, but it doesn’t matter. He’s dead no matter who pulls the trigger.
The gun feels hot in my hands. I aim it at the bastard sitting in the chair, wishing he had Frank Boucher’s face. The first deafening blow goes through his neck. He slumps forward, choking on his blood. I imagine pale-blue eyes laughing at me.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
Three bullets blast through his chest, and then another two destroy what’s left of his face. The chamber keeps spinning and I keep firing, even though I’ve used everything. My arm trembles with the weight of the gun, and I lower it, my eyes suddenly wet.
Dad’s disgusted face flashes into my head.
It was bad enough bailing Claire out of prison. She launched herself into my arms and cried against my chest. She sobbed the whole way home and there was nothing I could do to make her feel better.
No one says anything for a while as the smoke rises from my gun and the deafening shots fade away.
“You said you found a video?”
I turn my back on the dead man to see Johnny frowning, his arms crossed. “Yeah. Turns out that RCMP dickhead roughed up a couple other people on dash cam. He’ll leave you alone, or his career will go up in flames.”
Johnny pulls out his phone, and I tuck the gun back in its holster. He makes a few swipes with his thumb, and then I see a grainy video of Boucher walking around the hood of a car. There’s a young man standing nearby wearing a giant marijuana leaf t-shirt. As Boucher walks past him, he turns his head toward the boy. Without provocation, he slams his fist into the kid’s stomach, and he drops like a stone.
“It’s an old video,” I say, glancing at the date. “Fifteen years ago.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Johnny says, shrugging. “Social media has a hard-on for police brutality videos. They’ll be all over this, demanding his resignation.”
I pace the small garage, scanning the crew of men. I eye-fuck them. Give me a fucking excuse to kill any one of you.
“You’re assuming that this guy has a normal, healthy brain and that he gives a shit about his career.”
I revolve on the spot, my hand clenched over my gun as Johnny stands there in his sleek, perfect suit, unmoved.
“He ripped my baby from my wife’s arms.”
“I hear you, but I cannot fucking allow you to kill an RCMP officer. This jackass isn’t some local prick cop. He has connections.”
He just doesn’t get it. I stop, inches from John’s face. “I don’t care.”
His face slowly burns red, the way it always does when he’s really pissed off. I know he’s seconds away from laying into me, and I can’t fucking take it. I know what that bastard is thinking—that she’ll take another deal with the cops if she gets her son back.
No. Fucking. Way.
“We’re bagging him tonight,” Johnny growls in my face, exploding. “If you want to come along, you’ll need to give me your gun.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Sorry, Luc. I don’t trust you.”
I turn away from him before I swing at his jaw. The nearest table, made of heavy aluminum, shrieks against the concrete as I grab it with both hands and flip it upside down. The sound crashes against my ears, and they cringe as it rebounds in the small space. Only the boss stands there, his arms folded resolutely as I trash his table, the tools they used to torture that asshole scattering all over the floor.
John watches my tirade without blinking an eye.
I’ll kill him.
I don’t care about your fucking rules.
The slightest frown creases Johnny’s forehead, as though he heard my threat loud and clear.