Wound Up(103)
“I can’t,” Gavin whispered, the gun lowering a fraction. “I have to—”
Justin lunged, grabbing the barrel of the gun. He grabbed the barrel of the gun, shoving it up and back, twisting to break Gavin’s hold on the weapon between heartbeats. The kid didn’t have the opportunity to squeeze off a shot before Justin had control of the gun and had aimed it at his attacker.
Grace scrambled off the floor and reached for the phone.
“Don’t.”
The absolute vacancy of emotion in Justin’s voice stopped her cold. “What?”
“On your knees, Gavin. Hands behind your head.”
The kid paled so hard and fast Grace feared he might pass out, but he did what Justin demanded. A dark stain appeared on his jeans where he wet himself.
Justin didn’t react. “I’m going to make a few things crystal clear for you before we finish this. First, don’t ever, ever think you can bring violence against Grace and not face repercussions. I will defend her to my last breath.
“Second? They call you Code because that’s how they expect you to arrive at the emergency room. Dead, you dumbass. Coded. As in, no medical assistance required because this piece of shit is beyond help. And you’re number three because there are two other Codes in front of you. You guys are just collateral. They don’t give a damn whether you live or die. I was in Deuce for years. Years, Gavin. You think they really believed you’d take me down? I’ve done the kind of stuff you haven’t even begun to dream of, kid.”
“Nuh-uh,” Gavin said weakly.
“Believe what you want. Third? The only reason this hasn’t ended differently is because I won’t bring the violence to Grace. Not like you did. She deserves a life free of the mess you wanted to subject her to. You would sentence her to death out of some misbegotten sense of entitlement to her?”
Grace watched Justin struggle with something she didn’t completely understand. Watched as his hands shook and his pupils dilated. “Justin?” she said again.
He kept on as if he hadn’t heard her. “You think I’m going to just up and let you walk out of here? You’re wrong. They called me Pretty Boy because no one who looked at me believed I’d ever be able to pull the trigger, to do the dark shit that tainted the soul. I did, Gavin. More than once.” His chest heaved. “If it hadn’t been for the compassion of the cop I was sent to kill, I would have done it again. He helped me get out. So I’m going to give you a choice. You get out now and go legit, get into Second Chances and become a mentor, or your mother gets a call from the coroner this afternoon to come identify your body. Because here’s what you don’t get. No one threatens me and mine.”
“You’re sayin’...they sent me in here to fail?”
“Probably. You were a message to remind me to keep my nose out of their business. You were also a tool they could afford to lose. On the off chance you got the drop? They’d have owned you, man, because once you pull the trigger? The options to get out alive are pretty much nil.”
Gavin folded in on himself. “But I got to take care of my mom. She lost her job, my old man’s a drunk. I got a little brother.”
“Then get a damn job, Gavin! Don’t take to killing people to supply your old man with drink. Your mom deserves better than going to her son’s funeral in the next three months.”
“I don’t got skills.”