Chapter 9 Vincent
Vincent
She’s hurt. A gash on her head that’s still bleeding, and a swollen cut on her mouth.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt her if I came,” I spit at him, arms held back by the man behind me.
“The damage was done by her own hands,” Damien says dismissively. “She wouldn’t cooperate.”
“You struggled to restrain a little thing like her?” I laugh coldly, though I find nothing funny. I glare at him, wishing I could melt him on sight, planning all the things I’ll do to him once I have the chance.
“Her and her sociopath of a best friend,” Damien replies. He holds up a hand and the man releases my arms, freeing me. As soon as he does, I lunge for Damien.
He pulls his gun, aiming first at me, then at Hazel.
“Settle down,” he says, still aiming the gun at Hazel. “You know how this ends. You came here knowing the stakes. It’s you…or her.”
“Put the gun away,” I growl. “Fight me fist to fist.”
“You or her,” he repeats, shaking his head. “But first, why don’t you answer Hazel’s question? I think she deserves to know why she got sucked into this mess, don’t you? Or would you prefer to keep your lover in the dark, lying to her while recklessly endangering her life without a second thought?”
I look at Hazel. Tears stain her cheeks.
Damien looks at her too, then back at me.
“Go on,” he says. “Tell her.”
“Hazel,” I say. “I’m sorry. I never wanted you to get involved in this. That’s the whole reason things had to be the way they were.”
“Tell her what you did,” Damien says through clenched teeth.
I look at him. His face, the face of a man who I once called a friend and loved as a brother, now painted with rage, contorted with hatred.
“I took out the trash,” I say.
“Fuck you,” he seethes.
“I did,” I say, glaring at him. “And I’d do it again and again and again. Derek fucked up. He took it too far. Broke our rules.”
“Fuck the rules,” Damien snaps. “He was my brother. Blood. Family.”
“You’re the one who said people like us can’t have families,” I reply. “Make up your mind, Damien.”
“He made us money,” Damien continues. “He worked hard. He was loyal. Something you know nothing about.”
“Loyal to a point,” I say. “Until it comes to doing the right thing.”
“You talk about doing what’s right as though you know about it,” Damien replies, taking a step closer, now aiming his gun at my forehead.
“And you talk about loyalty,” I reply. “As though that’s really what this is about. Holding a grudge against me for what…eight years? Nine? Over cutting Derek out of the business and teaching him a lesson on the way out. Life moves on, Damien. You went your way and I went mine.”
“Teaching him a lesson,” Damien repeats, his green eyes going cold. “Murdering him isn’t teaching him a lesson. You killed my brother and didn’t even leave a body for me to bury. Worse than how we treated our own enemies back then. And you say that life moves on?”
I frown.
“Killed,” I repeat in confusion. “Who said anything about killing Derek?”
Damien lowers his weapon a little, frowning back at me.
In the distance, a door creaks open. The three of us look over to see another one of Damien’s men walking towards us, a blonde woman following him, close behind as though cowering behind the man for protection.
As they draw nearer, I can see that the man is damp with sweat, a fearful look in his eyes.
“Boss -” he begins, but the blonde woman interrupts.
“Dammit Paul, I told you not to say a word,” she groans. “Now I’m probably going to have to shoot you, too!”
Before Damien can react, Kristen steps out from behind the man and aims a gun squarely at him. The sound of the gunshot is deafening, echoing off the cinderblock walls.
Damien hits the ground just as his other men rush forward.
I’m sure that my end is close. I find Hazel in it all, diving towards her, touching her, shielding her as the men close in on us. Her eyes look unfocused, not really looking at me but through me.
I brace myself and prepare for the worst.
But the men approach and walk past, their target beyond us. I look up and realize Black has entered, two dozen or so of our men fast behind him.
Kristen runs forth with a knife in her hand, slicing through the plastic bonds around Hazel’s wrists.
“Come on,” I shout over the mayhem. But Hazel’s gaze is still blank, and she makes no move to stand up.
So I lift her, cradling her in my arms as we all run out, away from the basement and to safety.