34. Henry
34
HENRY
I lean against Leo's black Rover, the night air crisp against my face. The parking lot is empty except for our three cars, strategically positioned for what's about to go down.
"You sure this fucker's home?" Aston asks, taking a swig of his beer. His normally polished demeanor has an edge tonight—we all do.
"Followed him myself," Leo says, checking his watch. "Hasn't left since this morning. Guy's holed up in there like he knows what's coming."
I roll the cold bottle between my palms, feeling a strange calm settle over me. After days of gathering evidence—the texts, the brake line tampering, security footage from the restaurant—it's finally happening. The bastard who threatened my wife isn't walking away this time.
"How's Monica holding up?" Aston's voice cuts through my thoughts.
"Better. Still jumpy." I take a long pull from my beer, the bitter taste matching my mood. "She didn't want me here tonight. Said I shouldn't see this. Worried about what I might do."
Leo snorts. "But here you are anyway."
"Damn right. I'm not missing this for the world." My fingers tighten around the bottle. "Nobody fucks with what's mine and walks away unscathed."
The police cruisers pull up without sirens, four officers emerging with purposeful strides. My heart pounds against my ribs as they approach Benjamin's building.
"Think they'll find the tools he used on her car?" Aston asks.
"Don't need to," I say, eyes locked on the third-floor window. "We've got him on camera at the restaurant parking lot. Footage of him buying the tools. The lawyer says it's fucking airtight."
"Blackwood resources, baby." Leo clinks his bottle against mine. "Nobody fucks with family."
Family. The word catches me off guard. When did Monica become family? Somewhere between our fake engagement and real feelings, between her nightmares and my promises, she became everything.
The lights flick on in Benjamin's apartment. Shadows move behind the blinds. I straighten up, every muscle tense.
"Here we go," Leo murmurs.
The front door of the building bursts open. Two officers emerge with Benjamin between them, hands cuffed behind his back. Even from this distance, I can see the rage twisting his face as he scans the street, looking for witnesses to his humiliation.
His eyes find mine across the pavement. Recognition flashes, followed by pure hatred.
I raise my beer in a silent toast.
"That's for her, you piece of shit," I whisper.
Benjamin jerks against the officers' grip, his face contorted with rage. "Get your fucking hands off me! You can't do this!"
I take another swig of beer, savoring the moment. This piece of shit tampered with Monica's brakes. Could've killed her. Now he's getting exactly what he deserves.
"Look at this asshole," Leo quips, leaning against his Rover. "Thinks he's tough."
Benjamin thrashes harder, managing to spit at one of the officers. Big mistake. The cop's patience snaps like a twig.
"Bring the mask!" he shouts to his partner.
Aston raises his eyebrows. "Oh shit, this is getting good."
I can't help the smile spreading across my face as they wrestle Benjamin to the ground. He bucks and writhes like a caught fish, screaming obscenities that echo through the empty parking lot. It takes three officers to pin him down while the fourth retrieves a white mesh spit mask from the cruiser.
"No! You can't—" Benjamin's protests are muffled as they force the mask over his head.
"Cheers to that." I raise my bottle, clinking it against Leo's and Aston's. The satisfaction flowing through me is better than any alcohol.
"Never fuck with a Blackwood," Leo says, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.
The cops haul Benjamin to his feet, his dignity in tatters along with his tough-guy act. He looks pathetic now, stumbling between the officers, the mask giving him the appearance of a captured animal.
"Get in the car!" an officer barks, shoving Benjamin's head down as they stuff him into the back seat.
"Think Monica would've enjoyed this show?" Aston asks.
I shake my head, finishing my beer. "Nah. She's too good for this. Too decent."
"Unlike us vindictive bastards," Leo laughs.
Benjamin makes one last attempt to resist, kicking at the door frame. The officers aren't having it. One grabs his legs while another pushes from behind. They fold him into the cruiser like he's nothing more than garbage being taken out.
"Looks like our entertainment for the evening is over, gentlemen," I say, feeling a weight lift from my shoulders.
I crush the empty bottle in my hand as the cruiser disappears around the corner, taking that piece of shit with it. The tension in my shoulders finally starts to unwind.
"That's that," Leo says, tossing his bottle into the nearby recycling bin with perfect aim. "Attempted murder, stalking, harassment, destruction of property. Fucker's going away for a long time."
"How long we talking?" I ask, already calculating the years in my head.
Aston straightens his designer jacket, looking more like a corporate shark than ever. "My buddy at the DA's office says with the evidence we've compiled, they're pushing for maximum sentences across the board. The brake tampering alone is worth seven to ten."
"Add in the prior harassment, the restaurant vandalism, those fucking photos he sent..." Leo counts on his fingers. "We're looking at fifteen, minimum."
A vicious satisfaction spreads through my chest. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of Monica being able to walk down a street without looking over her shoulder. Fifteen years to build our life together without his shadow hanging over us.
"DA owes me three favors," Aston adds with a smirk. "I'll make sure they don't offer any plea deals. Full prosecution."
"Fuck yeah." I clap Aston on the shoulder, feeling a surge of savage pleasure. "Worth every goddamn penny of those legal fees. I'd pay ten times that to see this through."
Leo checks his phone, scrolling through messages with a predatory smile. "Judge Harriman's on rotation next week. She's tough as nails on domestic cases. Benjamin picked the wrong fucking time to pull this shit. She once gave a guy twelve years for half of what this asshole's done."
The thought of Benjamin rotting in a cell while Monica thrives fills me with a satisfaction I've never felt before. This isn't just about revenge—it's justice. It's protection. It's making sure the woman I love never has to fear again. Every time I remember those photos he sent her, the way he tried to sabotage her career, how he made her constantly look over her shoulder—my blood boils all over again.
"To Benjamin," I raise an imaginary toast, my voice hard as steel. "May he enjoy prison food for the next decade and a half. And may every fucking day feel twice as long."
"To Benjamin," they echo, matching my dark humor, glasses of scotch raised in the air like we're celebrating a business deal instead of a man's downfall. But this is the best deal I've ever made—Monica's safety is non-negotiable.