22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Henny
I had done a lot of regrettable things in my life. Like, a lot. More than I could count or recall, especially since most of them were done under the influence. That was not the case for the most regrettable thing, though. The minute the passenger door had opened and Gramps climbed in, the award for dumbest decision ever was secured by me and me alone. They had to have a place for that in the Guinness Book of World Records.
Poncho, from his position in the back seat, prodded my ribs again with another taunt. Honestly, I had started to tune them out about half a second after they got in my car, but it hadn't deterred them at all. Crude jokes, jeers, propositions to relive old times, sick jokes about things we’d done in the past… by the time we were nearing our destination, I hadn't even had a chance to worry about the risks because I was so damn busy blocking out shit I didn't want to hear. Marco had been right all along—these people weren't friends. I hated myself for how low I had sunk when I used to throw myself at them all for scraps of affection. Honestly, I was sick to my stomach and none of it had to do with the potential dangers that lay ahead.
“Look, quit. Be serious for two fucking seconds.” I slowed the car, my eyes darting to the rearview mirror to make sure Molly and Big Red were paying attention enough to not rear-end the SUV. “This isn't a joke. Moretti’s fuckers have been shady as fuck for ages and we’re on unstable footing here.”
“Yeah, whatever. I ain't scared. The fuck we here for anyway?” Gramps bounced in the passenger seat with a grin reminiscent of a hyena. My gut rolled with another uncomfortable wave of nausea.
“Damiano needed us to make an exchange. I'm dead ass, bro. I need you guys to be on your game in there.” I jerked my chin toward the dockyard in the distance. The halo of light should have been reassuring, but I felt only remorse and regret. Maybe it wasn't too late to back out.
“Fuck you, we're always on our game.” Poncho smacked the side of my head. I turned in my seat to scowl at him once the car coasted to a full stop.
“I'm serious. This is a lot of fucking money. This is a big fucking deal.”
“Whatever. It's all the same shit every time. Drugs, papers, cars. Why are you so wound up? You need me to fuck it out of you, widdle baby?” Gramps elbowed my arm. It wasn't a little jostle between friends, either. That shit hurt like hell and his smirk told me he knew exactly how much.
“Guns. It's fucking guns. I need you fuckers to act like fucking adults, got it?”
Poncho whistled low under his breath. Gramps looked suitably stunned for all of a second before a slow, slimey smile spread over his face. “How much money we talking?”
My eyes rolled as I shifted the car back into drive. “Shut up. We get in, we get out. That's the deal.”
“You thinking what I'm thinking, Ponch?”
“Already on it, G.”
I glanced into the rearview again, and my heart stopped beating in my chest. Poncho was typing into his phone and the gates to the dockyard were already sliding closed behind my car. Molly and Big Red had the Caddy pulled up in front of them. I slammed the brakes hard and threw the car in reverse.
“Nope,” Gramps quipped, the P popping as the muzzle of a gun pressed to my temple. “Not the best idea you ever had. Where’s the cash?”
“Fuck you,” I snapped, recoiling to turn my glare on the man beside me. The man I once trusted. “You're working for them now?”
“Nah, man. Working for ourselves. You had no problem ditching us as soon as you got a chance to shove your nose up Marco’s ass. Now, we’re ditching you. Cash, Henny. Where is it?” Gramps tapped the gun against my head with zero delicacy. My eyes stung with tears—from pain and betrayal in equal measure.
“No, fuck you. I ditched you because y’all were shitty fucking friends. I didn't realize you were this shit, though. I figured you were at least loyal to the man who fucking made us.” My gaze darted toward movement ahead of us and my night went from bad to worse. Men, lots of men, were pouring out of the warehouses and moving toward the car. Yup. I was the official title holder of Dumbest Dumb Fuck Alive. Not that I expected to be alive for much longer.
My slim options were becoming slimmer with every second that passed. I could fork over the cash and hope Gramps had a sliver of a heart. I could reverse into Molly’s Caddy and try to enact some retribution. Maybe a better option would be to floor it into the gang of thugs stalking across the dockyard. They were all reckless decisions. The end result was guaranteed to be the same for all three. And honestly, that was the most depressing part. Not that I would die, but that I would die without telling Marco that I loved his sad and grumpy ass. I sagged in the seat and lifted my gaze to the ceiling.
“The cash, Henny!” Gramps invaded my space, the gun leaving my temple as his free hand began pawing at my body in search of the envelope. It was a brief, priceless moment of promise that inspired my actions as instinct took over and I moved without conscious thought.
The car was still in reverse. Gramps was right there, impossibly close with his gross hands all over my body. I knew from all of the poking and pinching and prodding that Poncho wasn't wearing his seatbelt in the back seat. With a quick jerk of my head, I smashed my forehead into Gramps’ nose as my foot smashed the pedal to the floor. The sudden acceleration backwards was enough to send both of them reeling. The impact with the fence and then the body of Red’s Caddy had them flopping in the opposite direction before they could recover their whereabouts. The first shot from the group of thugs sent a spider web of cracks splintering through the windshield. The second and third turned the glass into shards that showered down on us. I had seconds to move. Seconds between guaranteed death and an infinitesimally small chance that maybe I'd make it out alive. It was a chance I was willing to take.
I flung the driver's side door open and released the seatbelt, rolling from the vehicle to land with a grunt on the stones of the driveway. My seconds were slipping away faster than I could reach them. Cracks and pops filled the air, followed by pings and dust clouds as the bullets hit the ground around me. I was so fucked. I scrambled, flailed, tried and failed to get to my feet in my rising panic. I definitely pissed myself a little as I felt the white-hot burn of a bullet grazing my arm. I'd been shot before. I did not want to go through that bullshit again.
I hit the ground again, my arm burning like a motherfucker, and did the only logical thing I could. I rolled under the SUV and held my breath like a scared little kid hiding under the bed. It made sense in my primordial lizard brain, anyway. Closing my eyes made sense, too. Bigger, braver men could face down death with their eyes wide open. I was neither big, nor brave. Honestly, I'd never felt smaller or more scared. The worst part was being alone—my biggest fear came true. I was going to die alone.
Just as that thought flitted through my head and broke my heart, a familiar sound cut through the chaos. I knew that sound. There was only one thing that could make that sound and it was the single most beautiful thing I had ever heard—the pop of nitrous-infused fuel pushing a car well in excess of posted speed limits. I turned my head and peeked down the road from my shelter beneath the SUV to see a brilliant fucking sea of headlights with one car even closer than the rest. My only hope for salvation was arriving in a goddamn souped up Nissan street racer and I couldn't have been happier. When the car drifted before screeching to a stop, my heart grew wings. When six-foot-plus inches of Marco d’Ambrosio filled with murderous intent slid out of the passenger side with his gun already in hand, I died and woke up in Heaven.