45. Scarlett #2
“Because Richard spoke of Tank the way he spoke of no one else. It was pride. It was affection. And Arabella spoke of you the way only a protective mother could. The way my wife spoke of our son-in-law when he first came into our lives.” Mills exhales a soft chuckle.
“The way she spoke of him again when Dani told us about the baby. Richard called him Tank, but you called him Sebastion. Linc called him Jameson. After that, I talked to my buddies in organized crime and asked them what they knew of Aster, which is how I learned about the daughter who’d died thirty years ago.
” He brings smiling eyes back to Arabella.
“There was an entire file about Paul Jameson right there beneath yours. And so I wondered…”
“All of this for money?” I swipe my eyes clear and drag my palms over my cheeks. “You could’ve just asked! You could’ve talked to Lincoln about it.”
“I had to see for myself.”
“Hey, Mom?” Mav enters the stables, his focus pointed the other way, distracted by whatever is happening outside. “Bas is back, and he—”
“No!” Arabella cries out. “Mav!”
Panicked, Mills spins and squeezes off a round that booms in the air and pisses the horses off.
Then he shoots a second time and hits Mav square in the chest. The force of the bullet punches him backward with the strength of a Clydesdale’s kick, so he lands with a deafening thud, his arms splayed wide and the back of his head bouncing off the dirt.
Screaming, Arabella tosses my hand off and charges forward.
“No!” Mills swings around again and aims his gun a mere foot from her face. Her feet skid beneath her, her eyes wheeling with rage and devastation. “Don’t,” he pants, his breath coming heavy and fast. “Don’t fucking try me, lady, or I’ll make those newspaper articles about your death real.”
“Please,” she sobs, staring past Mills to her son. He’s not moving. Not awake. Bleeding. “Please let me go to him.”
“I’m here to collect my retirement package,” he sneers. “I doubt you’ll abide by a monthly stipend the way your father did, so I’ve calculated a single, lump-sum payment that I consider fair.”
“Let me go to my son!”
“Hurry.” He reaches blindly into his pocket and takes out a device that looks a bit like a phone, but a little larger.
A little thicker. “Before someone else you care about snoops on our business. I know you siphoned Richard’s accounts when he died, which was…
” He exhales a shaking chuckle. “Smart. I wish I could’ve done the same.
But since you have more than you need, and I’ve been left with empty pockets, you’re going to share.
Your old man paid me ten-k a month to keep an eye on Scarlett.
That’s a hundred and twenty a year. I estimate another twenty years before I can afford to retire, but for the sake of round numbers, I’m requesting a tidy five million be transferred across. ”
“Five million dollars?” Arabella spits out. “I would’ve given that to you if you’d asked. I would’ve paid you not to hurt my son.” Her shoulders crumble with weakness. “I would’ve given you more. I’d give it all for my children.”
“I’m not a greedy man.” He shoves the device into her trembling hands. “Five million will get my mortgage paid off. It’ll fix up the credit cards. And it’ll get my brand-new baby granddaughter through her time in the NICU.” He casts hopeful eyes across to me. “She arrived, Scar. Three days ago.”
“She… but…” I squeeze my eyes shut and search for sense. “What?”
“Anna Delilah.” His voice takes on a proud lilt. “She’s a little unwell, so she’ll be in the hospital for a few more weeks. But Dani’s there every day. And the birth went okay. My baby is healthy, and soon, my baby’s baby will get her walking papers, too.”
“Here.” Arabella slams the device into Mills’ chest and slaps his gun hand aside. With a cry of distress, she sprints to Mav and skids onto her knees. “Now leave! Get the hell off my—”
“Nuh-uh-uh.” Mills turns his back to me and points his gun again. But now he’s got Arabella on her knees. “Get up. Right fucking now.”
“I will not get up!” She tears her jacket off and crushes the thick fabric against Maverick’s bleeding wound.
And I… freeze. Like always.
“You have thirty seconds to run, Detective. Because at the end of those thirty seconds, I’ll kill you my damn self.
” A keening cry escapes her throat as she pulls her hand back and studies the crimson blood dripping from her fingers.
“Wake up, baby.” She leans over Mav and presses all of her weight onto his wound. “Don’t you dare leave me!”
“Aw shit. I knew I’d get my last hurrah.”
I cry out at a new voice, a weaker voice to my left, and swing my eyes across to a sickly Uncle Bas in nothing more than a hospital gown and socks.
Horrified, I charge forward. Not to Bas, but to Mills.
Because he spins, his finger already on the trigger.
I search through the million instructions my brain shouts at me, but all I see is Koda as he comes to a stop beside his uncle and grabs the only free hand he has.
The other is wrapped around a massive gun, kinda like the one Sebastion carries.
Pop.
I scream loud enough to compete with the gun’s booming shot.
Pop!
I throw myself in front of Mills’ gun, leading with my elbow, and using his legs as a springboard exactly how Sebastion and I practiced that time, then I skewer my elbow down and smash his eye socket inwards.
Fiery pain slices through my head, bright red flooding my vision, and for just a single second in time, my brain latches on to the smaller details, like a neat, round bullet hole right between Mills’ eyes.
It doesn’t make sense to me. None of this makes sense.
Then his legs give out, and we both hurtle toward the ground.
“I need help!” Arabella’s voice turns hoarse. “Please!” She looks around desperately for someone. Anyone. “Please help me.”