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THIRTY-FIVE
malone
Blind, searing panic. It’s fucking bloomed. I take it, mold it into something I can use. I don’t give a fuck about the other Knights.
I don’t give a fuck about the job.
I give all the fucks in all the world about Scarlett.
God, I’m such an idiot.
I missed all the fucking signs. Every one of them. I grip the steering wheel as I head to the warehouse building in outer Bushwick.
The fact that there’s such a huge resemblance between Scarlett and Amelia? Shit, I should have put it together immediately. The fucking simple fact I know what kind of sick bastard Dale Hanlon is tells me he probably used or raped his brother’s wife. And her revenge was putting his name on the birth certificate.
I’m guessing fucking Grant worked it all out.
All it takes is getting an original certified copy of the birth certificate. A fake certificate, or at least one that’s been altered, won’t hold with passports, so I guess they’ve never made plans to leave the country before. Same issue with a driver’s license, and she’s just at that age where she’s about to need one. The whole sordid fucking thing would be blown open soon enough.
But I can’t even think past the fact Scarlett fucking walked into a trap.
I want to beat her fucking ass. I also want to protect her.
She’s a naïve idiot. One who disobeyed at the last minute.
At least she had the fucking sense to call her damn friend.
“My phone was off, goddammit.” I thump the steering wheel with my fist as I screech to a halt a block away.
I check my gun. Backup clips.
My fucking phone’s lighting up, but I ignore the call, then turn it to silent and shove it in my pocket. They know where to find me. And they’re going to try to talk me down, tell me to fucking stay back until a team arrives.
But fuck that.
There isn’t time.
I’m not risking Scarlett.
I’m not missing out on the opportunity to kill her father. Maybe her uncle. Okay, I’ll take that fucker out, too.
The street’s busy with trucks and workers, and I reach over to the glovebox, pull out a baseball hat, and pull it on.
And then with a deep breath to try and calm the panic down into the coldness, into the bright anger, I get out and walk toward the back entrance.
Inside, voices ring out.
Scarlett. Her fucking uncle. I can’t hear the words, but I know the sound of their voices.
The front will be full of fucking goons. And that’s where the Knights and their shiny dark and deadly horses will arrive. Guns, not horses, but the analogy holds.
I take a breath in the back where the building sits. The grass is sparse with giant patches of dirt. Looks like the building is connected to the one next to it. No doubt that’s owned by Hanlon, too.
There are old broken crates, a tire, and garbage lying on the ground. But I ignore it all as I carefully pick the padlock on the back door. I do this as silently as I can.
It clicks and opens, and I ease it off the door. Then I pull out the Kimber, flick off the safety, and I pull the door open. Holding my breath, I step inside.
Silence falls over the place.
