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It was never my plan to convince Morgan to ally with Thomas, or to maintain a truce with him. I came here to end the war before it could engulf the entire city, and to do that, I would need to end my uncle. The only weapon I walked in with was unloaded, which meant I had to find another. And who better than my uncle’s own enforcer, a man who seemed just as trapped in this miserable little world as I was?
In a way, I used him the way Thomas tried to use me. And, at last, it worked.
CHAPTER 36
Thomas
My head fucking hurts.
For several long moments, this is all I’m aware of. The pounding pain in my temple, the pulsing behind my eyes. After a while, though, agony begins to bloom in other parts of my body. My stomach, my chest, my right arm. In waves of growing awareness and nausea, I remember just how many bullets my body armor absorbed. And just how many it didn’t.
I’ve been shot before, both with body armor and without. It has never been a pleasant experience, and this time is no different. There were at least two bullets that hit me in the torso, and the bruises that are no doubt darkening over my stomach and back are making every inhale difficult. The bullet that went through my arm seems to have been a clean shot at least. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like whiskey’s being poured straight into the wound every time I flex a finger.
And last, the blinding pain in my head. Did I hit my head on the wall of the bar and knock myself out? No, I hit the wall with my left side. It’s the right side of my head that feels like it’s being soaked in lava.
Speaking of the bar… I’m not there anymore.
Someone picked me up off the sidewalk. And that someone took my jacket, took my body armor, bandaged my wounds, moved me to a room-
And handcuffed my hands together through the wooden slats on the back of a chair.
Against my better judgment, I open my eyes. The light that streams in is painful enough that I have to swallow the bile that surges up my throat. Helplessly, I close my eyes again, but the glimpse I got of the room around me was enough.
Unfortunately, I know exactly where I am.
“Can I get you some water, Mr. Warwick?”
Derrick Lindman’s voice echoes from very far away, despite him sitting across his desk from me. I take a few measured breaths through my nose, and once I’m sure I won’t throw up again, I grit out,
“Why the change of heart?”
I wish I could open my eyes to glare at him, but it would ruin the effect if I threw up on myself. Sooner rather than later, I’m going to have to move from this chair. When I do, I’ll need to be quick, efficient, and- to my chagrin- just a little bit lucky. Until that moment, I’ll focus on breathing evenly and listening intently, tracking Derrick’s shifting movements on his side of the desk, and bracing my battered body for what’s to come.
Luckily, it seems like we’re alone. At least, if there are other people in the room, they’re behind me and silent as ghosts.
Call it a hunch, but I don’t think Derrick would want to have this heart-to-heart in front of witnesses who could report him later.
“To be honest, Mr. Warwick-”
“Thomas. Call me Thomas,” I interrupt. “Let’s not play any more games.” Because if I have to listen to him mock me with my own surname one more time, I’ll give up all pretense of a fight and puke on his shoes.
There’s a considering pause, and then Derrick says, “Very well, Thomas. To tell you the truth, I’ve always enjoyed my work with you. And with your father. You’re a straightforward man who doesn’t take unnecessary risks, a good business partner to have any way you slice it.”
“If this is you showing me your gratitude,” I say dryly, “I’m afraid your methods are lacking.”
Derrick laughs heartily, sounding genuinely amused. My head pounds in time with his mirth.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he says. “That’s the theme of the night, I suppose. But you see, Mr. Warwick- Thomas- the day I won my election, I realized I was going to have to start doing things differently if I wanted to move up. After all, I was put here by you, as you have never failed to remind me.”
I listen to him stand and move away from the desk. He’s heading in the direction of his sidebar, and I hear him pour some liquid into a glass.
Under the sound, I fish a finger into a hole in the bottom hem of my shirt and retrieve a handcuff key. There were other keys in the sleeves of my jacket, but with that gone, the one in this t-shirt, which I only wear on raids and when I need to be undercover, will do just fine. I have to shift it from one hand to the other, and then use it to blindly feel for the first keyhole, all while keeping the sound of Derrick’s movements the very center of my attention.
“And if it were up to you, I would stay here, wouldn’t I?” Derrick continues. “Sheriff of this little county, your carefully placed pawn who only exists to cover up your dirty work and facilitate your grudge matches? No no no.”
He walks back toward me now, getting close enough that I can tell he’s on my side of the desk. I’ve found the first keyhole, but I don’t dare try to unlock it with him so close. “As fruitful as our partnership has been, I decided then- with a truly heavy heart- that I’d make my own name for myself.”
A dull thunk on the desk. He’s placed the full glass in front of me, knowing full well I can’t grab it. “I invited Morgan to my banquet,” he admits, and I’m actually glad I can’t look him in the face. If I had to see the smug glimmer in his eye, I’d slam his head into the desk.
