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My Glock is in a locked drawer on the left-hand side of my desk. I’ll never get to it in time.
“I’m not going to bullshit you, Middleton.” He pulls back his suit jacket and flashes a .38 seated in his waistband. “If I eliminate you, I was promised a seat at the table.”
That fat fucker.
This is what I get for thinking Fabre could be reasoned with.
“So you’re going to kill me in my own club and think you’re going to walk out of here alive?”
“Oh, I’ll definitely walk out of here.”
He pulls the gun out of his waistband but holds it down by the side of his thigh. DiAngelo and I have a long history, and he’s hesitant, probably still weighing his options. If he kills me, will Fabre deliver on his promise? Or if he doesn’t, will I reward him with something more?
“Are you waiting for something?” I ask cooly. Pissed that this douchebag has the balls to kill me in my own damn club. Fabre probably requested that be part of the arrangement in order to make my whole operation look weak.
The funny thing is–he was right.
I see the very moment in Dante’s eyes when he realizes this, too, and makes his final decision.
I could try to run for it and call downstairs for help, or I could leap for my drawer and try to force it open to grab my gun, but I know that neither of these choices will get me my desired result.
There’s just not enough time.
Once DiAngelo raises his arm, the only image that flashes through my mind as the shot rings out is of the woman I love.
Megan.
Who will protect her now?
Chapter 21
What A Mind Fuck
MEGAN
I’ve had an uncomfortable feeling gnawing at my subconscious for a while, but like most people, I tried to ignore it. At first, I thought it was because of my pregnancy and the natural fear of bringing a new life into this world…this dangerous fucked up world. Now, I know my uneasiness was based on something more horrible than I could have imagined.
I’m not sure how we got here, but Naomi’s father put a hit on Hunter, and now he’s lying in a hospital bed, helpless, with various tubes running in and out of his body.
What a mind fuck.
As the life slowly drains from Hunter’s body, I can feel another life growing inside of me.
“Megan,” Lars reservedly addresses me, standing in the doorway of the hospital room—my mind so clouded with despair that I didn’t even feel his presence.
The two of us haven’t exchanged more than a few words since Hunter was savagely shot at the club. He’s been avoiding me mostly and I understand why. Lars takes Hunter’s attackpersonally, but he shouldn’t. Hunter assigned him to my security detail that night. There is nothing he could have done to help Hunter, but it doesn’t matter; he still blames himself. I don’t have the time or the temperament to soothe his feelings of guilt right now. All I care about is the man I love lying helpless in this bed.
“What are you doing here, Lars?” I ask cooly.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“I’m asking you what you’re doing here?”
“I just wanted to check…to see how the boss is.”
“He’s the same as yesterday and the day before that.”
“What have the doctors said about his condition?” Lars shifts uncomfortably between both feet and then bows his head. “It’s been three days. When will he wake up?”