by Ella Frank
He walked across the living space and reached for the glass, but Julien held on to it and said, “You told him what you did that night, didn’t you?”
Henri thought he’d see anger, disappointment, and even annoyance in Julien’s gem-colored eyes. But instead, he saw approval and happiness.
Henri said nothing, but Julien let go of the glass and offered up a half-smile. “I told Joel and Robbie you would.”
Henri blinked as he raised his glass and took a sip. “And let me guess, you’re happy about that because Joel will kill me?”
Julien laughed, and the sound was close to fucking musical. Again, did he really need to be so perfect?
“Non, I’m happy about that because you deserve to be loved, Henri. I always wondered who the right man would be to show you that. It’s interesting that it turned out to be Bailey, a policeman. But then, he is rather magnifique.”
That Henri could agree with Julien on. Bailey was magnificent, wonderful, fucking perfect. But had Julien forgotten what Henri had just said? Had he forgotten what Henri had told his policeman?
Henri searched Julien’s expression to see if there was some underlying joke in his words, some hidden meaning that had gone over his head. But judging by the twinkle in Julien’s eyes, Joel’s sexy Frenchman was being one hundred percent serious.
He’d also lost his mind.
“Yeah, well, I don’t think I’m all that loved anymore. He couldn’t wait to get away from me tonight.” As Henri recalled Bailey’s front door shutting and the light turning off, he drained his glass and enjoyed the burn of the alcohol as it traveled to his aching gut.
“Can you blame him?” Julien pointed to his empty glass, and Henri held it out.
“No. It’s not every day the man you think you know and trust tells you that he murdered someone.”
Julien paused in pouring the whiskey and lowered the bottle to the bar top. “Is that what you told him?”
“Not exactly like that, no.” Henri sighed. “I told him everything that happened that night, and everything leading up to it.”
“And how did he take it?”
Henri scoffed. “Hmm, well, we were in Jamaica and now we are not. Now he needs time away from me, so, I don’t know. This might be the last drink I get before I’m hauled off in the back of a squad car.”
Julien grabbed the bottle and walked around the bar, then indicated the couch. “Sit.”
At this stage, Henri didn’t have any better options, so he did as he was told, and Julien took the cushion beside him.
Henri rested his forearms on his knees, clasping his hands together as Julien placed the bottle on the coffee table in front of them.
“You and Joel come from a world that not many people know or understand. It was violent, cutthroat, and terrifying on the best days. But Henri, I have to believe that if you told Bailey about yourself, if you really opened up to him and trusted him with all of that, then he’s just taking a moment to process. He’s taking a moment to try to understand that the man he loves comes from a place he’ll never comprehend. A place that’s as close to hell on earth as there’s ever been.”
Henri’s eyes began to blur as he fidgeted with his fingers, and when Julien placed a hand on one of his arms, no one was more shocked than Henri that he felt…comforted.
“He’s taking a moment to come to terms with the fact that you had no choice that night. No choice, Henri. It was survival—for you two, it always has been about survival. Bailey’s smart. He’ll understand that.”
Henri shook his head. “I’m not sure he can understand. He’s a cop, Julien.”
“He’s a man first,” Julien said, and then scooted forward to the edge of the couch. “Does he love you?”
Henri remembered the look in Bailey’s eyes as he’d said under the sun, out on that swing, how he felt, and then later that night when they’d been naked and wrapped up in each other. “Yes.”
“Then he’ll understand. Give him time. That’s what he asked for.”
Henri let out a deep breath. “And until then? What do I do?”
Julien reached for the bottle. “You drink with friends, and wait.”
As Julien poured another glass, Henri was struck by the thought that Robbie was right: Julien really was good to talk to.
But no matter how many pep talks Julien Thornton gave, it would take a whole lot more than a bottle of whiskey for Henri to admit that he and the gorgeous Frenchman were friends. And even if the alcohol had numbed his heartbreak long enough to let him fall asleep twenty minutes later on the Priestley-Thorntons’ couch—that still didn’t mean they were friends.
Chapter Twenty-Three
CONFESSION
Sometimes a week can fly.
Sometimes it lasts forfuckingever.
One Week Later…
“YOU READY TO do this?”
Henri looked across the SUV to where Detective Dick sat behind the wheel. It was Friday night, and as promised, Ricky G had come through with a time and place to meet up with the big bossman.
If Henri were honest, this was the last fucking place on the planet he wanted to be, and with the last person, but he had a deal with Dick and wasn’t going to get paid if he bailed now. Not to mention that he didn’t have anything else to do with his time right now other than sit around and think about how fucking miserable he was.
He hadn’t heard from Bailey since last week, and the silence was close to killing him. Time, Bailey had asked for. But how much time were they talking? And would Bailey at least tell Henri if he was going to report him or just show up with the police? Knowing Henri’s luck, Dick over there would be leading the march.
Henri took in the jeans and hoodie the detective had worn tonight instead of his usual suits, and when he caught Henri sizing him up, Dick said, “You keep looking at me like that, Boudreaux, I’m gonna have to tell my baby brother you’ve got a wandering eye.”
Henri’s spine stiffened, but he made sure to school his features. The last thing he needed was Dick catching wind that there was trouble there, or he’d never hear the fucking end of it.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Henri said, and then looked back out the windshield and across the street to the high-rise that sat on the corner of Baker and Third.
The area was pretty run-down, the city not really caring to keep up with this particular neighborhood, and as occupants of the building and other locals milled about, Henri sat and observed the comings and goings.
“What, that’s it?” Dick said. “No other smartass comment on the tip of your tongue?”
Henri glanced Dick’s way, a bored expression on his face. “I thought I was here to get you confirmation on this rAz guy, not entertain you.”
“Fucking hell. What crawled up your ass tonight?”
“I’m just trying to concentrate, since I’m the one going in there and risking my ass. That okay with you?”
“Well, excuse me,” Dick said as he went back to looking out the windshield. “Would you like me to give you a special code name to make you feel better?”
Henri aimed a withering stare in Dick’s direction. “Fuck you.”
“Oh, there you are. I almost thought Bailey’s good nature had rubbed off on you, and I don’t need that tonight.”
Again, the mention of Bailey’s name made Henri’s body react. His palms began to sweat and his stomach knotted, as he thought about the last time he’d seen Bailey and the look in his cop’s eyes as he’d walked away.
Henri ignored Dick and went back to looking out the window, and as he studied the people hanging around the front entrance and not really moving on, he said, “See the guy sitting over there on the bottom step leading into the building?”
Dick nodded. “That our runner?”
“I’d bet money on it.” Henri scanned the others loitering and noticed two guys chatting with one another. One looked nervous as all fuck, and the other had his hands jammed in the pockets of his green bomber jacket as he leaned in to tal
k to his twitchy friend. “And the steerer…that’s gotta be Mr. Bomber Jacket.”
As if the guy in the jacket had heard Henri, he nodded to Twitchy and headed toward his friend sitting on the stairs. The two of them had a quick powwow, and not a second later, their runner headed inside.
It was an effective little operation, one that signaled rAz was open for business, and Henri was ready to get this shit over and done with. “Okay, let’s do this.”
“Right, you remember the drill?”
“You’ve only told me a hundred times.”
“Good, now say it back to me.”
Henri rolled his eyes. “I approach Bomber Jacket, let him know I have a meeting, get my ass inside, and get you the confession you need.”
“A confession might be a little too much to hope for if you plan to stay alive, Boudreaux. I’ll settle for some kind of confirmation or connection between rAz and the dead girls. Okay?”
Dick scanned the area again before looking back to Henri.
“Our eyes are all over this building. According to our undercover guy, there’s some young newbie frisking people in the hall and one guy inside with rAz. It makes sense; they attract less attention with less people. That doesn’t mean they aren’t willing to get their hands dirty, though. I’ll be outside in the hallway, and if at any time it feels like it’s all going to hell in a handbasket, you just make the transaction and get the fuck out of there, okay?”
Dick’s frown and the serious line to his lips made Henri forget his smartass reply. Instead, he nodded, got out of the car, and headed across the street. He had his gun stashed in the back of his jeans and his phone in his pocket, and as he headed toward his target, Henri took a deep breath and focused.
The inside of the building was a shithole. There was trash in the halls, paint peeling off the walls, and it was cold—no, scratch that, it was fucking freezing.
Henri had gotten past the two pawns out the front with little to no effort, but as he headed up the stairs toward the fifteenth floor, he wondered how much his thighs were going to hurt tomorrow and took great delight in knowing Dick’s would hurt like a bitch too.
Of course the fucking elevator had to be broken. That was a given, right? But did this rAz asshole really need to be so high up? Henri supposed the guy did that to keep himself away from anyone who might want to put a bullet in his head, and also to make it more difficult for people to run. Something Henri was hoping he wouldn’t have to do tonight. He was already pissed off, and honestly, that would just be the cherry on top of his bad fucking week.
As he spotted the fifteenth floor, Henri pushed through the grimy door and came into a dimly lit hallway. A couple of the lights worked, but the majority were blown, which was a bonus for him, since Henri had always worked best in the dark.
With an eye on the end of the hall, he made his way down to the room number he’d been given. A familiar face stepped out into his path and shut the door behind him—Bleach Boy.
Ah, yes, Henri remembered this punk from his little one-on-one with Ricky G. He’d been high on the product he was supposed to be pushing, but tonight he seemed a lot more lucid and…hostile. Out to prove yourself tonight, are you?
“Hey? You can stop right there,” Bleach Boy said, as Henri closed in on him.
Not wanting this to go tits up before he even set eyes on the prize, Henri did as requested, knowing this little fucker had been sent out to check him for a wire and weapons. Henri stopped in the middle of the hall as the kid approached.
“No one goes inside without being checked first.”
Henri held his hands up. “Aww, and you were the one sent out to feel me up. I’m flattered. You were the cuter one between you and Ricky.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Bleach Boy said, his homophobic side working in Henri’s favor, making him…unfocused.
Henri shrugged, not worried in the slightest about the guy in front of him. He could take Bleach Boy with his bare hands. In fact, he could take any of these guys with just his bare hands, as long as he caught them at the right moment.
Bleach Boy patted him down, located Henri’s phone and pulled it free, and then continued on. Henri made sure to spread his legs wide, and when the kid glared up at him, Henri winked.
He quickly got to his feet and spat out, “Turn around and face the wall.” Then he ran a hand down to where Henri’s gun was stashed and pulled it free.
As Henri rounded back to face his smug little welcoming committee of one, he saw Bleach Boy examining his Glock. “I’ll hang on to this. You won’t be needing it in there.”
Henri nodded and looked up and down the hall to make sure they were alone. “You’re probably right. Someone like you would need that more than I would in this neighborhood.”
Bleach Boy’s eyes narrowed, and he puffed up his chest in an effort to intimidate Henri. He failed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Quick as a flash, Henri whipped his arm out and grabbed hold of Bleach Boy’s hand. With a flick of his wrist, Henri twisted the limb out at an ugly angle and jerked the kid in toward his body. Then he clamped a hand down over the top of Bleach Boy’s mouth and backed the punk up against the wall.
Henri had a good three or four inches on Bleach Boy, and as he glared down into his wide eyes, Henri took perverse pleasure in twisting his arm a little tighter. “What it means is that you’re too soft for this world and you should get the fuck out while you still can.”
Henri brought his elbow up and rammed it into the side of the kid’s face, knocking him out cold before sliding him down the wall to the floor, leaving him for Dick to find.
Henri retrieved his phone and flicked on the recording app before slipping it into the pocket of his leather jacket and grabbing his gun. Get in, get the information, and then get the fuck out, he told himself as he reached for the door handle.
First thing he noticed: the room was dark. They’d pulled the shades and kept all the lights off, no doubt to throw him off. Wasn’t going to work, though; Victor had left Henri in dark rooms ever since he was fucking born. As his eyes adjusted, Henri pivoted toward the two figures on the left side of the room, where a sliver of light slipped through the tattered curtains and outlined their silhouettes.
One was seated—rAz, Henri was betting—and the other stood off to the side—his guard dog. Henri was familiar with this little setup. The whole thing screamed of Victor and Jimmy, just more amateurish and, well, less threatening.
“So, you’re the one who’s been asking after me, huh? Mr. Moneybags.”
“That would be me. So that must make you rAz.”
“It might…it might not.”
“Huh.” Henri nodded and made a show of looking around before taking a step forward. “Well, I’m kind of hoping it does, because I put up some big money to get a meeting with you, and if you aren’t rAz, then I’m not interested.”
As Henri went to turn and leave, the guard dog stepped out from behind his master.
“You’ve got some fucking balls, I’ll give you that,” rAz said. “Sniffing around my crew and makin’ deals with them without my permission.”
There was the confirmation that Henri was dealing with the right person. Now all he needed was a connection to the girls. “I wouldn’t have had to do that if they’d just got in contact with you from the beginning.”
“Well, sorry to fuckin’ inconvenience you. But that’s not how things work round here.” RAz shifted in his seat, his irritation at Henri’s less-than-submissive attitude clearly pissing him off. “I pick my dealers. I pick my whores. I control my product. I don’t need some rich townie coming up on my men tellin’ them that he can make them more money, tellin’ me that I can. That kind of thing can wind a person up dead.”
The guard dog moved into some kind of attack mode, and Henri wasn’t sure if it was the shitty week he’d had or the fact that he really didn’t like guys who sold drugs and killed women to keep them quiet, but he really hoped the fucker charged—because he was
ready for a fight.
“Wait a minute, is this some kind of setup?” Henri said. “I was told you wanted to bring me in.”
The lie worked. “I don’t want to bring you in. I want to shut you up, and there’s only one effective way to do that.”
Henri’s heart was thumping now, his adrenaline pumping through his veins as his eyes continued to dart from the dog back to its master. “You sound like you’ve done it before.”
RAz laughed, and the sound was the same kind of evil that Henri had heard many times over, from men far more sinister. “Yeah, guess you could say that. Nothing like looking someone in the eye when they’re taking their last breath, or feeling their body go limp in your hands. It was a real treat to be the one to shut those little whore bitches up once and for all. Just like it will be shutting you up.” As the confession fell off rAz’s tongue, Henri knew he was solid. But before he could react, rAz issued his kill word. “Diego.”
The second the word left rAz’s tongue, his man attacked, but Henri was ready. With the light shining in behind them, Henri had seen Diego draw his gun, seen him raise his arm, and Henri ducked as the bullet left the barrel.
Henri pulled his Glock from his jeans and fired off two shots—one through Diego’s hand, the other through his thigh—and as Henri whirled around and aimed the gun at rAz’s head, he gritted his teeth and said, “Give me a reason, motherfucker. I’m in just the right kind of mood.”
RAz didn’t get a chance to respond, though, because a second later the door flew open and Detective Dick came in with a flashlight trained on them. He marched over to where Henri was holding his gun to rAz’s temple.
“Good job,” Dick said. “Well fucking done.” Dick aimed a fuck you stare at rAz and said, “Get on your feet, asshole.”
RAz stood, and Dick jerked him around to cuff him. RAz looked Henri in the eye and said, “I’ve seen your face now, townie. Don’t think I’ll forget it.”
Henri leaned in and said, “Bring it on, fucker. I’ve been hunted by things much worse than you.”
