Heh. He’s considering it. The conflicted look of a man ready to break down and suck cock gets me in the mood. Hell, the whole fucking situation has me rock-hard, who I am kidding? Even the pain that permeates my body can’t diminish the feeling.
“There isn’t any other way?” Rhett asks, like he’s hoping he can talk his way out of this situation.
“Maybe I just like fucking arrogant pricks.”
“So that’s your game? You want to watch me swallow my pride?”
“I wanna watch you swallow a lot more than that.”
He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw.
I’m such an asshole.
After a long, tense moment, Rhett goes to answer, but I press the barrel of the gun to his forehead. He quiets himself and finally looks up at me, confusion written across his face.
“I know you were secretly looking forward to it,” I drawl, “but you don’t get to suck anything tonight.”
His expression turns to livid anger in the blink of an eye.
“Let’s make a deal,” I say. “I let you go, and you don’t tell anyone about my past. I didn’t hire Donny to kill Shelby—I’m sure you know that by now—and we can both go on our separate ways. Fair, right? Better than the alternative.”
I pull back the hammer of the handgun until it clicks into place.
For another long moment, Rhett is silent.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“FUCK YOU,” Rhett growls.
“Don’t be like that,” I say with a laugh. “Your pride is wounded, but that doesn’t mean you can’t think straight.”
“There’s nothing left to think about. You’ve heard my answer.”
I press the gun hard against his forehead. He doesn’t flinch.
“Why?” I ask. “Is turning me in really worth dying for? At least tell me you’re gonna take the deal and then turn me in after. What’s the point of taking a stand? No one is here to reward you for being heroic.”
Rhett shakes his head, his entire body tense. “You think men like Anderson and Thompson started killing their fellow officers one day out of the blue? No. I’m sure they made minor deals with criminals and their fellow cops, bending the rules here and there until it became a full-blown problem they had to cover no matter the cost. Now look at them. They can’t turn back—they’re the worst kind of criminal. I’m not going to make a deal with you, asshole. I’m going to do my job, and I’m going to do it right.”
“That won’t happen if you’re dead, genius.”
“Men like you will never understand. When I die, there won’t be any regrets.”
Ugh. Rhett is the definition of self-righteous. I’m sure it’s his holier-than-thou attitude that blinded him to the questionable activities of his coworkers.
I lower my gun.
Even if I hate him for who he is, he’s a better man than me. He doesn’t deserve to die. And I guess he called my bluff.
“Get up,” I command. “We should get out of here.”
He waits for a moment, his expression shifting back to one of confusion. “Just because you’re not shooting me doesn’t mean I’m letting you go.”
“Yeah, I got that,” I snap.
He doesn’t respond.
“Stop bitching, already. Arrest me once we’re not in the heart of Vice family territory.”
He gets to his feet. I stumble over to the thugs’ makeshift table. All of Rhett’s gear sits off to the side, ready to be planted on his body once he died. I pick it up and toss it toward him, but my aim is terrible. The gear hits a pile of boxes halfway over and clunks onto the dock, the stuff spilling everywhere. Rhett gives me a sardonic are you serious? kind of glance.
I point to my eye—the one sealed shut and weeping blood. “I’ve got problems.”
I can still feel the contact lens wedged deep into my eyelid. Everything hurts, but that bothers me most of all.
“Can you at least get the keys to the handcuffs?” Rhett asks.
With a heavy sigh, I walk over to his gear and fish out the keys. He turns around, and I unlock the damn handcuffs. He stretches for a moment, rotating his arms, and then turns back around to face me.
“You handled yourself well with a gun,” he states. “Despite your problems.”
“Yeah, by using way more bullets than necessary. Kids on the street call it spray-n-pray.” I check the clip of my gun. I’ve got two inside and one in the barrel. Not the best ratio of kills to ammunition.
The rumble of an engine causes me and Rhett to stiffen. I listen to the skid across dirt and the familiar sound of doors slamming before I turn my attention back to Rhett.
“Castor must’ve called for backup,” I mutter. That’s what I would’ve done—clever fucking bastard. He’s still trying to kill me, even after he’s dead.
Rhett slips on his bulletproof vest, and I hand him my gun. He looks at it, then to me, and then back to the handgun. “Giving up your only weapon?”
“We’ve already established my shortcomings. Handle these guys, or else we’re both dying here.”
I duck behind a pile of boxes and take a seat. My body feels heavy, like I won’t be able to stand again, and I’m placing all my chips in the basket of Rhett’s gunplay. The door to the boathouse opens, and I glance around the edge, despite the pain in my neck and shoulder. Three guys. That’s more than I would have sent for, but I guess Castor wanted to be thorough.
Perhaps the element of surprise is still on our side. I return to cover and hold my breath.
Boots on wood echo throughout the area, and I suspect the thugs are searching the joint. I’m not sure what Rhett’s up to—he could have left me to these goons, for all I know—and I close my one good eye
