Risking it All (40 page)

constant glances in his direction.

Wayne’s edginess should have made him

nervous, warned him to be on guard, but

he couldn’t steer himself in that

direction. It was hard enough to stand

there acting like a normal, functioning

human being when all he wanted to do

was give up.

There. Now that he’d allowed the

thought loose inside his head, it ran

wild. His plan involved him driving to

Queens tonight with Wayne, getting paid

for the score, taking his cut, and giving

the rest to Wayne. From there, he would

go…where? God, anywhere. It hadn’t

mattered when he’d formulated the plan

in a fit of restlessness. Now he didn’t

know if he could execute it. Since he

could remember, his life had felt like

one endless tightrope walk, and now that

he’d finally lost his balance and fallen,

there didn’t seem like any point in

getting back up. Not without her.

His heart squeezed in his chest, so

goddamn hard he had to suck in a breath.

Distraction. He needed a distraction fast

or he would self-destruct. Bowen

cleared his throat and walked toward

Hogan. “All done here. Same time next

month?” There wouldn’t be a next time

for him, not if he got out of town as

planned, but letting anyone know would

be suicide.

“Yeah, about that…”

Behind Bowen, there was a series of

doors slamming, then all four vans

peeled out, leaving him standing alone

on the dock with Hogan and Connor.

Wayne had come to stand behind him.

Behind
him, not beside him. Three

against one. It hit him immediately and

with zero shock. This was it. Finally. He

was about to die. Jesus, he was fucking

relieved. He wouldn’t have to live with

these thoughts much longer, these

memories. Although right now, when

presented with the prospect of his own

death, it felt like a travesty that any

memory

of

Sera

would

go

unremembered. That they would die with

him. He wished he could have had a

little bit longer to paint them on his

walls, to keep them alive the only way

he knew how.

Bowen nodded once, letting them

know he knew what was happening. If he

was going out tonight, he’d go out with

his pride. “Let’s not draw this out,

Hogan. Don’t take this the wrong way,

but your voice isn’t the last thing I want

to hear.”

Cold gunmetal pressed against the

back of his head. “How about mine,

kid?”

“Even less.” Bowen shifted on the

balls of his feet, body tensing.

Interesting.
Some part of him wasn’t

entirely resigned to his fate. His fighter’s

nature was rising to the surface, a knee-

jerk reaction to being threatened. All of

a sudden, he was back in his father’s car

in Coney Island, scanning the beach

through eyes swollen shut, being forced

to pick out an opponent. Digging deep

inside and finding a spark among the

ashes, he fanned it to life. He could hear

his father’s voice, shouting at him,

telling him to suck it up. Then he saw

Sera.
Sera, Sera, Sera.
How could he go

without knowing she was okay?
No
, he

couldn’t. Not without seeing it with his

own eyes. Even just to catch one final

look at her from a distance. “Hey,

Wayne. Can we avoid the head? I know

this is a hit and there’s a tradition you

want to uphold, but there’s no reason to

fuck up my hair.”

Wayne growled and shoved the barrel

against his head, but Bowen refused to

wince. Not with Hogan watching him

with a smug expression. “You little fuck.

I should have done this a long time ago.

Your father thinks I’m weak? That I

can’t do better than some pussy-whipped

painter
? He’s in for a surprise when he

gets out.”

“Don’t forget balloons and a cake.

The man has a thing for coconut.”

As expected, Wayne now felt the need

to get in his face. For a split second, the

gun dislodged from his skull and Bowen

took advantage. He ducked low and

spun, reaching up to knock the weapon

from Wayne’s hand. It went skidding

across the pavement, but Bowen didn’t

take time to see where it stopped. He

was too busy drawing the weapon

tucked into the back of his jeans. The

one Wayne had been too cocky to

remove.

The whites of Wayne’s eyes stood out

in the near-darkness. Slowly, his hands

went up but the sneer on his face

remained in place.

“Looks like this painter got the drop

on you, old man.”

“Not on me,” Hogan drawled.

Bowen saw Hogan point the gun at

him out of the corner of his eye and

braced himself. When the bullet didn’t

immediately come, he started talking.

“You think South Brooklyn will be

easier to deal with if Wayne’s running

things? You’re wrong. This is a mistake,

Hogan.”

Hogan laughed. “I’m seeing a much

bigger picture, my friend. Tonight’s deal

is two for the price of one. After tonight,

I won’t be dealing with either one of

you. Just myself.”

So he planned on putting them both

down and running both territories. From

the panicked expression on Wayne’s

face, he’d been confident in his alliance

with Hogan. The gun in Bowen’s hand

pointing

toward

Wayne

became

irrelevant. Hogan would only laugh if he

pulled the trigger. It would make things

easier for him.

Anger flooded Bowen. No.
No
. He’d

only just decided to
live
. He needed to

see Sera again, find a way to

immortalize the memories in his head,

and this motherfucker was trying to take

that chance away. There didn’t appear to

be a damn thing he could do about it,

either. No way of negotiating when a

man’s greed outweighed his conscience.

“Where’s the girl, Driscol?”

Every muscle in his body seized, but

he showed no reaction to the question.

“There’s been more than one girl this

week. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You’re not as good a liar as you

think.” Hogan used his thumb to cock his

gun. “There’s some important shit

missing from my office and I’m missing

a waitress. Where the fuck is she?”

“Even if I could tell you, you’re

planning on shooting me anyway. I’m not

exactly swimming in motivation here,

man.”

Hogan bared his teeth. “I’m going to

find her, you know. I won’t stop looking.

There’s nowhere they can put her that’s

out of my reach. And when I find the

bitch, I’m going to tell her you sent me.”

When Hogan aimed the gun at his

head, Bowen already felt dead and

buried, those final words being the nail

in his coffin. He would be leaving her in

danger, at the mercy of the same

criminals he’d been appointed to protect

her from, and the ineptitude of the cops

who would have the job going forward.

Finding the image of her face, he closed

his eyes and focused on it. It took him a

moment for Hogan’s outraged curse to

break through to him.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Bowen looked on in shock at Connor

pressing a gun to the back of Hogan’s

head. “I second that,” Bowen muttered,

relief and confusion joining forces in his

chest.

“Sorry,

cousin,”

Connor

said.

“Nothing personal. Just put the gun down

nice and slow.”

After a brief hesitation, Hogan

lowered the gun with a low expletive.

“After what I did for you? For your

mother? You bastard.”

Connor’s laugh sounded cold. “We

both know I’ve paid that debt ten times

over.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Hogan grated.

“You’re welcome to try.”

Sirens.

Breathless seconds passed as all four

men exchanged looks. Hogan looked like

a trapped rat, while Connor didn’t even

react, simply keeping the gun trained on

his cousin. Wayne, old school to the

bone, made a run for the shadows,

disappearing

from

sight

almost

immediately. Bowen had never run a day

in his life, so he stayed still and watched

the half dozen NYPD squad cars

approach with something akin to

fascination. Until he saw Sera step out of

one of them. His eyes greedily took in

the sight of her, even as he registered the

gun in her hand. The badge at her hip.

Her professional clothing so different

from the dresses she wore in his

memory.

When

several

officers

approached them, weapons drawn,

Connor finally dropped the gun and

knelt, hands over his head, as did Hogan.

Bowen was pushed to his knees, his gaze

still locked on Sera as they cuffed him.

Shame ripped him wide open. No, she

couldn’t see him like this. Now,
now
, he

truly wished he were dead. Troy came

up behind her and laid a comforting hand

on her shoulder. Seeing anyone besides

himself comfort her finally succeeded in

breaking him.

“
Is this what you wanted, Sera?
”

Even from this distance, he could see

the tear roll down her cheek, and it sent

him struggling against his handcuffs,

blood rolling down the palms of his

hands.

“Get her out of here,” he shouted at

Troy, who made no move to follow his

order. “I said, get her the
fuck
out of

here!”

Finally, Troy yanked opened the door

of his squad car and eased Sera down

into the driver’s seat, closing the door

behind her. He could still see her face

through the window, though, forcing him

to squeeze his eyes shut defensively as

they led him to one of the waiting cars.

His fighter’s instinct took on a different

form then. Knowing he couldn’t use his

fists to get free this time, it took pity on

him and numbed his mind. It shut him

down so he couldn’t feel a thing. Red

and blue flashing lights blurred together

and he concentrated on them, trying not

to dwell on the fact that the only girl

he’d ever loved had just taken away his

freedom. How he should hate her for it,

but could only lament the fact that he’d

never hold her again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Sera watched Bowen through the two-

way glass. Being this close to him made

her sore, aching heart race in her chest.

Her hands pressed against the cool

surface, itching to touch him and explain

everything, but after his behavior at the

docks, they’d barred her from the

interrogation

room,

thinking

her

presence would only send him into a

rage. She hated knowing they were right.

The disappointment on his face when

he’d seen her standing there, the
misery,

she’d never recover from it.

Now he sat slumped in a hard metal

chair, staring at an invisible spot on the

wall. His hair stood at a hundred

different angles; blood circled his

wrists, making him look like a battered

angel. Beside him, Connor sat looking as

though he were late for another, more

important,

appointment.

Coolly

detached, but impatient, while Bowen’s

lights had gone out completely, like

someone had turned off his switch. No,

she’d
knocked them out. She could only

hope when he heard the truth, he would

forgive her. That he would understand.

And if he didn’t, she’d already made up

her mind to barge in there and scream

her head off until he did. She would

summon every saint in her arsenal for

aid in tearing through his wall and

bringing him back to her. Saint Monica,

possibly. Wasn’t she known as the saint