Page 83 of Bozo

I nod, unable to form words. We start descending the fire escape, the metal clanging beneath our feet. I'm acutely aware of how exposed we are, my eyes darting around for any sign of danger.

Suddenly, a figure appears at the end of the alley. Even from this distance, I can see the glint of a gun in their hand.

"Shit," Brendan mutters, pushing me behind him. I watch in horror as the man who appeared in the alley points his gun at Brendan and shoots him.

I release a horrified scream as Brendan crumples to the ground, blood blossoming on his shirt. My mind races, torn between the instinct to help him and the desperate need to run.

"Go!" Brendan gasps, his face contorted in pain. "Get out of here!"

Tears blur my vision as I turn and sprint down the alley, away from the gunman. My heart pounds in my ears, drowning out everything but the sound of footsteps behind me. I don't dare look back, focusing solely on escape.

I round a corner, nearly losing my footing on the slick pavement. My lungs burn as I push myself harder, faster. I need to find help. I need to get somewhere safe.

Suddenly, a hand grabs my arm, yanking me into a narrow space between two buildings. I open my mouth to scream, but a large hand clamps over it.

“You should know,” I hear my captor growl as they start dragging me toward the parking lot. “I love the chase. It’s been five years now, Gráinne.”

I sob against the hand pressed over my mouth as I realize who has me. Mike. He was my friend. Why is he doing this?

He reaches his vehicle and throws me into the trunk. “You should have just accepted one of the dates, Grá,” he grunts with a wicked smile as he slams the trunk door down, sinking me into darkness.

Oh God, what is he going to do to me?

TWENTY-SIX

BOZO

I stand against the wall, my arms crossed and legs planted as I watch Pyro, Jer, and Denis Gallagher question the men we took from the house last night.

The interrogation room is dimly lit, the air thick with tension. This is one of Jer’s many locations around the city, a run-down hotel that’s seen better days. The three prisoners are bound to chairs, their faces bruised and bloodied from the fight. I can see the fear in their eyes as they face down the imposing figures of Pyro, Jer, and Denis.

"Let's try this again," Denis growls, leaning in close to one of the men. "Who else is involved in The Revenant's operation?"

The man spits blood onto the floor. "I told you, I don't know anything. I'm just a hired gun."

Denis straightens up, his face a mask of cold fury. He nods to Jer, who steps forward, cracking his knuckles.

I wince as Jer's fist connects with the man's jaw. The crack echoes through the room, followed by a pained groan.

"Wrong answer," Pyro says, his voice dangerously soft. "We know you're more than just muscle. Dragomir kept you close for a reason."

The man's eyes dart between the three of them, panic setting in. "Please," he whimpers. "I can't tell you anything. They'll kill me."

"And what do you think we'll do if you don't talk?" Denis snarls.

I shift against the wall, itching to join in and beat the information out of them. We need this information. We need to make sure The Revenant is truly finished.

Suddenly, one of the other prisoners speaks up. "Wait," he says, his voice shaky. "I... I know something."

All eyes turn to him. He's younger than the others, barely more than a kid really. Fear is written all over his face.

"Talk," Pyro commands.

The young man swallows hard. "Dragomir... he wasn't the top. There's someone else, someone higher up."

My blood runs cold. I knew it. I fucking knew it was too easy. I fucking knew there was more to this than what there appeared to be. Dragomir went too easily. Too fucking easy.

"Who?" Denis demands.

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