Page 89 of His Last Shot
He cocks his head left then right while blinking at the ceiling, faking uncertainty. “Well … yes and no.”
With a sharp intake of breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose, the anger a tight fist in my chest. “What do you want from me, Dexter?”
He laughs with unearned confidence. “It’s simple, really. Break up with Rachel, cut all ties with her, or these four fellas will pay a visit to your family.” He pauses. “Let’s just say I have a way of dealing with these types of … situations.”
Now the vomit is right there.
He snaps his fingers. “Oh, yeah! I almost forgot. The documents on that flash drive will be sent straight to the authorities. So not only would you lose your family and Rachel, but everything you have ever worked for will be gone.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “You see, your little stunt tonight cost me about a hundred grand. And I’m not happy. Now, I know you probably don’t have that kind of money.”
“I do,” I answer, the words spilling out. Because I will give every red cent I have to this man in order to protect my family.
Mockingly, he nods. “Impressive. But that’s not what I want.”
I swallow hard. “What then?”
Through gritted teeth, he answers me and delivers his final blow. “I want you to suffer.”
And he’s right. I would suffer. The money is meaningless to me. But Rachel? My family? They mean more than anything else in the world; they are the air I breathe, the blood in my veins, and the very beat of my heart. To lose one or both would leave a gaping hole in my life, an unbearable emptiness worse thandeath. Given his history and the menacing tone of his threat, I wouldn’t put it past him.
Is he bluffing?
Possibly.
Am I willing to put my family’s life in danger to find out?
No. No, I’m not.
I lower my head, accepting my fate.
I’ve lost Rachel. My love. My life. My world.
“Do we have a deal?” His question breaks through the war that’s waging in my head.
I choke out my answer. “Yes.” Because at the end of the day, I would do anything to protect Rachel and my family. Even if that means losing her.
A cruel, chilling grin stretches across his face, revealing teeth like yellowed shards. “Good.”
He turns to leave. “I have a request,” I chuff out.
He barks out a sharp scoff. “You are in no position to be making demands.”
“Allow me to go to the bar to say goodbye to her. Give us tonight. I beg you.” I’m desperate, my heart pounding in my chest, and I can’t believe I am asking this man for a favor, but I need this more than anything. She needs to know what her uncle just did to me. To us. And she needs to hear it from me, face to face. Maybe, just maybe, my parting gift to her will be knowledge. The knowledge she needs to cut this man out of her life for good.
He lets out a deep sigh, not happy with this idea; I can tell.
But he loves his niece.
“You have one hour.” With that, he hits the button on the garage door opener, and it once again ascends to the top. “Finish it.”
Dread settles in my gut because I have no idea what this final command means. The men with no weapons (that are visible anyway) follow Dex out of my garage. I’m watching them go, their retreating footsteps fading, as big guy number two approaches. He removes the sledgehammer from his shoulder and winds up as if he’s about to hit a home run. I shield my face with my hands, anticipating the blow I know is coming when…
BAM!!
A jarring crack echoes through the room as the sledgehammer slams into the rail, making my head whip towards the table. Big guy number one pulls a knife from his jacket, the glint of steel flashing in the dim light, and slices the blue felt tabletop, a sickening rip slicing through the air.
They deliver blow after blow to my most loved material possession. The destruction is instantaneous. With each devastating swing of the hammer, the wood of all four rails splinters into two, showering the ground with a flurry of tiny, sharp pieces of wood.
