Page 97 of Chalk Outline
Every day that I’m away from her, I lose her even more.
“Answer me before I start working my way up and down your body.”
“Go fuck yourself.” He bravely spits in my direction but misses the mark—a mixture of blood, drool, and snot over his gruff face, dripping down his chin.
“Your funeral.”
“Wait. Wait. Wait. Merde.” He draws a shaky breath. “Bâtard, tu vas me le payer!”
I roll my eyes and plunge the knife into his thigh, pull it back—while he whimpers and begs for mercy—and stick it into the same spot again. He really doesn’t get the hang of it. I grab his jaw firmly, keeping him locked on me.
“We can play this game all night. You’d be drained of blood by the time we’re done. If you want me to stop, start giving me concrete answers, or you’ll end up like your nephew.”
His eyes widen. “What did you do to my nephew?”
I lift my eyebrows, and he swallows hard.
He flicked a switch that had a no-return policy.
“My condolences. He was about to propose to his girlfriend, so he took a day off. He is in a body bag, but it took him a long time to tell me all about you. You would have been proud. His experience was much worse, given that you told him to hire people to kill her.” I look into his eyes and sigh.
“He was following orders like me.” His eyes filled with tears, his shoulders trembling.
A forced smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Yes. Every action has consequences, Mr. Dubois. You know that better than anyone. When you take that risk, unwanted company may knock on your door.”
“So, you think I’m a monster because I’m on the wrong side of the tracks. Do you think you are better than me when you show up and kill everyone?” He coughs up blood.
“Never claimed I was,” I reply, looking him straight in the eyes without missing a beat. “But that runaway train is coming in fast.”
“Do you believe everything they say about me?” he asks, the light slowly fades from his eyes.
“Belief is doubt. I know for sure you are exactly who I say you are.”
“Fils de pute.” He curses in French. I bend slightly to align my knife with the other corner of his mouth, but he immediately says, “Dick Graves.”
That name turns my blood cold.
“What about him?” I grit out.
“Decades ago, a deal went bad, and we had to cut ties. Then, years later, Dick returned, saying he had found a way to restart the business. He was the one who got us into this mess and then vanished. Drugs were enough for me. I didn’t want to traffic innocent little kids; it’s sickening, but they all forced my hand.” Tears glisten in his eyes.
So the rumors about Dick were true, and when I killed him, it disrupted his plans.
“Who are they?”
“They will kill me.”
“Not if you’re already dead.” I raise my brows, fixing the blade across his cheek. “Why her?” I repeat like a broken record.
He finally leans back in the chair. “My guess is she knows someone who’s involved in this world in some way or another.”
Like Romina.
She mentioned that they were targeting Winona because of her. The next question is, how is she connected to this?
“Who do you work for?” I press the knife and dent his cheek. Jean hisses as a trickle of blood paints the blade. “Their names will make it less painful.”
“Minh and Third Eye.”
