28. Jimmy Winter

TWENTY-EIGHT

Damien

Fucking damn it.

I haven't had someone ring my bell so hard since I was a twenty-five-year-old idiot who teased Lincoln Crewes about being whipped by Ava Monroe. I'd forgotten for a moment that he was a brawler who idolized his girlfriend, and after he knocked me out, I made it a point to never talk down on St. Ava again.

The headache I had when I woke up from Lincoln's punch has only a slight edge on the one I had now. My head is splitting, my tongue too thick for my mouth, and my arms feel like they've been yanked from their sockets.

That's not all, either.

My whole left side radiates heat. My shoulder is in agony, bleeding through to my back, and there are parts of my lower body that have never hurt this bad before in my life.

With my eyes still closed—if only because it's too fucking painful to open them—I take stock of my injuries. I've obviously been beaten. I'm sitting now, and the way my arms are pulled, I'd wager that I'm tied to something. The pain in my shoulder? Gunshot wound, definitely.

And all of that makes sense since the last thing I remember was talking to Elizabeth outside of the clinic. She bumped into me after I parked my car. I had my phone out, already calling Savannah to let her know I arrived, when the doctor frowned.

She told me that she didn't know what I was talking about, that she hadn't heard from Savannah or Genevieve at all, and that since the clinic was so slow, she was shutting down early because she had an appointment she needed to go to.

My wife didn't answer, but before I could try to call her back, Elizabeth's face changed as she looked behind me.

She screamed one word—shoulder—before my body bucked as the gunshot hit me right in the back. The unexpected impact forced me to my knees. The doctor dropped right next to me, and just when I thought she was going to check my wound, he did the last thing I ever would've expected.

She jabbed me in the neck with a needle she'd had hidden in her hand.

After that, everything went black—until now. Until I'm slowly coming to, my surroundings still dark, though my ears prick, trying to listening to the sounds around me while I continue to fake being out.

Until someone slaps me upside the head, and I'm so stunned by the cruel gesture, my eyes spring open.

"Finally," comes a pleasant voice. "I was told that sedative was only supposed to last half an hour. It's almost been forty minutes. I was getting impatient."

I blink, trying to get a read on the man speaking.

The voice isn't familiar. Neither are my surroundings. At first glimpse, it looks like I'm in some sort of retail space. It's empty, though, with glass windows and a door in front of me.

Ballsy move. Now that I can kind of see, it's easy to notice the heavy rope keeping my hands tied to the wooden chair my battered body was tossed into. Anyone passing by could see what's going on in here.

Well, maybe. There aren't any lights on. The only illumination comes from the sun peeking around the skyscraper opposite where we are. The room is full of shadows and gloom, though maybe that's my hazy vision making it seem so much darker.

It's not so dark, though, that I can't make out the face of the man in front of me.

When Tanner prepared the folder all about Jimmy Winter, it had everything in it except for a photo.

Now I now exactly what he looks like. He's in his mid-thirties about, though his head of shocking white hair throws me off. His face is young so the hair ages him. No wrinkles, though, and his vivid green eyes are so cat-like, he reminds me of Orion.

Like me, he's wearing a suit, but his is—like his hair—a pristine white. The only spot of dark on him is the weapon in his hand.

He's not alone, either. He has three soldiers. A bald man in his fifties, a blond about a decade younger, and a Black man who's around the same age as Winter.

Because, yeah, there's no doubt in my mind that the white-haired freak is the one and only Jimmy Winter.

"He's awake?"

Now that voice? That I recognize.

Elizabeth Harper was hiding in one corner, arm wrapped around her white doctor's coat, the other hand lifted up to her mouth. My head swivels to look at her, and she flinches to see my face.

She swallows. "I should look him over. I patched up his bullet hole, but his eyes looks swollen. And I want to make sure the sedative didn't do any danger."

She does, does she?

What the fuck is going on here.

Winter turns to look at her. "You stay where you are. When I want you to talk, I'll tell you. Until then, be quiet."

Elizabeth folds in on herself, nodding.

"Now. What was I saying? Ah, yes. I was blaming the doctor for giving too high of a dose. Doesn't she know we're working on a timetable here?"

The bald man clears his throat. "About that… We've got company, Jimmy."

"More distractions? Fucking wonderful. Alright." Winter uses his gun to gesture at the door. "See who it is."

He does, smirking when he obviously recognizes them. "Looks like the bodyguard is here."

Vin.

When I saw the red car pass the window, I'd prayed to a God I'm not sure I even believe in that that the man with the buzz cut wasn't Vin. The woman next to him? That couldn't be Savannah. What would they be doing here? How could they find me?

And then I remembered how only last night I showed my wife how to use the tracker…

"Really? Huh. I wasn't expecting that. More fun for us then." Winter jerks his chin at the bald man. "Kill him."

No.

I'm not the only one who doesn't like the idea of my cousin getting tangled up in this. Because Elizabeth?

She gasps.

"Vincent? Why would you… no. He's not part of this. Can't we just lock the door?"

Winter snorts. Then, gesturing with his gun, the bald soldier heads for the door and, on his boss's orders, he props the door open for a better shot. His gun is up, and I can only hope like hell that Vin fires off a shot before Winter's man does.

"Jimmy, please…"

"Shut up," Winter says pleasantly. "Before I make you. You did what you were supposed to. You brought me the Dragonfly. If you don't want your precious little clinic to have an unfortunate accident, keep your fucking mouth shut."

Her mouth closes.

I smirk. "What's the matter, Liz?" My voice is rough. Raspy. It's gotta be a side effect from whatever they shot me up with, but hell if I'm gonna ask the doc about that. Not when I'm seeing two of her as it is. "Did you forget that a big part of the life is death?"

"I doubt it," cuts in Winter. "Considering she was more than happy to set it up so that we'd take out your pretty little wife."

What?

"My wife?"

"Damien—"

"My wife?" I glare at her, trying to focus on her face so she can see the murder written in my eyes. "You were after my wife?"

"Sure was," Winter tells me. "So jealous of the new Mrs. Libellula, she was willing to do anything for one of my guys to take her out. And then, when the grieving husband needed a shoulder to cry on… well, the doctor would be right there for him. Only she didn't realize something. Rumors around this town say that the leader of the Dragonflies is an oxymoron. An honest criminal. Well, I'm not."

Yeah. No shit.

While his guy inches closer to the door, getting into position, Winter starts to saunter over toward Liz. "She got this idea that I'd kill your wife. Rough you up a bit, too, so she could be the heroic doctor who saves you. Everyone will think that Savannah Libellula was the target because she'll show up dead, but Damien won't. But, see, that doesn't suit my plan at all. I didn't come this far so that Damien could continue taking out my men.

"As it is, his should be roaches instead of Dragonflies. There's so fucking many of them. Kill one, two more take their place. Kill an enforcer? And the rest scatter around the city, searching for the one who disappeared him off the streets."

"Oliver," I hiss. "You're talking about Oliver?"

"Was that his name? Silly me. I got him to spill his guts about everything I wanted to know before he, well, spilled his guts. I guess it just never occurred to me to ask him his name."

Psycho. Jimmy Winter is a full-on psychopath.

And he knows about Savannah.

Worse, unless Vin brought a different woman with black hair across town, she's here.

I can never let this fucker know how close my wife is. Vin… he can take care of himself. Savannah, though… no amount of self-defense can prepare her for something like this.

"Anyway," he says, smug in the way he's monologuing like a stereotypical villain. "That means Damien has to die. Sorry. But he couldn't just die. He needed to look like the Devil of Springfield decided there won't be any more truce. So Link beats the shit out of him on Sinner territory, puts a bullet in his skull, and, whoops, a good citizen finds him in an empty store. Now the Dragonflies just have to retaliate for their leader, and next thing you know? No Sinners. No Dragonflies."

I spit on the ground, cutting him off. "Just Snowflakes? That it, Winter."

He touches his belly, then bows his head. "And to think the great Damien Libellula knows how I am. I'm honored. Especially since I'll be the one to finish you off."

"He's coming, boss," says the bald man at the door.

"But I wasn't done revealing my plan. And, yes, I know that it's so terribly cliche, but since I rarely get to talk to someone who understands what it means to sacrifice everything for his family… you can't blame me, can you, Damien?"

I sure the fuck can.

"I know, boss. But he's a big guy?—"

"Very well. Get in position," orders Winter.

The bald soldier nods, then backs up. His gun is steady. I hold my breath, the beginning of an oversized shadow falling in front of the door. The sun is setting, so that might throw me off, but the soldier has perfect aim.

He shoots. Fires. I hear a thud—Vin hitting the sidewalk—then one more shot. I dig my fingers in the wood of the chair, vowing that I'll destroy every last person in this room if my cousin is dead.

I can't tell. Winter waves his hand. The bald man holsters his gun, then darts outside. Another one of the three soldiers joins him. With each of them hefting a leg, they drag Vin in through the door, then close it behind his unmoving body.

From this angle, I can't tell what damage has been done. They didn't do a headshot—which gives me a tiny sliver of hope—but because I can't see the injuries, I refuse to react.

That's what Winter wants, after all. He wants to see me hurt before he takes me out, all so he can start a war between the Libelulla Family and the Sinners Syndicate.

I don't react.

Liz does.

Pushing away from where she'd been hiding in her corner, she hurries for Vin's body.

Winter sighs. "No. Don't. Stop. Wait." It's a flat, emotionless voice, like he's doing his best impression of Willy fucking Wonka. But because he is a psycho, he doesn't really want her to stop.

The amusement playing in his green eyes makes that clear.

"Ah, well…" He raises his gun, aiming it at her back.

She keeps running.

"Shoulder," Winter says, an obvious mockery of Elizabeth's shrill shout earlier, before bang.

She crumples up on the floor.

Suddenly, I think I understand. She must've seen someone creeping up behind me, known from the gun that it was time for Winter's guys to work me over, and she tried to tell them where to aim for minimum damage.

Minimum, but from the way Liz grabs her shoulder, sobbing on the floor as she scoots away, seeking safety, it's probably far more than the good doctor ever expected.

Winter grins over at me. "Now, where were we?"