Chapter Twenty-Five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The meeting was set to be held about an hour from Elonzo's house just outside Albuquerque. Elonzo told her they'd arrive separately since he had "matters to attend to," giving her the opportunity to change into something more appropriate for a meeting where one's fate would be decided. The black pantsuit again.

During the quiet drive to the meeting, she thought of Ed. She thought about how she used to see him as this indestructible monster who couldn't be slain. She used to tell herself there was no escape because he worked for the FBI and would use his power to hunt her down.

Little had she known that Ed was just a tiny, insignificant crumb of a much bigger pie. In the end, he'd tried to run, and they'd found him. A fucking FBI agent who supposedly knew the ins and outs of how people got caught.

In short, if he could be found, then they could find anyone. The only out was death, and the only alternative to that was joining these monsters with the hope of putting a stop to some of the worst, most horrific parts of their operation. Was it really possible?

Only if you have a seat at the table , she told herself. But to get a seat, she'd have to become Elonzo's wife. She would share her life with a man who might put a bullet in her head if she jeopardized what he loved.

Yet he had a softer side that would make daily life tolerable. He enjoyed dancing and loved his children. He spent time with his family and shielded them from the ugly world he lived in. He would never treat her like Ed had, which was incredibly ironic. The Heroin King didn't believe in hitting his wife. In short, her life wouldn't be a violent horror show. At least, not on the surface. Behind the scenes, it would be the most difficult thing she'd ever faced.

Alternatively, there was the option to become Sampson and rebuild the group. Her daily life would consist of planning hits under the direction of the people who oversaw the Heroin King. What sort of people would be targets? People who got in their way? People who deserved it? Because she knew who wouldn't be on the list: anyone important to running Elonzo's operation.

She sighed. There were no good choices here.

The car pulled up, and a valet opened the door. "Miss Hays, they are waiting for you outside on the veranda."

"Thanks." She strolled inside the lavish house with soaring ceilings and expensive art. Whoever lived here made a lot of money. One of the servants guided her to a side door leading to the backyard, where people in suits and nice dresses mingled with cocktails in hand. The scent of cigars perfumed the air, mixing with the smoke from the outdoor firepit. Waiters in black vests circled with trays of appetizers on small plates.

She tried to imagine herself living in this world of extreme wealth, extravagance, and violence. Could she stomach it?

"I see you made it." Elonzo appeared by her side.

"Haven't run yet, but the night's still young."

He chuckled. "Have you made up your mind?"

She nodded and faced him. "Yeah, I think so. When does this vote take place, anyway?"

"It already has," he whispered in her ear. "You were given unanimous support."

She blinked at him. "For what?"

He smiled, and she took that to mean the role of his wife. "I didn't say yes to anything yet."

"You are no fool, Justine, which means you've realized there is only one rational choice." He held out his hand. "Isn't that right, wife?"

Just then a light on the roof caught her eye. She looked up.

"Do not worry. They are there for our protection," Elonzo said.

"The last time you told me not to worry, someone took a shot…" Her voice faded as a tall, muscular figure on the roof pointed a rifle toward them. A red beam of light danced across Elonzo's shoulder.

"Run!" she yelled.

Emily turned toward the house to take cover, catching a glimpse of the man on the roof. She expected him to be still aiming at Elonzo, but the red dot was on her. In an instant, she realized she'd been set up. They'd made their choice to kill her.

A loud pop sounded in the air, followed by screams and more gunfire.

She felt something hot burn through her chest. When she looked down, she saw a hole in her jacket, followed by the sensation of warm liquid saturating her blouse.

She felt her knees buckle before she reached the house.

"Someone call an ambulance," said Elonzo, who was dragging her inside. "Do not die, Justine. Hang in there…" His voice faded, drowned out by voices, yelling, and more gunfire.

***

"Welcome back from the dead," said a deep, familiar voice.

Justine slowly opened her eyes, finding a blurry scene that looked like wood-paneled walls, antique trapping gear, and plaid curtains. Charge's cabin.

"What the fuck…" She groaned, finding it hard to breathe.

"I'm sorry about the pain, but you moved to the right, and I had to take the shot."

She tried to focus on Charge's face. He had a shorter beard now, and his nose was almost completely healed. "You shot me?"

"Yes."

"Why aren't I dead?" she asked, noticing an IV bag hang beside her.

"You are. Well, as far as they're concerned."

She tried to sit up.

"No. Do not move. You're being held together with sutures, tape, and fucking damned good luck. I missed your lung by a millimeter."

"Great. Thanks."

"You were dead anyway. It was worth the risk," he said.

So it hadn't been Elonzo or his "board of directors" who'd shot her. "He didn't want to kill me. He wanted to marry me."

Charge was silent for a long moment. "A different kind of death."

"Why, Charge? Why did you do this to me?" she whispered.

He placed an ice pack on her chest. "Rest. We'll talk after you feel better. I'm just in the other room if you need anything."

She closed her eyes, feeling a wave of sleepiness take hold. Painkillers no doubt.

"Oh, and by the way, someone dug up your money. We'll have to come up with a plan to fund your new life."

She couldn't understand a word he'd just said.