CHAPTER THIRTY

Angel and Mary, Bull and Lily, Antoine and Ella, and Dex and Marie all had reservations at Cisco's. They'd ordered appetizers and mocktails, keeping their heads clear. Shelby was waiting in the car around the corner with Red. She was trying to calm her nerves, waiting for her date to show up.

"He's walking up," said Luc. "Bastard is fixing his hair in the reflection of the window."

The four men watched as he came in, scanning the room for his next victim.

"May I help you, sir?" asked Gabe, posing as the ma?tre d.

"I have a reservation," he said.

"Name?" The man stuttered for a moment, looking down at his phone. The asshole had forgotten what name he used. "Name, sir."

"Sorry, yes. Patrick."

"Patrick. Yes, I have you for a table for two. Right this way." He walked him to a table in the back of the room, nestled in the corner. Beside him were Bull and Lily, and on the other side, Antoine and Ella.

When Gabe walked away, he picked up his phone and began dialing numbers.

"Brenda, this is starting to piss me off. Answer your damn phone!"

"Topper? Topper, what the hell is going on? Answer your damn phone!"

"Gerald, if you hear from Brenda or Hopper, tell them to meet at the hotel. I don't know what they're doing, but I'm starting to get seriously pissed."

He set his phone down on the chair next to him, and the waiter walked toward him, pouring water for the table.

"Can I start you with a drink, sir?" asked Baptiste.

"No. Not yet," he snapped. Baptiste only smiled as Bull casually took the phone off the chair and tucked it in his pocket.

"May I give you the specials?" asked Baptiste. Frank started to fire back but then saw the woman walking in the door. She looked familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He'd fucked so many women in the last few weeks his dick was starting to hurt.

"Not now." Baptiste backed away, then, seeing the woman walking toward the table, escorted her to her chair. He pulled out the chair, all the while watching as Frank never once bothered to stand for the woman.

"Wow, you look great," he smiled. "Do I know you?"

"I'm not sure," she said. "You saw my photos. Maybe that's it."

"Huh, I never forget a face," he said, shaking his head. "Well, you're beautiful, just like your photos."

"Thanks," said Shelby casually. "You don't really look like your photos. It's disappointing."

Bull nearly spewed his water all over the table. Good girl, he thought to himself. You're going to rattle the shit out of him.

"Oh, well, I'll have to redo my photos," he said through gritted teeth. "How was Monaco?"

"You mean Rio. I was in Rio and headed to Monaco next week," she said coolly.

"Yes. Right, sorry. My apologies. I've been trying to reach some friends today, and they're not answering. I'm starting to get worried about them." He took a huge gulp of water, and Shelby just smiled.

"I'm sure they're fine," she smiled sweetly. "I mean, Brenda, Topper, and Gerald are quite capable." He stared at her, blinking several times.

"Wh-what did you say?"

"I think you heard me. Your friends are very capable, but, of course, they're not quite as capable as my friends. See, my friends are extremely smart and very knowledgeable about the kinds of horrible things men like you do." He swayed in his seat, trying to lift his arms to reach for her.

"Problem, Frank?" she frowned. "That's right. I know your real name, and you know mine. Shelby."

"Sh-Shelbeee," he slurred. A half-dozen men stood behind her seat, helping her to stand. She gripped the hand of the man next to her and smiled.

"Yep. Meet my friends."

Shelby kissed Red, touching his face sweetly. He gave her a long hug, then handed her over to Rafe, who was driving her home.

"I'll be back soon," he smiled.

"I know. I know you'll come home to me."

"Let's go, beautiful," smirked Rafe. "We're getting ice cream on the way home." Shelby could only laugh. Red turned, following Gabe into the empty warehouse. It was the same space where they'd found the router.

Ian picked up a bucket of water and tossed it into Frank's face. He gasped for air, sputtering and spewing water everywhere.

"Wh-where am I? Who are you?" he snapped, trying to break free. "That bitch! That fucking cunt, Shelby!"

He regretted those words almost immediately when a tall, dark figure came forward with a long, glimmering knife. He slammed it into his thigh, turning the knife for effect. Frank screamed in agony as the others watched.

"Please," he gasped, "please stop."

"Stop? Like you stopped with all the men and women you swindled," said Gaspar.

"I didn't swindle anyone. They gave their money willingly."

"Now, we both know that's a lie," said Nine. "You stole their identities, their credit cards, their savings, all of it. The worst part is you stole their trust and their confidence. That's something harder to get back. All because you had a beef with the banks."

"Who told you that?" he whispered.

"Well, it could have been any of them," said Ian. "I mean, Brenda is still in the psych ward. Turns out she really was crazy. Some sort of dysfunction. The doctors are trying to get her right before she goes to trial."

"No, no, what did you do?"

"Topper, well, Topper is recovering from a nasty knife wound like yours. He won't be running anywhere anytime soon. But he was full of information, that one. And then there was Gerald. Poor Gerald met his fate at the end of the barrel of a gun."

"You killed him?" he gasped.

"No. The Syrians killed him, and now, they're looking for you. Of course, they also know that Brenda and Topper are being held in a hospital and a jail, so no telling how long they'll last."

"What do you want? What did I do to you?"

"It's what you did to all those people that have us pissed off," said Nine. "That beautiful woman, Shelby. She's part of our family, and you don't fuck with our family."

"Are you guys mafia?" he frowned.

"Well, Mama thinks we're Cajun mafia, but I'm not so sure," said Gaspar. "I mean, we don't usually put people in cement shoes or anything."

"Now, come on, mon frére. You know that we sometimes weigh down the bodies in the bayou. It makes it easier for the gators to get a nibble," said Antoine. Poor Frank just stared at the group of men.

"You know, we did have that great-aunt that married that Italian man and moved to Italy," said Gabe. "Is the mafia hereditary?"

"No, you idiot," growled Gaspar. He looked at Frank who was absolutely horrified now. "Little brothers. What are you gonna do with them?"

"You're all crazy. Crazy," he said. "That bitch was in my way. I had to get to her!" Trak grinned at the other men, slowly walking out of the darkness with his blade once again.

"Frankie, Frankie, you'll learn, brother. You've pissed off our friend again," said Ian.

Trak stabbed the knife into the other thigh, twisting it as he had done the other. Frank's screams echoed in the room. When he pulled the blade out, Trak wiped the blood on the man's trousers and sunk back into the darkness.

"Please," he gasped, "please, what do you want?"

"We want justice," said Ghost. "We want to know what makes a low-life piece of shit like you think he can steal from innocent people and get away with it."

"It was easy," he said, breathing heavily, clearly in pain. "That's all. I was looking for easy money, and I had a buddy who met this older woman on a dating site. She wasn't anything special. She wasn't even good-looking, but she showered him with gifts, money, even a new car. I was better looking than him, smarter. I knew I could do this."

"Yeah, you did it," growled Ghost. "But you did it to the wrong people. See, we have your computers, the money, everything."

"Th-that's not possible. It's not possible."

"It's very possible," said Gaspar. "We're that good. You're not that good, but we damn sure are."

"Please, I'm hurting. Call an ambulance."

"We can't do that," said Red, stepping forward.

"Why not?"

"Because that beautiful, wonderful woman, Shelby, is going to be my wife. Now, in theory, I should thank you for this because otherwise, I might not have met her. But you hurt the woman I love, and for me, that's a death sentence."

"So, that's it? You're going to kill me."

"No, not me. I have a friend who hasn't killed anyone in a while, and he gets very anxious when that happens. We've been holding him back lately, but he's been a good boy, and, well, you just don't deserve to live or become a part of the judicial system."

"Please, I'm begging you," he pleaded, crying, sobbing into his chest. Trak stood in front of the man, now with a knife in each hand.

"Twenty minutes, brother," said Ghost. "Back door is open into the river. Make it good."

A slow, satisfying grin crept over Trak's face as the men slowly walked out of the warehouse. As they left, they heard the screams of agony coming from Frank.

"Should I feel guilty about this?" asked Red.

"Fuck no," frowned Ian. "That bastard wasn't someone who would ever learn. He was going to continue with his bullshit, no matter what. He'd get ten years or so in prison, probably get out in seven for good behavior, and go back to pulling his shit again. Don't feel bad for him."

"Got it," nodded Red.

Twenty minutes later, Trak appeared with not a speck of blood on him. They all stared at him, an eerie smile on his face.

"You good, brother?" asked Nine.

"Perfect."

"Then let's go home."