The angry red scratches running down the side of his neck were a testament to the fury Gray had unleashed on hearing what Tom Hood had done to her dying friend when left alone with her. That had been an hour ago, and Drummond hadn’t left the spot since.
They could hear Gray murmuring to her friend. It was a one-sided conversation, and judging by the long lapses between ragged breaths, one that would be over soon. Beaten and left for dead, Tara Pisani’s life was coming to an untimely end. Given the extent of her injuries, only a miracle had kept her alive until Gray arrived.
“Sam said Tom Hood would pay for this,” Davis said quietly. “It means he’s going to kill him, right?”
Grant looked at the kid sitting beside him, studying the backs of his hands like he’d never seen them before. “A lot of people will be gunning for Hood. But yeah, Sam will see to it he’s dead.”
Grant’s first instinct on seeing the damage done to the petite young woman had been to find the fucker and kill him in a manner that involved a shitload of suffering. Unfortunately, killing Tom Hood wasn’t the top priority at the moment.
Davis lifted his head to look at Grant, his hazel peepers bright with unshed tears. “Good. I’m glad. He deserves to die.”
Davis Nader was a good kid, a menace with a weapon, to himself, and anyone unlucky enough to be nearby, but still a good kid. “You’re not wrong,” Grant said.
Davis nodded to himself, reverting his gaze back to his hands.
Grant nudged him with an elbow. “You did good today, kid.” When they landed in Savannah, Davis had been waiting at the airport with a brand-new top-of-the-line Challenger SRT Hellcat. Riding shotgun was a fully loaded H&K MP7 submachine gun. Both were gunmetal gray with black racing stripes. Both made Grant hard.
Davis shook his head, a hesitant smile forming. “I still can’t believe you destroyed Sam’s Shelby. You only had it for, like, three days.”
Grant laughed. “Easy, kid. It was five days, and since I wasn’t driving, technically, it wasn’t my fault. You picking the next car, or is Sam sold on the Super Snake?”
The kid’s demeanor changed in an instant. Curling into himself, he went back to hand watching like his life depended on it, meaning something was up. “What’s doing, Davis?”
The kid’s sigh would have been theatrical if it hadn’t been so damn sincere. Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a crumpled beige envelope. “I’m not supposed to be here.” He looked at Grant quick and then back at the thick package in his hands. “Sam told me to stay at the airport and get on a plane.”
“Which plane?”
The kid shrugged a bony shoulder. “Any plane.”
It meant the envelope in his hands had at least fifty grand in cash, and Adam was once again trying to keep Davis from getting caught in the crossfire. “Shit’s about to go down. You know he’s just trying to protect you, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Grant didn’t think it possible for Davis to sound any more dejected. He felt bad for the kid. He really did. He probably didn’t have anywhere to go, but if Adam had told him to take off, he had no choice in the matter.
“Okay, so after this”—he waved his hand, taking in their surroundings—“Drummond will drop you back at the airport. And this time, you’ll get on a plane.”
At the sound of his name, Drummond shifted his gaze from the floor to Grant. The big man looked like he’d aged about thirty years in the past week. It seemed pretty clear he wasn’t cut out for this line of business. If he was smart, he’d be cashing in his retirement savings and making plans to invest in a shack on a beach south of buttfuck-nowhere.
“What about you?” Davis asked.
“Same deal, kid. Once the shit hits the fan, there won’t be any reason to stick around.” Grant hooked his thumb at the open door. “Gray’s my last job. After I drop her off, I take off for good.”
They sat in silence for a bit before Davis said, “You don’t work for Bodak, do you? You and Sam, you’re the good guys, right?”
Grant shook his head. The butt of the forty strapped to his side and digging into his waist a stark reminder of the reality of the situation. “Sorry, kid. I hate to be the one to bust your bubble, but there’s no happy ending here. Sam’s a killer, and so am I. Which side of the fence we’re on doesn’t matter much.”
He let that sink in. He didn’t want the kid to romanticize this shit. The cars, the guns, the money, none of it was worth selling your soul for. Adam had given Davis a chance at a normal life. Grant hoped like hell he seized the opportunity.
Davis frowned and shoved the envelope back into his pocket.
If it hadn’t been so quiet in the warehouse, Grant would have missed it entirely when a minute or two later, Davis mumbled, “Yes, it does.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT
Gray stopped talkingand held her breath. The pause felt like forever. When Tara’s next labored breath came, Gray knew the time had come. Releasing her grip on her friend’s hand, she trailed her trembling fingertips along Tara’s palm.
Cold despite the hour spent carefully cradled, her fingers remained blue.
