Page 89 of Saving Wyatt

WYATT

It had been a long night, and it was an even longer day after. Sitting. Waiting. Unable to do anything. But at least Nino woke up, and he felt well enough to call his people to take him back to New York, an operation that happened in no time right under our noses, but as soon as he was gone, I knew there was someone who had to be dealt with as a matter of urgency.

Wilson.

He had to pay for his latest sin. He had to know he wasn’t all powerful. He had to know he didn’t have the upper hand.

The morning after Nino was taken back to the safety of his crime family and their connections that meant he’d be well looked after by the best doctors money could buy, I drove all the way to the city center, parked in front of the town hall right in front of the no parking sign, and stormed inside.

The only ones that managed to block my path were the security guards stationed outside Wilson’s office.

“Have you got an appointment, pal?” one of them asked me, the shirt on his back so tight one could have outlined all the muscles and veins underneath. His jaw was square, and his temples pulsed threateningly as he glared back at me with his palm flat on my chest.

“He’ll want to see me,” I snapped at him.

“Book an appointment!” he growled and shoved me back.

Despite the force, I didn’t lose my balance. It would take a lot more than a little thug playing dress-up as a guard to get me off my feet, but I touched my shirt, made sure it wasn’t ripped or yanked, and stood my ground.

“And I said, I’m not going anywhere until he sees me. And trust me. He’ll want to see me after what he did.”

“Save it, grandpa. You’re not going through those doors,” said the second guy.

He was a bit taller but just as buff as his colleague, and he too looked like he wasn’t going to take any bullshit. Too bad neither was I.

I turned to look at his secretary, a young woman who looked terrified at what was happening for the second time in front of her, and I told her to call him.

“The mayor…he…he’s busy.”

I smirked, looking back at the two guards. “So your boss is a wuss, huh? Too afraid to speak to me after what he did. Well, I’m not going anywhere, Wilson!” I shouted so I’d be heard by the man behind the double doors. “Everyone will know what you did, big guy.”

The two guards exchanged a glance and then came at me, grabbing an arm each and attempting to carry me out, but I planted my feet to the ground and shouted even louder.

“Do your people know you’re a criminal? Or are you hiding it from all of them? Do they know how many people you’ve killed?”

“Shut the fuck up, grandpa,” said the tall guy.

I spat in his face. Before he could retaliate though, the doors opened, and Wilson stood in front of me in his most expensive suit, probably paid for with blood money.

“Hm. I thought that would get your attention,” I said.

He ignored me.

“Bring him in,” he said to the guards instead, and they changed their hold on me so they could follow their boss’s orders. This time, however, when I was thrown in the same room with the devil himself, they didn’t say outside. They stayed by my side as Wilson offered me a seat. I didn’t oblige him.

“You went back on your word. You said you wouldn’t hurt anyone else.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow and glanced at his men who yanked me upright and started patting me down. My smart watch was removed. So was my phone. They checked the rest of my pockets but all they found was my wallet and a pack of Wrigley’s gum.

I watched them like a hawk as they stripped everything off me that could be considered a recording device, and as one decided to go through my wallet and pocket my cash, the other put his hand in my patch pocket and removed a square Rode microphone Slade had hooked me up with.

“Seriously?” he said in disbelief.

Before I could say anything, he crushed the thing under his shoe, and they did the same thing with my phone and watch before the other guy gave me back my empty wallet and gum and took a step back.

I bit my tongue and tried to compose myself. I didn’t care about the plan. I wanted to kill this man with my bare hands. Now that was a murder I would gladly have on my record if it meant protecting the people I loved and this whole island.

“Your…gumption surprises me, Goodman. You’re the one who flipped on our agreement, and you have the nerve to come to me and accuse me of being a murderer? Tsk, tsk, tsk. I thought higher of you. Unless you thought that little thing,” he said and glanced at the floor and the broken devices, “would get through and catch me in the act. You’re either the dumbest person alive or you really have no regard for your life.”