Chapter Twenty-Three
DREW
“Where?”
“FM fifty-five. My men are waiting for you.”
Casting a side-eye at Ayda, I knew I was caught between a rock and a hard place. There was no way we could head back to The Hut, not now everything in Babylon was finally coming to a head. If I dropped Ayda off at the side of the road and told her to make her own way back, anyone could grab her. If The Navs had gotten hold of Eric, they’d be able to throw Ayda in the back of a van without worry. I couldn’t even drop her at a motel. For all I knew, Trigger had Walsh’s BMW rigged up with a camera the same way Owen Sinclair had set up our yard, bikes, and home.
She had to stay with me, no matter what. At least this way I had a chance of keeping her safe rather than setting her free to fend for herself.
I smacked a hard palm against the steering wheel, my growl of anger shameless.
Trigger laughed down the line. “You always make this too easy.”
“I will fuck you up, Trigger. I will fucking end you.”
‘I can’twait.See you soon, Tucker. Don’t kill my cargo before you get here. I’d hate to have to do the same to your old man.” The sound of something hitting something else rang out, like a swift kick to a body, and it was soon followed by a deep, painful groan, one I instantly recognized as Eric’s.
That sound made my stomach twist with nausea.
Nobody else.
I couldn’t lose anybody else.
Snatching the phone from Ayda, I ended the call and threw the cell in the footwell by her feet, crying out in rage, “Motherfucker!”
“You think this car is rigged?” she asked quietly, glancing back at Walsh. “I don’t want to make it worse by saying something more if they can hear us.”
I caught Walsh’s eye in the rearview, watching his slow, smug smirk creep into place, and his brows rise.
“Let’s find out, shall we?” I spun the car to the side of the road, coming to a sharp stop. There was no time to waste as I turned in my seat, leaned into the back and grabbed Walsh by the throat, squeezing it tight with one hand while my other came up to press a thumb on his gunshot wound.
His cry was high-pitched and wild, his face scrunching tight as the pain took over.
“Seeing stars yet, fucker?” I pushed out through gritted teeth, my eyes practically bleeding with venom.
“Argh!” he hissed, his pain a noise I wanted to drown in. “Stop, Tucker. Fuck.”
Walsh tried to push me off him, but my fingers were pulsing and my rage wanted to snap his neck in one move. I wanted his blood on my hands and to feel nothing but pride that I was the one who caused him so much agony.
“What thefuckhas Trigger got on you?”
“I…” Walsh groaned again. “I can’t… talk….”
Releasing my hold on his neck, I let him drag a sharp breathin, my hand hovering there. “You have twenty seconds.”
He coughed hard, his head rolling back. I may have let him breathe, but the pain he’d be feeling in that gunshot wound alone should have been enough to knock him out as I pressed on it.
“He’ll want me dead,” Walsh croaked. “But he’ll want me dead by his own hands, not yours.”
“Why?”
“Because he hatesyou. He hates you more than he wants me dead.”
My nostrils flared like a bull ready to charge—my body surging with adrenaline as I pressed hard on Walsh’s throat again. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now just to piss him off.”
“Do it.” Walsh hit back, his eyes widening. “If you kill me, Trigger will kill Eric, and then my death will be worth it. It’ll all have been worth it.”