The bitch was bleeding, and that was good.
Max had started out this journey thinking it would be a relatively easy task. Gun down a few cops, murder anyone who stood in his way. If things had been that simple, he wouldn’t now be driving to the other place. The place where his old life had been left behind.
“I need medical attention,” Helen whined from the back seat.
“Wrong. You need the coroner.”
“Then just kill me and have it done.”
“Not a chance. You don’t get off that lightly.”
They continued toward the yard. Back at the club, he’d promised to bring her here. The men he’d enlisted to help him were following shortly behind, though out of sight. They were a damn good team, too. Max highly admired their ability to blend in with Helen’s day-to-day life, drip-feeding him information as and when he needed it. It had been – for want of a better word – advantageous. Sure, they’d had to play it sneaky for the longest time, but that had paid off in a big way. Now Helen belonged to him, for as long as her life would last.
“Please,” she begged from the back seat, weaker this time.
Max just smiled and kept his eyes on the road. It wasn’t long before she saw what all this was about. Why her husband had gone down so violently, and why those others had been sent to their graves without a second left for remorse. Soon, she would know the truth.
Then the rest of them could die, too.