“What?”
“Jimmy is mine,” he clarified. “But he won’t be alone, you take care of whoever he’s with,” he said.
“I got you,” I said, ripping back the safety as the truck rolled to a stop. The driver opened his door, and I moved to pop him, but Jack grabbed my cut.
“Do not make a move until I give you the word,” he whispered, eyes glued to the Escalade.
“What word would that be?” I asked, wondering when we decided to use code before we started killing fuckers. If Jack started barking like a fucking dog, I was hanging up my cut. Two men flocked to Jimmy’s side, and they started for Sanchez.
“Fuck it, just go,” Jack said, releasing his grip on my cut.
“Thanks,” I muttered, walking out from behind the crate. I eyed Bones across the yard and he nodded, stepping out from behind the container he was hiding behind.
Two shots.
One from my gun.
One from Bones.
Jimmy’s men dropped and as the sick fuck looked at his men, Jack’s fist wrapped around the gold chains on his neck and yanked him back.
See ya, motherfucker!
We kept moving.
Never stopping.
Not until we had Blackie and Reina.
I would be living off of cherry fucking pie when this shit was over.
We rode our bikes to Vic’s club, Temptations, the fucking place where all this shit started, the same place it would all end.
Mike pulled Jimmy from the cage, spitting in the sorry fuck’s face as Bianci unlocked the boarded up club and threw him inside.
“He’s all yours,” Anthony said, holding the door open for Jack.
A duffel bag on each arm, Jack glanced around at all of us before following Jimmy inside of the club.
“See you on the other side,” he said, disappearing into the club as Anthony shut the door.
We waited outside while Jack got his revenge on that son of a bitch and prayed he wouldn’t kill him before he got the location of where Blackie and Reina were. Jack took his time, making Jimmy pay for all his sins, and that bastard had many.
Slow torture.
It was the best kind.
The only kind.
Finally he emerged from the club, wiping the blood from his glove covered hands on Jimmy’s beloved fur coat.
“I got the location. Give it a minute or two. When he screams put the fire out and leave the drugs next to his body. Then call Jones, he and his partner are waiting on word to make the arrest,” he said, making his plan clear. He was setting Jimmy up to take the fall with the Red Dragons.
Smart move.
If only it worked.
“Tell Vic, a deal is a deal and when I give my word, I don’t go against it,” Jack added.
Ah, so “Tony Soprano” would be the one to deliver this fuck his fate.
Props.
“Riggs, gonna need a hand,” he added, splaying the blood covered coat on the curb like the piece of trash it was and climbed onto his bike.
“I got you,” I replied, as Jimmy’s screams echoed off the walls of the abandoned night club.
Keep moving.
It’s almost over.
Chapter Seventeen
The longest twenty-four hours of my fucking life but I was still going, still breathing, still fighting because I was a goddamn Knight and it was my duty.
I brushed my shoulders off and kept moving.
We arrived at the location and the shit was real bad, worse than I ever imagined. Jimmy had been shooting Blackie up with heroin, making him re-enact his wife’s death. Sick fuck. I hope Jack gave him everything he deserved.
Reina was gagged and bound to a chair and the both of them looked like they were knocking on death's door.
I ran to Blackie who lay lifeless on the concrete floor while Jack ran to Reina. She’d survive but our vice president barely had a pulse.
“He’s not breathing. What do I do?” I hollered over my shoulder at Jack who had untied Reina.
“Catch,” he ordered.
I dropped Blackie’s wrist and held my hands out to catch the vile and syringe he threw me.
“What the fuck is this?” I asked frantically.
“Naloxone, you need to inject it into his muscle and administer CPR,” he explained, grabbing his phone. “Riggs, do it! He’s going to die,” he bellowed.
I took a deep breath, unpacking the new syringe and popping the top off the glass vile of the Naloxone.
“I need an ambulance,” he barked into the phone before looking back at me. “Fill it to 1 CC,” he instructed.
I did as he told me, filling the syringe and ripped the shirt from his bicep. I felt around for the hardest piece of muscle, and without hesitation slammed the needle into his flesh and released the Naloxone.
I pulled the empty syringe from his arm and looked back at Jack.
“Now what?”
“Breathe for him,” he yelled.
It’s funny how you don’t think you’re paying attention to things, like the CPR lesson I took ten years ago, but I guess some shit just sticks with you.