Page 85 of Dragonfly

While his guy inches closer to the door, getting into position, Winter starts to saunter over toward Liz. “She got this idea that I’d kill your wife. Rough you up a bit, too, so she could be the heroic doctor who saves you. Everyone will think that Savannah Libellula was the target because she’ll show up dead, but Damien won’t. But, see, that doesn’t suit my plan at all. I didn’t come this far so that Damien could continue taking out my men.

“As it is, his should be roaches instead of Dragonflies. There’s so fucking many of them. Kill one, two more take their place. Kill an enforcer? And the rest scatter around the city, searching for the one who disappeared him off the streets.”

“Oliver,” I hiss. “You’re talking about Oliver?”

“Was that his name? Silly me. I got him to spill his guts about everything I wanted to know before he, well, spilled his guts. I guess it just never occurred to me to ask him his name.”

Psycho. Jimmy Winter is a full-on psychopath.

And he knows about Savannah.

Worse, unless Vin brought a different woman with black hair across town, she’s here.

I can never let this fucker know how close my wife is. Vin… he can take care of himself. Savannah, though… no amount of self-defense can prepare her for something like this.

“Anyway,” he says, smug in the way he’s monologuing like a stereotypical villain. “That means Damien has to die. Sorry. But he couldn’t just die. He needed to look like the Devil of Springfield decided there won’t be any more truce. So Link beats the shit out of him on Sinner territory, puts a bullet in his skull, and, whoops, a good citizen finds him in an empty store. Now the Dragonflies just have to retaliate for their leader, and next thing you know? No Sinners. No Dragonflies.”

I spit on the ground, cutting him off. “Just Snowflakes? That it, Winter.”

He touches his belly, then bows his head. “And to think the great Damien Libellula knows how I am. I’m honored. Especially since I’ll be the one to finish you off.”

“He’s coming, boss,” says the bald man at the door.

“But I wasn’t done revealing my plan. And, yes, I know that it’s so terribly cliche, but since I rarely get to talk to someone who understands what it means to sacrifice everything for his family… you can’t blame me, can you, Damien?”

I sure the fuck can.

“I know, boss. But he’s a big guy?—”

“Very well. Get in position,” orders Winter.

The bald soldier nods, then backs up. His gun is steady. I hold my breath, the beginning of an oversized shadow falling in front of the door. The sun is setting, so that might throw me off, but the soldier has perfect aim.

He shoots. Fires. I hear a thud—Vin hitting the sidewalk—then one more shot. I dig my fingers in the wood of the chair, vowing that I’ll destroy every last person in this room if my cousin is dead.

I can’t tell. Winter waves his hand. The bald man holsters his gun, then darts outside. Another one of the three soldiers joins him. With each of them hefting a leg, they drag Vin in through the door, then close it behind his unmoving body.

From this angle, I can’t tell what damage has been done. They didn’t do a headshot—which gives me a tiny sliver of hope—but because I can’t see the injuries, I refuse to react.

That’s what Winter wants, after all. He wants to see me hurt before he takes me out, all so he can start a war between the Libelulla Family and the Sinners Syndicate.

I don’t react.

Liz does.

Pushing away from where she’d been hiding in her corner, she hurries for Vin’s body.

Winter sighs. “No. Don’t. Stop. Wait.” It’s a flat, emotionless voice, like he’s doing his best impression of Willy fucking Wonka. But because he is a psycho, he doesn’t really want her to stop.

The amusement playing in his green eyes makes that clear.

“Ah, well…” He raises his gun, aiming it at her back.

She keeps running.

“Shoulder,” Winter says, an obvious mockery of Elizabeth’s shrill shout earlier, before bang.

She crumples up on the floor.

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