All That Matters (43 page)

“You really think that matters to us?” Train asked. “There's only one way you're leaving this room.”

“You want the blood of an innocent woman on your hands?”

“The blood wouldn't be on my hands. It'll be on yours.” Train didn't lower his gun even as he recognized the woman as the owner of the lingerie shop Meg liked so much. “Are you really that much of a pussy that you've got to hide behind a woman?”

“This isn't on me. This is on you,” Gagliardi insisted. “I was perfectly clear that Carlos was not to be touched! Not a hair on his head. He was my son! My legacy.” At that, the woman let out a snort of laughter. “Shut up, little bitch.”

“You're wrong. We had nothing to do with what happened to Carlos, which isn't to say that we're not pleased he's dead. We are pleased, very pleased, in case you were wondering.” Buster stepped forward. “If you'd have taken the time to ask, we'd have told you that from the start, and all of this could have been avoided.”

“Like I believe that,” Gagliardi snarled. “And if it wasn't you, who? He had no enemies.”

“I find that really hard to believe,” Train said. Buster shot him a look, probably he should just keep quiet, but fuck that. Fuck Gagliardi. “All the shit he did, I'm sure that he had plenty of enemies.”

“The whore from the videos, she's your old lady, right? It was probably you who did it. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right now,” Gagliardi bellowed.

Train felt no fear. He stared the man right in the eyes, watched as he squirmed. “Can't shoot me and the girl at once. Looks like you're going to need to make a decision, big man.” He knew what Gagliardi would choose. It wasn't the first time he'd had a gun on him and probably wouldn't be the last. The woman stood there, stunned for a moment when Gagliardi released her. Train saw Monroe move forward, grab her by the arm and pull her towards the door. “I didn't kill your son. If it had been me, I'd have made it a whole lot harder than a bullet to the head in bed.” Train smirked as Gagliardi started to sputter; whatever threats he wanted to say tripped over one another. When combined with the way that he was sweating and his red face, it was actually a little comical.

Finally, the man regained his voice. “Like I said, why shouldn't I just shoot you right now? Sure, your guys will kill me after, but I don't imagine that you came here so we can braid each other's hair.”

“He's not the one who killed him.” Train's head whipped to the side at the sound of the female voice. He'd all but forgotten about the woman, whom he'd assumed Monroe had taken out the door. If he had, she'd come back, which took a certain level of balls. Things were about to get a little more interesting, and he wasn't sure what to expect.

“What do you know about it?” Gagliardi sneered at the woman.

“More than you think, Dad.” She walked forward so that she was between Nightshade and Gagliardi. “I watched and waited for so many nights for him to be alone. He didn't like to sleep alone, apparently, but that night, he did. And I did what I had to do.”

“You bitch. You fucking bitch.” Gagliardi shifted the gun to her. “He's your brother, your blood. How could you do that to him?” The look in his eyes let Train know that he was preparing to fire.

Train glanced over to Buster, who nodded. He knew what he had to do. Before Gagliardi could pull the trigger, Train beat him to it. The shot hit his kneecap straight on, and the man's considerable weight worked against him. He crumpled to the ground and let out a series of inhuman screams.

“Someone shut him up,” Buster suggested. Caesar moved forward, crouched down and bound Gagliardi's wrists with a set of zip ties. He shoved something into Gagliardi's mouth. Buster nodded his approval and turned his attention to the woman. “What's your name, sweetheart? I feel like I know you from somewhere.”

“You've been in my shop, Love and Lace. I'm Drea. What happens now?” Drea looked to be in her thirties, with long dark hair and tan skin. She was dressed in an outfit that Train could imagine Meg wearing: jeans, boots and a thick down jacket. Her eyes were wide; she was scared but she wasn't cowering even as they all stepped closer to her.

“He dies,” Train informed her. “Something tells me that you don't have a problem with that.”

“Something tells you right,” she replied. “I was here to kill him, and then the power went out and the lot of you showed up. The way I see it, you're just saving me the trouble.”

“And why is it that you're in the mood to commit patricide?” Buster beat Train to asking the question they were all thinking.

“All due respect, that's none of your business. I'll leave him to you to handle, I should go.” She began to edge towards the door, like they were actually going to let her leave. Train had to smother a laugh at that. There was no way she was just going to stroll out of here without giving them more than that.

“How do we know that you're not going to leave here and call the cops?” Buster looked almost amused.

“Didn't I just confess to a murder of my own?” she pointed out. “I've got no desire to do jail time. I walk away. You all finish up here and everyone's good.”

“You said you were going to kill him,” Monroe questioned. “If that's the case, where's your weapon?”

All eyes were on the woman as she slid a switchblade out of her pocket and flipped it open. “You were going to kill that fat fuck with a five inch blade. It wouldn't even penetrate his blubber.” Train wasn't sure that he was buying what she was selling.

“I wasn't going to stab him in the blubber,” she snapped. “I was more thinking the throat or the eyes. Now, if we're done here, I really need to go. I'm not looking for trouble.”

“Did you really kill Carlos?” Buster asked.

“Yes,” she replied as she flicked the knife closed. “Why do you care? I've got no problem with you. I'm not stupid.”

“I'm sure that's true. And I'm sure that you're smart. You can't really think that we're just going to let you stroll out of her citing 'it's personal' as your reason. The truth of it is, your actions led to the death of one of our own,” Buster told her.

“Is this the part where you threaten me? Save it. I never intended for anyone to get killed because of what I did to Carlos.”

“They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Buster's voice rose. “It doesn't matter if you intended for it to happen or not. It happened. There's no taking it back. You have to know that you can't just walk away from this without at least an explanation.”

“Fine. I really am expecting a delivery at the shop, so if we could do this later, I'd greatly appreciate it.”

“You're going to miss that delivery, sweetheart. Sorry.” Buster didn't seem to be the least bit sorry as far as Train could tell. Drea looked pissed, but she was smart enough not to push the point any further. “Take her to the clubhouse, Monroe.” Train lost interest in the conversation at that point because Gagliardi tried to move. He walked to stand over the man, drew his knife out of the sheath on his belt and wondered where exactly he should start. “Train, wait. Make it quick, we've been here too long already.”

Train knew by quick, Buster probably meant the gun, but that was too good for Gagliardi. He bent down, thrust the knife into the man's ample stomach over and over again. He felt the slick slide of blood over his hands, smelled that the man had soiled himself. It was a start. The wounds to the abdomen, and the internal organs which had been punctured and torn, would certainly kill the man, but it wasn't quite enough.

“Everyone get out.” Train reached into the zippered inside pocket of his jacket. He hadn't been sure what he'd need a grenade for, but it was always better to be prepared. Gagliardi was still aware enough to see what was in his hand and began to moan pitifully. The room cleared quickly. Train bent down, shoved the grenade into one of the gaping wounds made by his knife. He waited until he heard that the rest of Nightshade had hit the stairs before he pulled the pin.

Train turned and ran for all that he was worth. The explosion went off just as he reached the stairs. The floor shook, and he almost lost his footing. A second explosion followed, and he realized that there must have been something else in the room he hadn't seen. Oh well, as long as he and his brothers got out, he was good with the entire place coming down.

Everyone else was already in the trucks, ready to go. Train jumped into the back of Buster's SUV and they pulled off. “You're insane,” Bones said from the front seat.

“You already knew that. The fucker is dead. I think that the circumstances will please Amelia.”

“You're going to give her details?” Buster sounded skeptical.

“Yeah, that's what she asked for, so that's what she's going to get.” Train twisted to look out the back window, saw the plume of smoke coming from the warehouse. “She wanted it over, and it's over.”

“It's not over yet,” Buster corrected. “We've still got Gagliardi's daughter to deal with. How did we miss that?”

“No clue. Give me ten minutes with a computer and I'll tell you what her story is,” Bones promised. “I've got no clue how someone who looked like Gagliardi has a daughter that looks like her! He must have had a thing for Latina ladies.”

“I don't give a fuck what kind of woman he used to like. Find out what you can on her. Fast,” Buster ordered. “I'm tired of surprises.”

Train sat back and stayed quiet for the rest of the ride. The adrenaline of being in the thick of it had started to fade; his heart was back at a normal rhythm. Calm started to creep in as he realized that he could take Meg home. He knew that she'd be ready.

“Let her sweat until Bones tells me everything he can find. I don't want to sit down with her blind.” Buster looked like he expected Drea to make it difficult. She certainly could if she wanted to, but it would be a stupid move on her part.

When they got into the clubhouse, Train realized that Drea wasn't sweating at all. She was sitting with what seemed to be all the women, including Amelia, on one side of the room. The kids, under the watchful eye of Claire, played on the other side of the room with a table of arts and crafts supplies. “Well, so much for that idea,” Buster said with a chuckle. “I should have seen this coming, they all love that damn shop.”

“I love that shop,” Train told him. “You ever been in the back room?”

“Caroline blushes just at the mention of the back room, so no. I hear it's a pretty well-stocked place.”

“It is.” Train had to think of something else, or he was going to think of Meg in the little French maid uniform he'd bought for her, complete with a feather duster. With the current situation, it was still in the bag and he needed to change that and soon. “Let's see what she has to say.”

Amelia rose to her feet as they approached, her hands on her stomach. “Is it over? Are they dead?”

“Yes,” Train answered. “All of them.”

“Good,” Amelia said as she sat back down. “Good,” she repeated as she stroked her stomach.

“You ready to answer some questions, Drea?” Buster kept his tone light.

“Seems like as good a time as any,” she replied. “Here?”

“No,” Buster said. “Come on, we'll talk in the back room.”

The back room was used half for storage and as a half-assed office for them, where there was a computer and a landline phone. “Go on and sit,” Buster told her. “Let's start with why you killed Carlos.”

“Had you ever met him? He was a piece of shit, a predator.” Drea sat, looked down at her hands. “Let me go further back than that. It might help you understand.”

“We're listening.”

“Carlos and I didn't have the same mother. Last time I checked, my father had half a dozen other kids running around, all by different women. He wasn't one for keeping his dick in his pants, apparently. I had no idea who he even was until I was ten and my Nana died. The day after the funeral, my uncle showed up. I didn't know him, either, but he was the only one willing to take me.”

“Wait a second, where was your mother?” Ace asked.

“I never knew her either. With her, it wasn't by choice. She died having me. My nana raised me,” Drea spoke with little emotion, as if she were reciting a story she'd heard from someone else. “I met my father for the first time when I was at Uncle Tony's house for about a year. He came to visit, brought Carlos with him.”