Risking it All (Crossing the Line, #1)(78)

Bowen stared through unseeing eyes as the crates containing stolen computer hardware were loaded into the backs of rented vans. Some had been provided by Hogan, some by him and his men. They worked in complete silence, tension thick in the air. Nighttime had fallen hours earlier, but to Bowen it had been dark much longer. His body felt tired, as if he’d expended actual, physical energy trying to block out thoughts of Sera and her betrayal. Had it even been a betrayal? He’d known she was a cop since the beginning. There’d been a dawning

apprehension

when

she

wouldn’t talk to him, let him help her with his eyes wide open. Maybe he deserved to feel like this. Like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his ribs and left him to rot.

God, he was one pathetic son of a bitch. He should be thinking about getting the stolen merchandise to the distributer in Queens, out of his hands.

All he could think of was her. Was she safe? Had her feelings been genuine or had it all been in his f*cked-up brain?

Perhaps he’d taken one too many punches and these were the gruesome side effects. Seeing things that weren’t there. Hoping for a future that was laughable for someone like him. His future had been mapped out before he entered this world. It had been stupid of him to lose sight of that.

An image of Sera sitting on his windowsill, bathed in sunshine as she sipped coffee, hit him hard and it took an effort not to double over and shout until his vocal cords gave out. On its heels followed the sensation of her fingers sifting through his hair, the husky sound of her voice telling him he felt so good inside her. How long? How long could he live like this? A hole gaped in his chest, yawning wider by the moment. He knew if she were standing in front of him just then, he would beg her to let him try again. Beg her to come with him when he left Brooklyn.

He had to leave. For so many reasons, not the least of which was the beautiful girl he’d left tied to a pool stick rack this morning. No, there was more. The end was coming. A tingling at the back of his neck that didn’t go away anymore. It had graduated to a roaring in his ears, and combined with his grief over losing Sera, threatened to kill him on its own.

An invisible weapon, instead of a real one. Part of him would rather take the bullet he suspected he had coming than to let this gut-wrenching feeling drag him under. It would be quicker and less painful. Merciful, really.

Ten yards away, Hogan blew warm air into his hands and rubbed them together, nighttime having brought a cold front. Beside him stood Connor and two other men Bowen knew only by sight.

Wayne stood by the van with a clipboard, making sure they were receiving their fair share of the merchandise, but Bowen could feel the constant glances in his direction.

Wayne’s edginess should have made him nervous, warned him to be on guard, but he couldn’t steer himself in that direction. It was hard enough to stand there acting like a normal, functioning human being when all he wanted to do was give up.

There. Now that he’d allowed the thought loose inside his head, it ran wild. His plan involved him driving to Queens tonight with Wayne, getting paid for the score, taking his cut, and giving the rest to Wayne. From there, he would go…where? God, anywhere. It hadn’t mattered when he’d formulated the plan in a fit of restlessness. Now he didn’t know if he could execute it. Since he could remember, his life had felt like one endless tightrope walk, and now that he’d finally lost his balance and fallen, there didn’t seem like any point in getting back up. Not without her.

His heart squeezed in his chest, so goddamn hard he had to suck in a breath.

Distraction. He needed a distraction fast or he would self-destruct. Bowen cleared his throat and walked toward Hogan. “All done here. Same time next month?” There wouldn’t be a next time for him, not if he got out of town as planned, but letting anyone know would be suicide.

“Yeah, about that…”

Behind Bowen, there was a series of doors slamming, then all four vans peeled out, leaving him standing alone on the dock with Hogan and Connor.

Wayne had come to stand behind him.

Behind him, not beside him. Three against one. It hit him immediately and with zero shock. This was it. Finally. He was about to die. Jesus, he was f*cking relieved. He wouldn’t have to live with these thoughts much longer, these memories. Although right now, when presented with the prospect of his own death, it felt like a travesty that any memory

of

Sera

would

go

unremembered. That they would die with him. He wished he could have had a little bit longer to paint them on his walls, to keep them alive the only way he knew how.

Bowen nodded once, letting them know he knew what was happening. If he was going out tonight, he’d go out with his pride. “Let’s not draw this out, Hogan. Don’t take this the wrong way, but your voice isn’t the last thing I want to hear.”

Cold gunmetal pressed against the back of his head. “How about mine, kid?”

“Even less.” Bowen shifted on the balls of his feet, body tensing.

Interesting. Some part of him wasn’t entirely resigned to his fate. His fighter’s nature was rising to the surface, a knee-jerk reaction to being threatened. All of a sudden, he was back in his father’s car in Coney Island, scanning the beach through eyes swollen shut, being forced to pick out an opponent. Digging deep inside and finding a spark among the ashes, he fanned it to life. He could hear his father’s voice, shouting at him, telling him to suck it up. Then he saw Sera. Sera, Sera, Sera. How could he go without knowing she was okay? No, he couldn’t. Not without seeing it with his own eyes. Even just to catch one final look at her from a distance. “Hey, Wayne. Can we avoid the head? I know this is a hit and there’s a tradition you want to uphold, but there’s no reason to f*ck up my hair.”