Page 17 of Secret (Chicago Underground 6)
As usual, two men preceded him. They pulled me up from the chair, flanking me on either side. Their fingers were like iron bands cutting into my arms.
Without looking at me, Henri strolled to the window. He looked out at the pitiful display and snorted.
“This would never have happened if you had stayed put, you realize.”
If he blamed me for his turn in fortune, he was delusional…and giving me far more credit than I deserved. Still, it wouldn’t save me. Nothing could, in the face of his wrath.
He pulled a gun out. With a handkerchief, he wiped the barrel of the weapon. He was a showman, and so was I.
“Why are you doing this?” My voice shook.
He looked over at me, his mouth a flat line. “You can do better than that, Shelly.”
“Please,” I whispered, not knowing whether the plea was real or fake, finally realizing it didn’t matter at all. When I said the words, they became real. When I lived the lie, it became me.
He pointed the gun at my chest.
This was it. I swallowed hard. There was no escape, no one to distract him. Nothing at all to barter with. He knew I’d never work for him again. My body was useless to him, my mind hardened against him. My life, forfeit.
The metal was cold. His eyes were cold. What a mess it would make.
“Why her?” I whispered.
“Why you?” he said. “Eat or get eaten. That is the choice we all face. Look at Jade. She was one of you before. The prey. Now she is like me. Predator.”
But Jade didn’t look like a predator. She looked hunted. There was another way out. Marguerite had done it. She was neither predator nor prey but her own person, one of pride and mercy, and she didn’t conform to Henri’s animal kingdom. She operated outside of it, tearing down its structures with her very presence.
“You’re wrong,” I said, a little stronger. Because I could be like her, even here, facing death. Circumstances would batter me, but they wouldn’t break me.
As if to prove me right, he told the men, “Let her go.”
I was sure I hadn’t heard him right, until they did. Both men released me, and I wobbled on my feet.
Henri held the gun out in the flat of his palm. “Take it.”
My gaze slid to the guys beside me. They looked as confused as I felt, but they knew better than to question him. Unlike me.
“Why?” I challenged. “So you’ll have an excuse to kill me? So you can say it was in self-defense?”
“I don’t need an excuse to kill you,” he said gently, as if explaining it to a child. “I’m giving you the chance to become the predator. Take it,” he repeated.
Gingerly, I picked up the gun. Though I was hardly well practiced, my hands fell into the proper arrangement. Right fist around the base. Left hand pointed down. Only put your finger on the trigger when you’re ready to shoot.
I aimed it at Henri’s heart, finger on the trigger. The men beside me tensed. If I killed Henri, they would kill me. For some insane reason, he had put his life in my hands, but he had second-strike capabilities here. If he went down, so did I, and in that way, our fortunes were still tied together.
My hands were shaking. Marguerite wanted me to do this. So did Jade. Why did it fall to me? I wasn’t strong enough. They had made a mistake putting their trust in me.
My finger tightened on the trigger. I pulled. A loud bang. The recoil.
Henri smiled. “Good girl.”
Relief claimed me. A blank. It had been a blank, and Henri wasn’t dead. It was perverse to wish him well, but he had already turned me into a prostitute. It was a relief that he hadn’t also turned me into a murderer.
It didn’t hurt that I also got to live.
Henri took the gun from my limp fingers. He turned it back to my forehead and shot—one, two, three. All blanks, though the sound was real and terrifying. Each shot sent a puff of hot air from the barrel to the center of my forehead.
I slid to the ground, a boneless, breathless puddle.
