Chapter Twenty-Six: Hannah
The door to the hallway opened with a bang, and Richie barreled through it like a raging bull. He flung up the pass-through, stormed behind the bar, and grabbed my arm so tightly I winced and tried to pull away, but he held on like a pit bull.
“What the hell, Richie?” Hank asked, rising from his stool.
Richie gave him a look that would have cowered most men, but Hank moved toward us. Several of the other men looked concerned, but none of them would dare intervene in any of Richie’s activities, even if they involved me. Their welcome in this place was the only thing that got them through the day.
“Sit the fuck down, Hank, or I’ll knock you down,” Richie growled.
I held up my hand, and Hank sat reluctantly.
“What’s wrong?” My mind raced with all sorts of possibilities. Surely the armored car hadn’t been intercepted? Something bad had happened, but still, I had no idea why Richie would think to take it out on me when Butch had been the one to fail him.
The image of Danny flashed in my mind. Had Danny fucked up? Was Richie going to blame me?
“Shut up. You’re coming with me.”
“Richie.” My face snapped toward the deep voice. “You need to leave her alone.”
“It’s okay, Jonell,” I said, trying desperately to keep Richie from harming anyone.
“No, Hannah, it’s not okay.” Jonell started to move closer, and before anyone could move or help or stop him, Richie pulled a gun from his waistband and shot Jonell in the head.
The man dropped to the floor, and the music died. Tiffany slowly slid to the bottom of the pole and burst into tears. Tears flowed from my eyes too.
Richie waved the gun. “Everyone get the fuck out of here before I use all these bullets and reload.”
Chairs squealed along the floor and fell as people lurched from tables. Several men grabbed the dancers and half carried them to the door. Others knocked against tables as they ran, and Spinner vaulted over his booth and bolted for the door.
In the moment of quiet after the chaos, Richie turned to me and quietly said, “Get your goddamned keys.” He pointed the gun at me.
I grabbed my purse, and he dragged me through the pass-through, and though I dug in my heels, he managed to get me through the door and to the stairwell.
“Up,” he ordered.
I shook my head.
He pushed me, and I staggered, falling to my knees on the bottom steps. Pain radiated through my legs, firing all the nerve endings in sizzling agony. More tears rose in my eyes, and he pushed me again.
“I said up, you fucking bitch.”
I crawled up a few steps and then managed to get to my feet and make it the rest of the way. I gritted my teeth against the pain, and knowing I had no other choice, I rooted in my purse for the keys to my apartment. My fingers encountered the flash drives, and all of a sudden, I knew. He thought I’d sold him out.
“Richie, can’t—”
He shoved me against the door, and my shoulder flared in hot pain. “Shut your mouth.”
He ripped the keys from my hand and, fumbling a bit as he got the right keys, shoved them into each lock. When he slammed the door open, he kicked me, and I went flying into the apartment, crashing onto the coffee table face first. The taste of blood filled my mouth, and for a moment, I saw black. I groaned and rolled off the table to sprawl on the floor.
Richie slammed the door and stared down at me, a sadist about to unleash on an unsuspecting victim. How had I never seen this part of Richie directed at me? Only a man who had cruel thoughts, who felt all others beneath him, treated a person like this. I’d thought perhaps I might be the one person in his life he had some emotion for, but now I realized all of those emotions were as cold and vile as the rest of him.
He lifted his foot and jammed it toward me. My eyes snapped closed as I prayed, but nothing happened. Nothing touched me. His laughter filled my ears.
“It’s not going to be that easy, bitch. Get up.”
I pushed myself to my elbows and managed to get to my feet.
He leaned close to me and quietly said, “You’re going to tell me what went wrong.”
My lip hurt, and I touched it to find my fingers smeared with blood. I reached for the Kleenex box on the table, but he grabbed my wrist and squeezed. My bones crunched beneath his fingers.
“What did you do?” he snarled. He gave a little twist, and I cried out, my knees buckling as more pain flooded my body.
“I don’t know, Richie,” I said, gasping. “I didn’t do anything.”
He shook my arm, and I flinched. “Goddamn it, O’Shea is a fucking cop! And you knew that, didn’t you? Did you give him the details? Did you read those messages? I’m going to kill you so slowly you’ll see your heart still beating when it’s ripped into pieces.”
“I didn’t know, Richie,” I said again. They were the only words I could remember. Danny had never told me he was a cop. I felt betrayed, alone, left to face the hard truth that he used me to get closer to Richie. Everything had been a lie. I had no one and nothing.
Richie shoved me onto the floor and loomed above me. He grabbed a lamp from the end table, and the cord whipped across my face in a painful slash. He screamed and hurled it at the wall. Ceramic pieces exploded, raining down on me.
I lay there and waited to die.