The thug behind him shoved the gun into his temple when he didn’t immediately obey. “You heard him, Hebert. Sit the fuck down.”
That he recognized the gunman’s voice should have been a surprise, but it wasn’t. He lifted his chin defiantly. He didn’t want to sit. He’d die standing.
A sad sigh from behind him signaled the presence of a third man. “You should’ve let it go, Rocky. Please, sit down. It’ll go easier for you this way.”
Rocky tensed. He knew that voice, too. But it couldn’t be... Except that it was. “No,” he whispered, the weight of betrayal too heavy to bear.
He slumped into his chair, trying to remember all the good times he and Lili had shared around this table over their years together. All the birthdays, the holidays, the anniversaries. Her last meal.
Anything but this treachery.
Rocky was barely aware of his gun being removed from its holster, being laid on the table just out of his reach. The barrel of the pistol disappeared from his temple and the man gripped his nose, pinching it shut, forcing his head back.
Rocky struggled, but he was no match for the strong hand that held him immobile. He tried to resist when a glass was pressed to his lips, tried to keep his mouth closed, tried not to let a drop in. But eventually he had to breathe, and the liquid burned his mouth, his throat. All the way down.
He hadn’t had a drink in three years and the fact that the taste was like an old friend shamed him.
The table began to sway, the face of the man in Lili’s chair blurring.
There must be more than booze in this glass.
His last thought was that Gabe was going to think he’d broken his promise. That he’d broken his sobriety. I’m sorry, son. I’m so damn sorry.