𝗙𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗩𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗮 𝗨𝗻𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲.
𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐞
I am the judge, the jury, and the executioner.
Francesca "Frank" Monroe. One of the most successful criminal defense attorneys in the history of Illinois. The woman everyon...
"To exact revenge for yourself or your friends is not only a right, it's an absolute duty."
- Stieg Larsson
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Once I was damn sure we were out of the shitstorm with the Colombians, I packed my stuff, grabbed Theodore, and got the hell out of that hotel.
The drive back was quiet for the most part, but Theodore couldn't keep his damn gratitude to himself. "Hector, I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you for what you did," he said, breaking the silence.
I kept my eyes on the road, playing it cool, even though I felt like hell. "You're family, Theo. I'd never take your safety lightly."
The words came easy, but inside, I was falling apart. Every damn breath felt like razor blades, and the bullet lodged somewhere in my gut was a fiery reminder that I was only human. Blood was soaking through my shirt, but no way in hell was I letting Theodore notice.
When we pulled up to the mansion, I opened the door for him. "Stay inside, Theo. I've got some shit to handle," I said, forcing a casual tone.
He looked at me, weary as hell. "Thank you, Hector," he murmured, putting a hand on my shoulder.
I nearly bit my tongue to keep from wincing but covered it up with a cough. "Always, Theo. Family's family."
As soon as he was safe inside, I peeled out, heading straight to Goat's place-our not-so-official medical spot. The whole drive, I clutched my bleeding side, gritting my teeth and muttering every curse I knew about those Colombian bastards.
By the time I stumbled out of the car, my legs were shaky as hell, and my vision blurred with pain. Goat and Tommy were already waiting by the door.
"Christ, Hector," Tommy said, grabbing me before I fell on my ass. "You just can't stay out of trouble, can you?"
"Not in my fucking DNA," I managed, panting as I leaned into him. "Let's get this over with. Oh, and Goat-don't you dare let Mom or Maddie hear about this."
Goat sighed like a guy who'd been through this shit too many times. And he had. "Yeah, yeah. Bullet wound protocol. Same drill as always."
"Appreciate you keeping my file updated," I muttered with a weak smirk, even though every damn step felt like a knife twisting in my side.
Inside, Tommy dropped his bag on the table, already digging through it. He glanced at Goat. "Got any whiskey?"
Goat blinked. "Top shelf."
But I wasn't waiting. I snagged a half-empty bottle from the liquor cabinet and took a long, burning swig, my hands shaking like hell.
Tommy yanked the bottle from me and got to work cleaning around the wound. He grimaced at the bloody mess. "This is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch, Hector."
"No shit," I muttered, bracing myself on the couch.
As Tommy started digging the bullet out, I gripped the sides of the couch so hard I thought I'd snap the damn thing. Goat poured himself a drink, watching the whole thing like he needed the liquid courage more than I did.
