AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“How the fuck do you know that?”
“An old case. Learned a thing or two. So whoever you’re looking for is left-handed, and I don’t believe anyone in this room is left-handed.” Higham casts his eyes around, and everyone looks at their hands. “The Brit, The Enigma, and The American was theirs,” he says, almost wistful. “So, naturally, the officer leading the case was thrilled to hear my verdict that proved you three get to live another day.”
I laugh under my breath. “The American,” I muse, casting my eyes over to Brad. “They only started calling you that because of me. You know, what goes with The Brit?” I smile. “The American.”
“You got a hard-on?” he asks, unimpressed.
“I’ll see myself out.” Higham goes to the door and opens it, looking back. “Obviously you’ll keep me in the loop.”
I smile. It’s dark. “Obviously.”
The door closes and my smile drops. “Fuck.” I slam my fist down on the desk.
“We need to find out where someone would go if they couldn’t get guns from us.” Brad goes to the door and opens it, looking up and down the corridor to make sure Higham’s gone.
“You’d go to Bernard King,” Otto says, pulling stunned looks from everyone.
“What?” I murmur. Bernard King is based in London. If you’re in the States, you do not go to Britain for guns. “Are we talking about the same Bernard King?” I ask.
“The savage who cuts off his enemies dicks and feeds them to his hellhounds?” Brad asks. “The beast who eats fingers like chicken dippers?”
I laugh, head thrown back, and Brad smiles. Pops told us the story more than once. Bernard King is a savage, double-crossing bastard with absolutely no scruples. The message was clear. Never do business with Bernard King. The stories are endless. “The man who—when in the armed forces—survived on an artic mountain top for five weeks because he ate the rest of the platoon?”
“That’s the one,” Otto says. “The one who also flew into Miami a few months ago.”
“Say what?” I murmur.
“Are you telling me a Brit is moving in on another Brit’s turf?” Brad laughs through his question.
“He’s a Brit,” I seethe. “I’m The Brit.”
“God, you’re a diva.”
James lowers to a chair, looking shell-shocked. “He went after my father.” He glances at Otto. “Is he still in the game? What is he, sixty?”
“Fifty-nine.” Otto turns the screen of his laptop, revealing an ox of a man. “And still a beast.”
“Isn’t he just?” I lean in. The man has muscles on muscles on muscles. “Why’d he go after your dad?”
“Ego,” James says, thoughtful. “My dad was a businessman. King’s only ever been a thug.”
“So does that mean King thinks you’re dead?” I ask. Fucking hell, this could get even messier.
The Enigma is suddenly in the room, and I can’t say I’m particularly happy to see him. “I doubt it,” James says. “Everyone on our side of the world knows who I am and where I’ve come from.”
“James,” Brad says quietly, placing a daring hand on his shoulder, while I watch Otto observing James with a quiet wariness I hate. “Is there something you want to tell us?”
Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear? Otto looks nervous. I feel nervous. We all wait, bracing ourselves, pensive, really fucking worried. “Nothing at all,” he eventually says. Is he telling us or himself? “I need to get back to Beau.” He leaves sharpish, and I look at Otto for an answer. I don’t get one. But I do get handed a new phone. How the fuck does he do that?
“Thanks.”
“I’ll let you know if I find anything on the old one.”
I slip it into my pocket. “What did Bernard King do, Otto?”
Pouting through his massive beard, he pulls his T-shirt up, revealing a long, jagged scar. “This. James’s dad had a matching one.”
“Oh fuck.” I stare at the old wound as Brad moves in and inspects the damage.
