“You boys hear me?”said Tanner. They all nodded, tapping their comms.“Tomas Giamanco is sitting across from you in the corner with three bodyguards. They are armedand appear willing to die for their boss. The good news is the bouncers are not armed.”
“You’re the man, Tanner,” smirked Gator. Red looked at him and frowned.
“Who’s Tanner?”
“A friend,” smiled Gator. “Let’s go.”
Red stood, following the massive figure of the man to the corner table. As they got closer, Red recognized one of the men as the man who knocked on their apartment door.
Two of the bodyguards stood, hands on their weapons.
“Don’t come any closer. Mr. Giamanco doesn’t see clients.”
“Mr. Giamanco is going to change his mind,” said Gator. The old man chuckled, giving a nod to his bodyguards. He had no idea that he’d just signed their death warrants.
While Gator stood still, staring the man down, Patrick, Christopher, Wes, and Ham leveled the three bodyguards. Dead. Lying on the floor in their own blood and broken bones. When the bouncers started to come toward them, Ham turned and shook a finger at them.
“Alright. You have my attention,” said Giamanco.
“I thought we might,” said Gator. “Who is the buyer for Marissa Jordan?” Giamanco stiffened looking at them, then down at his phone.
“Feel free to call a lifeline,” smirked Ham. “We’ll wait.”
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Someone you shouldn’t have pissed off,” said Christopher. “Who wants to buy the girl?”
“That’s private business. She’s needed. What is it to you? Are you willing to pay more?” Christopher slammed his fist into the man’s face, his head jerking backwards as blood spewed from his nose.
“I don’t have to buy her. She’s my daughter and you’ve fucked with the wrong men. Who is the buyer?”
Giamanco covered his mouth and nose with a napkin, his eyes red, filled with anger.
“You wouldn’t know them.”
“Try me,” said Patrick. He was met with silence and then leaned forward. “Let’s try this. I say a name, you nod. Al Rhaba, Forshein, Cortez, Demellier, Gorbeva…”
The slight change of expression on Giamanco’s face told Patrick he’d hit the right chord. Vasily Gorbeva. Russian trafficker, drug lord, and all-around piece of shit.
“Very good, Gorbeva for the win. Why does he want her?” Giamanco just stared at him, not saying a word. “Mister, I’m fucking pissed and you aren’t going to like what I do to you next. What does he want with her?”
They were so focused on Patrick, they were distracted and didn’t see the man approaching from backstage. Before they could react, he pulled a gun, ready to fire. The sound of the weapon didn’t match the one he was holding. Instead, he dropped to the stage floor and another man walked forward into the light.
The entire team had their weapons trained on him.
“You?” said Giamanco.
“You,” laughed Patrick. “Nice to see you, son.”
“You fucking traitor!” said Giamanco.
“Sorry, Tomas. Not a traitor but I am undercover with the FBI and now you’re no longer of any value to me.” River fired, killing the man with one well-placed shot. When he turned to the others, he shrugged.
“Let’s go. My cover is blown but I can tell you what I know so far.” Without a word, they left the stunned customers and girls walking back to their trucks.
Back at the apartment, Patrick looked at his son with a frown.
“River, I’m sure you have your reasons for lying to us but I sure as fuck can’t think of a reason why you’d let them hurt your cousin.”
