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“Yeah,” he said, “I know. She goes by Reaper now. She’s been playing in the games for about a year.”
Obviously, he wasn’t surprised to see her here. He didn’t look at me, and I wasn’t sure if he cared or not that I was going to be killing her in a couple of w
eeks. If it mattered to him, he didn’t show it.
On the other side of the New York group was an imposing-looking woman with short hair and flashing eyes. I assumed through the process of elimination that it must be Maria Hill—the woman who ran the operations in Los Angeles. The tall African-American guy with her was Tyrone Chimes, an expert in knife combat and a good shot as well. He’d also been in the games for the last year or so.
In the very back, there was a tall, bald man with sausage-like arms and a bit of a gut. He made an imposing figure with two gigantic body guards on either side of him.
Joseph Franks.
I hadn’t seen him since the trial where I testified against him and Gunter Darke. Gunter had been convicted and killed in prison shortly afterwards. Franks, however, had gotten off scot-free even though I’d told the jury he ordered the deaths of everyone in the room. He just had that kind of pull, in and out of the system.
John Paul led the way as we walked toward Franks and his group.
“Sebastian,” Franks said in a cool voice as we approached, “it’s been a while.”
I nodded, took his outstretched hand, and took in a deep breath.
“Mister Franks,” I said. We shook, dropped hands, and looked at each other for a moment.
With guys like Franks, it was all about ego. Everything centered around who was the farthest up his ass at any given time. I’d done the unthinkable and dared to cross him.
For the first time, I considered that I may have been duped. He might have just lured me here to kill me, but as soon as the thought occurred to me, I knew it wasn’t true. If he wanted me dead, he’d just put a price on my head, and it would eventually be collected by someone. He wouldn’t have any need to go through an elaborate plot or involve all these people if my death was his goal.
He narrowed his eyes and leaned close to me.
“You were a bad boy, Mister Stark.”
I swallowed.
“Yeah, I know I was,” I said quietly. “It was a mistake, obviously.”
“A mistake because of what you tried to do,” he asked, “or because it didn’t work?”
I took in a long, slow breath. There was definitely a right answer to his question and a wrong one, but the words he wanted to hear weren’t readily apparent.
Clearly, I cannot choose the glass in front of you…
I went for honest.
“It didn’t work,” I said.
He laughed, clasped his hand on my back, and turned to one of the goons next to him.
“You hear that, Nathaniel?” he said. “Here’s a man who will let you know right where you stand.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Don’t you yes, sir me, you little shit,” he yelled so loudly and without warning that I had to take a step back. “You can’t give me a load of pleasantries when you’re skimming my profits!”
A moment later, a shot rang out, and Nathaniel lay on the floor near Landon’s feet. While my ears rang, Franks placed his gun back in its holster at his side and turned back to me.
“He tried to fuck me over last year,” Franks said with a shrug. “He had his one chance, but he tried to pull that shit again. You understand what I’m saying here, Stark?”
I looked into his steely eyes and nodded.
“Yeah, I get it,” I said. “I’m not a problem for you.”
