Page 55 of Mile High Heist

He paused. “I am not an unreasonable man, Noah. I’ve given you ample opportunity to hand me the girl and the SKS and walk away. No one else had to die. Yet you continue to spit in my face, and for what? Her?”

“No.” I learned forward, my arm scraping across the broken glass. “She means nothing to me. But she means something to you.”

His brow arched. “Are you suggesting you’d kill her? Just so I couldn’t have her?” He laughed and shook his head. “How terribly primitive, Noah. We both know you couldn’t.”

At my stony expression, he flipped the coin again. I said nothing. He called it and slapped it down, pausing for dramatic effect.

He lifted his hand for the final time.

A roaring rush of rage overcame me.

“I will get what I came for,” he said, returning the coin to his pocket as if nothing had happened.

The table creaked beneath my knuckles.

He reached over and extended his hand to Martha. “It’s been a pleasure.”

She took it with a chummy grin, which faltered slightly at the firmness of his grip.

No, not the firmness.

The ring.

When he withdrew, the ring was faced inwards, so the tiny prick of venom could pierce her palm. I grabbed Martha’s wrist, holding it up.

There, at the bottom of her hand, was the small wound.

It was the rings.

That was how they were killing people. I forced myself to remember if I’d seen that same ring somewhere else.

On someone else.

The Viper stood and strutted away, disappearing into the chaos. My gut heaved.

“Stay here,” I told Martha, my voice thick. “Don’t move.”

Martha nodded with a dopey smile. I slipped out of the booth and toward the nearest bathroom. As soon as the door slammed behind me, I knelt over the toilet and jammed my fingers down my throat.

It was remarkably easy to purge all the shots.

Then I shoved off my shirt and stood in my white ribbed tank. I checked my arms, hands, fucking elbows for any pinpricks. Sweat turned my skin clammy. I splashed water on my face and neck, trying to ease the inferno building inside me.

My dripping reflection snarled back at me. You fucking idiot.

I balled up the shirt and shoved it aside. Too hot, too angry.

When I returned to the bar, Martha was already convulsing.

16

OLIVIA

My hand slapped over Ryle’s, causing him to yelp. “Watch the claws,” he said, pouting slightly.

Turned out, he was a sore loser. Just a big old baby.

He thrust out his hands, eyes narrowing in concentration. It’d been his idea to play Slapsies. We both needed the distraction so we didn’t think about the fact that Madoc was gone. And Jax was gone. And something was off—we both felt it.