Page 66 of Business vs. Pleasure

Naturally, Ricardo didn’t trust him any further than he could throw him.

Neither did August.

“You can show up and shoot us like the coward you are if that’s what you really, really want,” he’d informed NightRaven. “You can set a trap, ambush us, take us down, and then continue to game the system until you’re in the top spot. But just know that our handler and the RateYourHit site admins are aware of this situation, and randomly offing the competition through unsanctioned and unprovoked kills is a serious TOS violation. You kill us, you lose your account, your rating, and all your connections. Toodles!” Then he’d hung up.

“When did that become a TOS violation?” Ricardo had asked.

“Around the time Victor tried to kill us to cull the competition.”

“Huh.” Ricardo had quirked his lips. “At least that asshole was good for something.”

And August’s threat might have hit its mark. After all, they’d been here almost twenty minutes, and no bullets had come through the windshield.

But a pair of headlights had just crested the hill behind them. The seat beside Ricardo creaked as August leaned forward. In silence, they watched a black car come down the muddy slope.

“That him?” Ricardo asked.

August shook his head. “I don’t know.”

The driver did the same thing they had—turning around so the vehicle was pointed up the hill.

“That has to be him,” Ricardo said under his breath.

“Probably.”

Then August’s phone pinged. He looked at the screen and read aloud: “We all step out and face each other like men.” August tsked. “This guy has seen way too many movies.” Then he shoved his phone into his pocket. “Ready?”

“When you are.” Ricardo tucked his “wounded” right arm against his stomach and reached for the handle with his left.

They exchanged nods. Then they both stepped out of the car in the same moment the driver side door of the black car opened.

But the person who stepped out wasn’t NightRaven.

It was a kid who couldn’t have been more than sixteen.

Panic surged in Ricardo. In Spanish, he called out, “What’s going on?”

The kid shook his head. “I don’t know. The man just told me to park down here and get out.” He looked terrified.

“Oh, fuck,” August said.

Yeah. Oh, fuck was right.

Ricardo swept his gaze around their surroundings, including up on top of the hill.

And that’s when he saw it—movement. Subtle, barely distinguishable from the vegetation behind the curtain of rain, but movement.

He ordered the kid back in the car in the same instant he lunged for August. He meant to grab August around the waist and haul him toward their car.

But there was a crack that definitely wasn’t thunder, which sent them both diving for cover.

The front tire of their car hissed. A second shot punched through the hood, probably right into the engine block.

The kid was already spinning his tires and taking off. August had wisely darted behind their car, and Ricardo went to do the same.

Crack.

Crack.