Page 64
“You can’t come in here and keep squeezing me for cash,” he breathes.
Blood drips from my brow and tracks over my cheekbone. I swipe it away, smearing red across my knuckles, but another drop follows the same path, and Fionn’s smirk flashes behind my eyes.
“You owe us.” I thumb the safety off.
“Sera,” Rafe says my name, but he knows I won’t kill a man in broad daylight.
“We came here for fifty,” I tell Cormac. “Now we want sixty.”
He shakes under the gun. “What?”
“Drawing Tallon blood is expensive, fuck-face.”
Cormac makes a broken whimper in his throat.
I tilt my head, ignoring the sting where my skin has split. “Add another ten grand to the debt and be grateful I’m letting you pay it in money instead of vital organs.”
He nods so hard the barrel moves with him.
“Words,” I say.
“Yes,” he rushes out. “Another ten. Fine. Whatever you want.”
I straighten and shove my gun into the waistband of my jeans. Rafe reaches across, grabs Cormac by the front of his shirt, pulls him off the chair, and headbutts him in the face.
Cormac drops against the desk, knocking papers and a tea-stained mug to the floor.
Blood bursts from his nose, bright against his off-white shirt.
Rafe leans over him.
“Never touch a Tallon again, or I won’t stop until your skull is in pieces.” Rafe looks at the half-open drawer. “Open it.”
Cormac obeys with shaking fingers. Inside there’s a battered metal cash box and a thick brown envelope.
Rafe takes both, opens the envelope, counts quickly, then tosses it to one of the men by the door.
“You’re short,” he says.
“How short?” I ask.
“Eight grand.”
I smile at Cormac as he sweats harder.
Rafe pockets the cash box key. “You have until Friday to find the rest.”
“Plus the ten,” I add. “I’ll buy my best friend a birthday gift with it.”
Rafe’s brows drift up, and I give him my sweetest smile, though it loses some effect with blood sliding toward my mouth.
“She’s a Kinnane,” I say. “She eats her breakfast outta gold bowls.”
“Plus the ten,” Rafe confirms.
Cormac nods, fumbling with a wad of paper tissues and holding it to his busted nose.
“Friday,” Rafe repeats over his shoulder as we leave. “Or this place will be ash by Saturday morning.”
