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One of the men walks past the bathroom door. I see the movement, shove the door open and drag him into the bathroom, wrapping my arm around his throat. He yells and tries to fight my hand. Mistake. I grab his gun and press it against the back of his head.

“I paint this fucking bathroom in your brains unless you tell your friends to drop their guns and go wait in the goddamn car.”

In a different life, maybe we could just kill all three of these assholes right here. But we’re walking a tighter line in Miami. I don’t have any cavalry to call in. Anton is doing the smart thing and remaining hidden. Even if I had the backup of the Sokolov brothers, I still couldn’t stage an all-out war. This is a tightrope.

When I hear movement beyond the door, I snap, “Tell them to wait.”

He calls out, “Wait! Wait! He’s going to kill me, man. You’ve got to go and wait in the car, man. Please. I know a killer when I hear one.”

“Clever man,” I say in his ear.

“What? Man? Fuck this!”

“Tell them,” I snarl, pressing the gun harder.

“Don’t let me die here, man!”

“I was here to rob this prick. I just want to walk out of here alive. They lay their weapons down, go wait in the car, I leave, then you can do anything they want to him.”

The man relays it all. He’s trembling now, leaning against me as though he can’t stand on his own.

“He won’t do it!” one of the men yells.

I let go of his throat and twist his arm up behind his back. The man squeals. “Just do it, man!”

“Five fucking seconds,” I snarl.

“Five seconds!” the man wails.

“Count down,” I snap.

He starts to count, his voice shaking. I listen as the men curse and move toward the door. There’s no way they dropped their guns, and they’re not going all the way to their cars. But it’s something. I reach into my back pocket and pull on the balaclava. I hope Anton has put his on too.

I take my hostage into the bedroom. The door is off the hinges and Owen Price is lying on the bed, blood running from his nose. Two men stand near the door, their guns raised.

“I’ll kill him before you get me,” I snarl. “Look, the last thing any of us need is somebody getting curious and calling the cops. Let me go, or I end him right here.”

“What if I don’t believe you?” the bigger guy says. He’s got a tattoo of a marlin on his neck.

“Then we all die here,” I snap.

The men step aside, but don’t lower their guns. “So, leave…”

I swallow. Keep my nerves calm. This is the stuff Maksim sent me here for. Solve situations like this without burning everything down.

“I need to know you’re not going to clip me for being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I say. “Can’t do that when you’re pointing your guns at me.”

They lower them slightly, but not all the way. I push forward with their friend’s gun pressed against the back of his head. The men glare at me, but look as if they’re going to let me pass.

“You have to stand on the same side of the door,” I say. “Otherwise, I can’t use your buddy here to block if you decide to shoot me anyway. I’ve got to be careful.”

The man with the marlin tattoos spits, but I press harder with the gun and his friend starts wailing again. Time slows as my adrenaline kicks up, my senses honing. The only way to survive in a situation like this is to go big.

When the man is across the threshold, slightly turned, I throw my human shield as hard as I can. He cries out as he slams into them like a bowling ball into pins. They react too slowly. I drive the metal barrel of the pistol into the bigger man’s nose, then leap at the other man, wrestling his gun hand. He bellows and pushes against me.

If I were alone, I’d be screwed. But when I spin, I see Anton emerging from the closet. He raises his gun at the unarmed men, and I point my gun under the remaining man’s chin.

“Drop the fucking piece,” I snarl. I raise my voice. “Do you see how far Uncle Sam is willing to go for you, Mr. Price?”