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The man cocks an eyebrow, grinning slyly at Hale. “You know what? Maybe the problem is you forgot to pay the rush fee. If you want your deliveries quicker, it’s gonna cost you.”
“If you really are who you say you are, Marlo isn’t going to be pleased.” Lucas steps forward, giving the man a pointed look. “We’ve had an arrangement with him for years, and you’re sticking your dirty-ass little paws into shit that doesn’t concern you.”
“Where the fuck is Marlo?” Hale repeats, growing impatient.
“I told you, he ain’t here,” the man drawls, his cigarette held between his lips as he speaks. “And here’s the thing, this is the way we’re gonna be dealin’ from here on out. If you don’t like that, you can shove your—”
Hale’s hand moves so fast it’s a blur in the darkness. Deftly, he plucks the cigarette from the guy’s mouth and flips it around, jabbing the burning end into the man’s left cheek.
The guy yells in pain, stumbling back several steps and drawing a gun from the waistband of his pants. “What the fuck, man?”
Even in the dim light, I can see the angry-looking burn mark on his face. There’s a raw, blood-red circle on his cheek, and the scent of singed flesh hits my nostrils.
The guy is breathing hard, eyes wide and teeth bared as he braces one hand beneath the butt of his gun, his finger sliding over the trigger. All five of the men behind Hale, myself included, shift forward, ready to take this motherfucker out.
But Hale holds up a hand, stopping us with a gesture.
My whole body is tense, spring-loaded, as he cocks his head at the man. Sweat gleams on the guy’s forehead, and his gaze shifts from Hale to the five of us, then back again. He doesn’t look so goddamn smug now.
“Do you know what I think?” Hale asks. His voice sounds calm. Almost bored.
“No.” The man squints at him, gun still pointed at Hale’s chest. “What?”
“I don’t think there even is a shipment. I think that warehouse is fucking empty,” Hale takes a step forward. “Marlo is a fool to think that double-crossing us is going to get him more profit.”
The man’s gaze darts left and right. His over-exaggerated confidence vanishes completely as my commander approaches him.
“Do you know who I am?” Hale’s voice drops, low and dangerous.
“Yeah. You’re the motherfucker who put out a cigarette on my face!” The man raises his weapon slightly. “I should waste you right now, you son of a—”
“Then do it.”
The guy blinks. “What?”
“You want to shoot me? Then fucking do it. You’re obviously trying to fuck us, which means you’re gunning to start a war with us, whether you meant for that to be the end result or not. So I’m gonna give you a chance to take the first shot.”
“Look, man, I don’t want—”
The guy licks his lips. He looks nervous as fuck now, like it’s finally sinking into his thick skull that he’s way out of his pay grade here.
Calmly, Hale spreads his arms open wide. “Shoot me.”
The man blanches. He looks down at the gun in his hand, then back at Hale, swallowing hard as he realizes he can’t get out of this.
Not even if he shoots Hale.
Especially not if he shoots him.
“See? You can’t do it.” Hale chuckles humorlessly. “Because you do know who I am.”
“I—” The guy shifts backward a step. Even in the dim light, I can see panic in his eyes. He came into this meeting with a lot of bluster and an overabundance of ego, and he’s gonna leave it with piss stains in his pants.
Honestly, it’s not the poor fucker’s fault. Marlo might be dead by now, and whoever’s been fucking with our shipments sent this guy as a messenger—and he doesn’t even know he’s a goddamn pawn.
“It would be stupid to shoot the son of Damian Novak, wouldn’t it?” Hale takes one more step toward the guy, leaning down to meet his eyes. “So whoever you’re working for, tell them that fucking with us is a bad business choice.”
“Please, I didn’t—”
