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“I brought your money. Everything I owe you,” Ian says.
“The price has just gone up. An extra hundred grand, for my troubles.”
“That was never agreed upon,” my brother spits.
“Maybe you should make better deals.” Rich nods to Stone, who extends a hand, motioning for the suitcase. “Let’s see what you have.”
Ian’s fist tightens around the handle, stalling. “Let her go first.”
“She’ll be released as soon as I have what’s mine. And not a moment before.”
My brother shakes his head again. “At least let me talk to her. Let me hear from her lips that you haven’t…” He trails off, his voice tightening. “That you’re planning on keeping your end of the bargain.”
“She’s breathing, isn’t she?” Rich nods his head toward the case again. “My money, Banner.”
Eyes on me, my brother slowly extends the case toward Rich. I want to scream. But the world seems to have narrowed down to slow motion. My brother gives me that look again—the shallow nod from earlier—but then the moment’s gone, and Rich has the suitcase in his hand.
He has what he’s wanted from us all along, has no need for us anymore.
And then the shit hits the fan.
31
Stone
I count my breaths in seconds. Inhale, one, two, three, four, five. Exhale for the same. Stay calm, stay focused.
Skye is freaking out, tears streaming down her face, but Ian’s right where we planned for him to be—dead center in the room. Rich’s fist is closing around the case and mine is sinking deeper into my pocket. Ripping through the lining, through the part of my suit that Man Bun and his dumbass friends patted down eagerly. Into the second, hidden pocket within. To the strap against my inner thigh, the bulge I guess they didn’t bother to notice.
Rich spins the dials on the case, and I gently ease the gun from its holster, feeling without looking for the safety, snapping it off.
Rich lifts the lid of the case, licking his pursed lips, greed sparkling in his beady black eyes.
Rich stares at an empty suitcase, and slowly, slowly, raises his eyes to Ian.
I’m faster.
I whip the gun from my pocket and jam the barrel against his head. “Nobody fucking move,” I say, because three of his thugs jump at once, all of them reaching for their own pieces. I cock the trigger, and Rich flinches. I smile, for the first time in twenty-four hours.
“Stand down,” Rich commands, his voice even. But from this close to him, I can see the beads of sweat forming along his forehead. He might look and sound calm, but I guarantee he’s shitting himself right now.
Good.
His men reluctantly release their weapons, though I shoot a glance over my shoulder at the one behind me too. Man Bun. “Move around front.”
They all glare at me, a half dozen narrowed eyes, as they circle around to stand in a line in front of me, hands in the air when I tell them to.
“If you don’t want this mother fucker to die,” I say, very slowly for the idiots at the back of the room, “you’re going to turn your backs to me and put your hands flat on that far wall.”
They hesitate. Maybe I used words that were too big.
But Rich finally nods, another bead of sweat creeping down his cheek. “Do as he says.” Then they move, all of them, hands flat on the wall, spines toward me.
One glance at Ian tells me he’s already on top of his part of the bargain. Pulling Skye toward the exit, fast as they can walk.
“You’re not going to get out of this room alive, you know,” Rich tells me, and it’s in the same confident, fucking infuriating voice that he always uses when Rich knows best. But this time, I can see right through his façade. This time, I know he’s backed into a corner. Desperate.
“What, you think they’ll shoot me if I kill you?” I ask him, pretending to mull this over as I survey their backs. “What’s their incentive? If you die, there goes their paycheck.”
