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“I’m asking if your affection for her will keep you from getting the rest of my money.”
Heat flared in my eyes, I couldn’t stop it, and his smirk told me he enjoyed it. “I’ll get you the money,” I bit out. “Shouldn’t take much longer.”
“Very good. I’d hate for any harm to befall your sweet little girlfriend.”
My gaze darted to Bastien, then back as I fought to hold myself together. “The deal was no one touches her.”
Cyrus didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. “Yes, Bastien mentioned you had that request—” He lifted a manicured hand when I opened my mouth to protest, cutting me off as if I were a pesky fly. “But you and I both know that I don’t make such deals. I have no qualms about burying those who get in my way... no matter how powerful, important, or pretty they might be.” He lifted a brow. “Are we clear, Mr. Bishop?”
Our stares clashed for several long seconds.
“Crystal,” I finally growled.
“Perfect.” He clapped once, then turned toward the table of product, his focus all business as if he hadn’t just admitted to taking lives and threatening Faith’s all in one breath. Sick fuck.
I sucked it up, making mental notes of everything I could about the operation as I loaded up for the trip and he gave me instructions.
“You’re meeting a Sam Poteet at the same place as last time. I’ll let him know you’re coming,” Cyrus said as I zipped up my bag. “In exchange, he will give you an envelope with banking information as well as twenty-five thousand dollars cash. Make sure it’s all accounted for, then bring it straight to my home. You remember where that is?”
I nodded. No way I could forget the gaudy mini mansion at the end of Myrtle Drive that boasted a grand sweeping staircase straight out of the movies, crystal doorknobs, an Olympic-sized swimming pool, theater room, and fancy wet bar stocked with high-end liquor, among other ostentatious amenities.
I gunned the engine on my bike, anger still riding hot through my veins as I raced away, his drugs heavy on my back. I didn’t even remember the ride to New Orleans, but I managed to regain some focus as I rolled up to the bar and strode inside with my game face back on. The same manager who I’d met last time greeted me.
“Hey,” I said. “I’m looking for Sam?”
He nodded and tipped his head, indicating I should follow him to the back. He stopped at an office door and knocked before poking his head inside. “Delivery.” Then he nodded for me to go on in.
I opened the door and found a rotund middle-aged man with balding black hair and glasses perched on the edge of his nose, sitting at a desk behind a computer. He looked like he could’ve been anyone’s dad. Certainly not someone about to make a big drug buy. “You Sam Poteet?” I asked.
“That’s me.” He waved me in. “Shut the door.”
I entered and closed the door behind me, sliding my backpack off and unzipping it. I pulled out the wrapped packages and placed them neatly on his desk one by one.
He picked up one and ripped back a corner to examine the contents. Satisfied, he nodded before opening a desk drawer and handing me a thick envelope. “It’s all there.”
“You’ll forgive me if I count it. Mr. Pittman’s request.”
He laughed. “Prick.”
I shrugged and opened the envelope while he busily put the packages in a safe. The bank numbers were there. The cash was wrapped in neat stacks of one thousand dollars each. I counted once... twenty large. I counted again, then looked at Sam. “It’s short. It’s supposed to be twenty-five thousand.”
“That’s not...” His head was shaking so hard his jowls shook. “No...”
“Yes,” I cut in, my voice firm. “Mr. Pittman was very clear. Twenty-five. Now, do you have the rest of his money, or do we have a fucking problem?”
His face began to mottle. Clearly, he hadn’t expected me to really count it so he wouldn’t be busted. Dumbass. “I, uh, I...”
“If you don’t have it, I’ll be happy to take the product back and explain your predicament to Mr. Pittman.”
“No!” He cleared his throat and tried again. “No. Not necessary. Just a, uh, an accounting error. I’ll take care of it. One second.” He turned back to his safe and produced the other five thousand dollars.
I tucked everything in my pack. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”
Before I made it out the door, he asked, “You’re not going to tell Cyrus about this, are you?”
I looked at him over my shoulder. “You bet your ass I am.”
He flopped back into his chair as white as a ghost, and I left him there to stew in his own juices.
