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“Give me a moment with my…friend?” I ask as he reviews the document.
“Sure, sure, whatever you want!” Mr. Nyx folds the contract and slips it into the interior pocket of his jacket. “We’ll leave you to it.” With another bark of laughter, he pounds me on the shoulder and says, “It was great doing business with you, Mr. Stone.” He extends his hand, and I eye it like a rabid dog before I finally decide to be the bigger man and shake it rather than chomping it off.
Both his footsteps and his laughter echo down the hall toward the stairs as his goons fall into line behind him.
I turn and look at my men. Cameron is eyeing me like he’s not sure I know what I’ve done, but Omar leans against the wall, a bored expression on his face.
“I think I’ll handle this myself,” I say, and both of them nod, though I can tell they are disappointed not to get in on the fun. “I’ll let you guys have a turn later.”
That perks them up, but as I wheel around to look at Jonathan, all semblance of joy leaves my body.
The stereotypical single lightbulb sways as I bump it with my shoulder crossing the room. Jonathan grunts but says nothing. Just looking at him makes both of my hands curl into fists. Shadows alternate covering his face and exposing it as the light swings, but his expression does not change.
“Well,” I say, keeping a foot or so between us so that I don’t prematurely break my new toy and lose any chance I might have of finding what’s mine. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again. Alive.”
His lips are swollen, bloodied, and cracked, but he still manages a smile. “Fuck off, Hunter,” he croaks. “You’ll never get what you want.”
“You sure about that?” I ask, stroking my chin as I consider where to land the first blow. I wonder if there’s a bone in his face that isn’t already broken. “As you know, I always get what I want. One way or another.”
“You can’t hurt me any more than I’ve already been hurt,” he says, and I see the defeat in his eyes. He thought everything would be better when he stole my hundred million dollars and took off.
But he was clearly wrong.
He’s mistaken about his last statement, too.
My fist curls and flies free in a flash, slamming into his cheek right below his eye socket. I hear the crack as the bone shatters. Blood flies from the split in his skin, spattering the wall and my shirt. I don’t give a shit about either.
Jonathan moans in agony, but it just fuels me on, and I land a left jab to the other side of his face. His head flips around as more blood sprays the room.
“Tell me what the fuck you did with it!” I demand. I can tell it’s not enough for him to speak, though, because he still manages to grin at me. It’s as if he’s in so much pain now, his mind can’t even process more.
I’m up for the challenge.
Again and again, I ram my fist into his face, pummeling him in the stomach and shoulders as well, wanting to snap every fucking bone in his body. When I rear back and lift my size twelve Gucci shoe into his groin, the whole chair tips over, and his head snaps to the side, smacking into the concrete.
A rivulet of blood snakes toward my shoes, and I step out of the way to spare them. He’s out, but I can hear his raspy breathing. “Fuck,” I mumble as I pull my cell from my pocket.
Brandon answers with one word. “Boss?”
“Bring the vehicle around.” I hang up and put it in my pocket before he can respond. Turning to the others, I say, “Bring him.” This isn’t the first time my overzealous nature has caused me to incapacitate someone I need answers from. I’ll give him some time to wake up and then try again on my own turf, away from the exterior lights of the city proper.
Omar and Cameron gather up my newest acquisition, freeing him from the chair with a pocketknife as I turn and head toward the stairs.
I don’t bother to let Mr. Nyx know we are leaving. He’ll figure it out when one of his goons finds an empty, blood-spattered room. I don’t have to worry about the kidnappers going to the police either.
The scent of exhaust from the nearby traffic hits my lungs as I push the outside door open. Los Angeles always smells about the same, at least in the downtown area—smog, piss, or garbage. A glance up at the sky leaves me wanting for stars. Not a single one can be seen.
Brandon is waiting at the vehicle. He opens the back as my other two runners lift Jonathan up and deposit him in the darkness next to a well-used tire iron that’s never seen a flat.
I get in the passenger seat and wait for the others, trying to decide how to make this asshole talk once we get back to Club Limelight. They call me The Fixer, so I feel like I should be able to fix this. But with Jonathan, nothing ever is what it appears.
That’s when I know what must be done. If he’s not going to tell me where the money is, the trunk isn’t the darkest place he’ll find himself in tonight.
The next time someone tosses Jonathan Williams’ body, it’ll be into a shallow grave.
CHAPTER2
MEGHAN
