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“Please,” I plead, letting my eyes fill up with all the desperation I feel.
I need this job, whatever it is. Half a million dollars could set Abel and me up for a few years. We could get the hell out of Garden City. We could move somewhere safer and nicer.
Somewhere where Kyle won’t be able to find us.
The expression on Stewart’s face softens. “It’s an easy job, honestly. I don’t know why it’s such a big deal. You just need to watch a few guys and report back with their location.”
“You!” Uncle Mickey chokes out then tries to stand up from the couch only to drop right back down on his ass.
Stewart looks at Mickey in alarm. “I’ll get you some water…”
Eyes bloodshot, bulging, and full of murder, Uncle Mickey watches Stewart creep out of the room.
If looks could kill, Stewart would be dead.
I have no doubt of it.
But it’s not my problem.
“I want the Petrov job,” I say, bringing my uncle’s attention back to me.
His head snaps in my direction and the strangest expression passes over his features.
A mixture of pain and fear.
When he shakes his head in refusal, thumping on his chest some more, I decide to go straight for the throat.
Unwilling to take no for an answer.
“If you don’t give me this job, Abel and I will probably starve to death. Do you want our blood on your hands? Can you live with that?”
Uncle Mickey shakes his head in refusal yet again, and it’s everything I can do not to scream at him.
Is there nothing human left inside him?
Bursting through the kitchen door, Stewart rushes back into the room with a glass of water and something tucked under his arm.
“Here,” he says, thrusting the glass into my uncle’s hands.
Mickey looks like he’d rather throw the water at Stewart than drink it. But when Stewart doesn’t wait for him to accept it and moves over to me, he has no choice but to grip the glass before it falls in his lap.
Slapping a manilla file folder on the coffee table in front of me, Stewart says, “This is all the information you’ll need.”
“You little…” Uncle Mickey sputters.
We both bend forward and reach for the folder at the same.
Thankfully, I’m quicker.
Snapping up the folder while keeping Abel secure in my arms, I grin triumphantly.
“You’re fucking fired!” Mickey chokes out before he falls back on the couch and gulps some of his water.
Only to start choking on that.
Stewart scowls at him. “You can’t fire me. You don’t even pay me. Besides, you heard what Dimitri said. If we don’t make some progress on this job…”
Lifting both his brows and letting those words hang ominously in the air, Stewart stares pointedly at my uncle.
