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“You’re late,” he says, glancing around before looking back at me.
“We hit a bit of traffic.”
He glances around again, posture stiff, fingers twitching.
“Everything okay?” I question.
“Not sure,” Mustang answers, eyes narrowing. “Is it?”
Confused, I glance behind me. All the guys have the same look on their faces…furrowed brow, downturned mouth. Smoke even shrugs slightly. We have absolutely no idea why he’s so on edge.
Turning back to Mustang, I glance at his boys standing behind him, noticing they all seem just as tense.
This meeting could seriously go to hell if someone even blinks wrong. And fuck if I know how to defuse the situation. Deciding the best course of action is to stay as calm as possible, I give him a small smile.
“Everything’s cool.” I gesture toward the van. “We can start loading your cases whenever you’re ready. Sound good?”
He studies me for a beat or two, as if trying to find the deception. A drip of sweat trickles down my back as the seconds tick by.
“Yeah,” he finally responds, holding up a hand.
One of his guys walks around the corner. Seconds later, I hear an engine and see a gray van pull up. I look at Dodger and give him a nod.
“Aren’t you even going to ask how much we got for you?”
Turning back to Mustang, I frown. “How much cash?”
“Yeah.”
“Why would I? It’s been the same ever since we started doing business. As far as I know, nothing has changed.” That tightness in my chest returns. “Has it?”
I can tell he isn’t sure whether to believe me or not. After several moments, he nods and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out the familiar yellow envelope.
As I reach for it, the sound of approaching motorcycles reaches us.
“Who’s that?” Mustang growls.
“No idea,” I answer slowly, still looking in the direction of the sound. “We should hurry this up and get out of here.”
“I don’t think we have time,” he says. “Are they with you?”
“No. I figured they were with you.”
We glance at each other. Fuck, this is going to get messy. I can feel it. And I might be crazy, but a few of those engines sound familiar. Unfortunately, I am proven right as the bikes pull around the corner.
“Maverick…,” Smoke hisses, slamming the van doors.
I don’t even need to look at him to know his face is twisted in anger. It probably matches the look I try to suppress when I see who pulls up behind us.
Fat Mike pulls to stop not far from where I stand. With him is Freddie, our VP, and another of his followers, an idiot named Brash. I’ve never liked the guy. He’s a fight first, ask questions later type, and I can’t stand people like that.
“Boys.” Fat Mike’s gruff voice echoes in the stillness that has descended over us.
“Prez,” I acknowledge. “We’re just finishing up.”
“Then I’m just in time,” he sneers. “I have a little business with Mustang before we finalize today’s transaction.”
Listening to him act like a businessman makes me cringe.
