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My lips curled in disgust when another girl, dressed similarly to the first—but much younger. Young enough to turn my stomach if my guess was right—climbed out from under the table and wiped her face with the back of her hand. This douche was centimeters away from eating a bullet.
“Gentlemen. You have money for me?” the man—Don, I assumed—asked.
“Southeast corner,” Breaker murmured in my earpiece. “Only man sitting.”
He reported our position to Scout, who covered us with a sniper rifle. Since the windows were tinted, Breaker had given him a way to distinguish Falco’s heat signature. We all wore a special beacon for him to recognize us, but this way, he’d be able to distinguish the boss from his three henchmen in the room.
“Arthur McGuire. He owes you fifty grand, right?” I clarified.
“Fifty thousand, one hundred and twenty-two dollars and thirty-five cents. To be exact.”
I rolled my eyes, and Dax tossed the briefcase onto the table.
“Every penny he owes is in there.”
He reached for the cash, and suddenly Nova was at Falco’s side, clutching his arm so hard he winced.
“I’m gonna need something in return for collecting your fee,” I told him.
“I didn’t ask for a bounty hunter,” he sneered. “I’ll take it out of McGuire’s ass.”
“Shut the hell up and listen,” Nova growled. “If you’re smarter than you look, you’ll hear him out and hope our favor will be reciprocated.”
“Fine,” Falco whined. “But let me go.”
Nova waited for my nod, then released Falco but didn’t move away.
“Once we’ve cleared Arthur’s debt, you agree not to take another bet for him and spread the word that no one is to lend him money or allow him to place bets with them either. Blacklist him.”
“And what do I get?”
“Grey here”—I indicated my brother with a jerk of my thumb—“won’t make you bankrupt. And Scout”—I pointed at the window behind me—“won’t put a bullet in your skull.” Today.
“You’re bluffing,” Falco stated, but his eyes were unsure.
“I’m a Silver Saint, motherfucker. I don’t bluff.”
A shot pierced the glass—without breaking it—and lodged into the leather booth less than an inch from Falco’s head.
“What the fuck?” he screamed, scrambling out of the booth. His pants were still unzipped, so his flaccid member flopped out, but he quickly shoved it back in before zipping up his fly.
I’d been sorely tempted to cut it off.
He glanced around for his henchmen, then deflated a little when he realized they wouldn’t be any help. My brothers had subdued them with a needle in the neck while Falco had been focused on me and the briefcase.
Grey held up his phone, showing Falco the screen. “That’s your account, right? The one that used to have ten grand in it?”
“Used to—what the fuck? Where’s my fucking money?” Falco shouted.
“Relax, asshole,” Grey grunted. “You’ll get it back when we leave. But if you don’t follow through with our favor, you’ll be broke in minutes.”
“I can’t control what other bookies and loan sharks do,” he muttered.
“Better figure out a way, Falco,” I growled as I grabbed my gun and pointed it at his forehead. “Or you won’t have to worry about being broke for long. I’ll find you and blow your motherfucking brains out. Understood?”
Falco swallowed, then pressed his thin lips together into a flat line before nodding in defeat. “Now give me my money.”
I used the barrel of my weapon to shove the briefcase across the table. Grey tapped a button on his phone, then showed it to Falco again. “Put most of it back,” Grey drawled. “Took a son of a bitch tax.”
