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Every time he thought he’d seen the worst humanity had to offer, he hadn’t.
“I’m good for it,” Mal said, voice low. “I’ll leave you what I have and be back in under fifteen.” Less if he could help it, because he needed to get this done and Richelle and him gone before the real Sampson showed up. “First I need to see with my own eyes that she’s in good condition.”
The words stung his throat, but all he was thinking about now was getting in, getting the girl, and getting the fuck out.
Vinnie glared at him for long enough that Mal braced, already judging height and weight. He could take out the wiry dude with no trouble. He just had no idea what was waiting behind him.
“Don, we’re gonna let him see her, all right? Just a second. He wants some proof that she’s ready to go.”
An unintelligible grunt came from inside. Vinnie stepped back, swinging the door wide as he made ac’meregesture with his fingers.
Mal stepped into their apartment and barely resisted doing a double take. He’d expected the place to be just this side of habitable, and instead everything was black and chrome and modern. The shades were pulled and tall thin candles were burning in a row in front of the TV where a movie Mal knew all too well was playing, set on mute.
The Godfather.Figured.
The guy stretched out on the long black leather couch never sat up. He just lifted his fingers as if he was cocking a gun and pointed to a hallway off the living room. “End of the hall.”
Vinnie jerked his chin at Mal. “Go on. But be quick about it. You don’t get gone and get me that money and I’ll lower the price for the next guy who comes in here.”
Mal nodded and was about to move past Vinnie when the other man held out a hand studded with gold rings. “About time for that down payment, don’t you think?”
Mal fought not to smack the dude’s hand away. Instead he pried out his wallet and withdrew the sheaf of bills. He’d been running low before this, and he’d refused his ex-stepmommy’s offer to fund his excursion tonight. He was Martin Shawcross’s firstborn son, so of course he had money to burn. If he could spend it on racing and other unworthy pursuits, surely he could spare some for the philanthropic cause of rescuing a woman on the verge of being sold.
Holy fuck, how was this his life?
Mal slapped the money in Vinnie’s hand and lifted his brows. If he didn’t brazen his way through this, the gig would be up. “Remind me again how much we’re talking?”
Vinnie was too occupied counting his current pile of green to answer at first. The figure he named would’ve made Mal rock back on his feet if he hadn’t already been reeling from this whole damn situation.
So he nodded and sidestepped the guy to head down the narrow hall.
“Five minutes,” Vinnie said distractedly, still flipping through bills. “Long enough to check her over and no more. No funny stuff.”
Check her over?Christ.
Mal nodded, but Vinnie wasn’t looking at him. He also didn’t follow him down the hall. He might have, if a knock hadn’t sounded at the door.
“Bitch, you better have my money,” a man shouted.
Mal rubbed the heel of his hand over his stampeding heart. Not Sampson then. Fuck, that’d been close. Was still close if he didn’t get his ass—and Richelle’s—out of there.
The question was how.
As quietly as possible, he opened doors on the way down the hall. The bathroom had telltale steps outside, and Mal swallowed hard, leaving the door cracked as he turned to check out the other rooms. He needed to know the lay of the land if they were to have any chance to make it out of there.
The fire escape might be his only option. Possibly just for her, if he could shove her out and down the stairs before the assholes caught on.
Once he reached the last door, Mal gripped the knob. The yelling in the living room was escalating, and now came the unmistakable crack of a fist hitting an object. From the sounds of things, flesh would be next.
He wanted them both out of there before that happened.
Turning the knob, he pushed open the door and squinted into the near darkness. A lava lamp in the corner offered the only light, and tinny music came out of unseen speakers. It was so low it had to be headphones maybe, or a phone. No, headphones definitely. Crashing drums, screaming guitars. The air reeked of pot and sickeningly sweet incense. Some fruity scent—plums maybe—and the smells of smoke and weed swam in his head.
He pushed inside, his eyes finally adjusting to the low light. Disappointment surged through him. She wasn’t here.
Then he shifted his head and nearly staggered as a pale figure shifted in front of the window. Her long blond hair spun out as the woman danced. Moonlight caressed her almost translucent skin. She had long legs, capped by tiny shorts. A thin tank clung to her curves and magnified them as she moved just right, throwing back her head. She was lost to the music playing in her headphones, dancing in a way that leaned more on intrinsic rhythm than skill. Her arms rose above her head and her hips circled in figure-eights. And her breasts bounced, causing him to stiffen no matter how he hated himself for it.
There was no time for looking and even less for touching.
