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Not if he was a good husband. Not if he was a good father.
Not if he wanted to go home to his family.
“Just keep driving,” I replied, the leather glove on my left hand creaking as I gripped the blade tighter. How I’d missed them. They were faded black, well worn, and fitted to every curve and knuckle of my hands like a second skin. “We’re almost there.”
Mr. Hughes began to shake as we passed thedead-endsign and kept on going.
“Please,” he said, the word a breathy plea. “I have a family. You...you don’t have to do this.”
I rolled my eyes. Fucking yawn.
“Park.”
He did.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I told him, slipping the faded gray bag onto my lap. “I’m going to take this, and you are going to forget that you saw me. You’re going to say it was stolen out of your car. I’m sure your insurance will cover it.”
He swallowed again, eyes shifting to the gray bag on my lap like he might make a play for it.
Try it, fucker.
Mr. Hughes didn’t answer me, a knot forming between his brows.
“I’d hate for anything to happen to Bethany.”
His head snapped up and a fire lit in his eyes. I’d struck a nerve. Good.
“I know where you work, Jordan Hughes. I know where you live. I know where you like to park and jerk off to amateur porn before going home to your wife. I know where darling Bethany goes to school.”
His lips parted, a raw form of terror taking over his features. My thighs clenched, and I ground my teeth, a rush of power pulsing through my veins.
“Do we understand each other?” I asked after a second.
Hughes nodded and I flipped my blade away from his ribcage and lifted myself in the seat, using my full body weight to drive his face into the steering wheel. His sharp intake of breath was the only sound before a sharp blare of the horn. Then he was out. His body sagging against the wheel, arms hanging down.
The engine revved as his foot hammered down on the accelerator and I quickly shut off the engine and nudged his leg off the gas.
I slipped my blade away and unzipped the cash bag, flipping through the stacks of cash. They were nearly organized in bundles of fives, tens, twenties, fifties, and hundreds.
The smaller bills would be coming back to Briar Hall with me. The larger ones would be my bet.
I judged the sizes of the stacks, quickly thumbing through the bills for a rough count. About seven grand in larger bills.
I fucking hoped that would be enough.
“Thanks.”
I gave Mr. Hughes a gentle pat on his arm and slid the money into the inside pockets of my oversized jacket. It cost me thirty bucks at the small Thorn Valley thrift shop, but it held all the cash easily. I’d find a place to stuff it and two of my three blades once I got closer to Sanctum. They’d undoubtedly be doing pat downs before entry, and I didn’t want to be caught with big ass wads of small bills and knives.
I opened the door and stepped out into comparably chilly air, breathing it in to erase the lingering tang of his fear and stress-sweat clogging my nostrils.
“Here,” I offered, digging a few tens out of the stack and tossing them onto the booster in the backseat. “Buy your kid a better booster seat, asshole.”
Sanctum.
Not exactly a covert name for a pub owned by the Saints of Thorn Valley. But then again, I didn’t think they really needed the anonymity. Hell, it seemed they strived for the opposite.
I was sure it helped officer Vick’s pals know exactly who not to mess with. Where not to step foot.
