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I didn’t sit, just stood on the other side of the desk and looked down at him. “Where is he?”
Atwood gave a shrug. “How the fuck do I know? He hasn’t answered my calls in days.”
I leaned down, gripping the edge of the desk with the gun in my hand and stared into those unflinching eyes. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Believe what you fucking want.” He exhaled slowly. “I thought you were here to clean house.”
I almost believed him as he slowly opened the top draw of his desk and carefully pulled out his phone. His fingers moved across the keypad, unlocking the damn thing before he pulled up his call log.
There it was…
A screen full of missed calls to Hale.
Atwood gave a nod. “I’m not lying. I thought Hale sent you here to fucking kill me.”
Hale’s empty house was one thing…but no communication with his money maker was a whole other thing all together.
“When did you hear from him last?”
He licked his lips.
My gut clenched at the movement.
“Two weeks ago,” he answered.
He’s lying.
I searched his gaze. “What happened two weeks ago?”
There was a scowl before his gaze flicked to a cupboard on the right-hand side of the room. “Y-you tell me, London. What the fuck is going on with you? You take the bitch that was contracted to Daniels, then you fucking kill him? Jesus Christ. Everyone says you’re gone in the head, that you’re a dog to be put down.”
“A dog, huh?” I repeated. “And what do you think?”
He glanced at that cupboard again…for the second time. I slowly rose as his cheeks flared red.
“I think you have your reasons. But I’m not part of this. Whatever you and Hale have, it’s between you.” He shook his head, his tone faltering as I took a step backwards and moved to the cupboard that seemed to hold his interest so much.
“St. James,” Atwood urged as I stopped at the red cedar door. The paneling on the front was a jar, as though someone had tried to stow something inside…in a hurry.
I pushed the door aside, to find papers shoved sideways just inside. I reached in, grabbed them, and pulled them free.
Contract for London St. James.
That twitch flared at the corner of my eye as I quickly scanned the first paragraphs. “A million dollars, huh?” I muttered, stopping at Hale’s signature at the bottom. “Seems a little low to me.”
I lifted my gun at the same time I turned my head. My finger was already squeezing the trigger as his eyes widened.
“No! Wait—”
Bang!
His head flew backwards. Blood bloomed. I was already swinging the gun toward the door as the heavy thud of boots came. The moment the door opened, I fired, hitting the guard in the middle of the chest. Then I moved, taking out three more guards as I moved to the door of the nightclub.
By the time I made my way downstairs, they were all dead.
Still the dancers kept dancing.
People kept partying.
