I hope he’s already plotting how to take down every single one of these motherfuckers.
Slowly and painfully.
As Thatcher launches into the next part of his rehearsed speech, I take another look around the room, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Thatcher drones on in the background, but I don’t listen to a word.
They’re not here to broker a truce.
The men in attendance look like they couldn’t care less, but other than the quiet voice in the back of my head yelling at me to get out, I have nothing else to go on.
The certainty in my gut is telling me this is a trap.
I look away from Thatcher and glance over my shoulder at Carlisle.
He nods and quietly retreats.
I’m on edge while he’s gone, my mind jumping between scenarios, each involving having to fight our way out.
Katia knows what to do if you don’t make it back. She’ll make sure London gets to safety, and Carlisle has orders for Oliver and Olivia.
By the time Carlisle returns, Thatcher has been speaking for ten minutes, and the pounding in my skull has intensified. I swing my attention to Elise’s father, who pauses to wipe his forehead with a napkin. I advance on him, and a flicker of fear moves over his face before he stamps it out.
“I think this is all bullshit.”
Thatcher blinks and puts away his handkerchief. “I beg your pardon?”
“Something is clearly happening. I don’t know why you lured us here, but I don’t like having my time wasted, Thayer.”
“We have an agreement,” he says.
“One I’m sure your daughter will be happy to honor should anything unfortunate happen here,” I respond. “The question is, how much do you trust your new friends?”
Thatcher doesn’t look away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I remove the gun from my sock and point it at him. “I’m not in the habit of shooting my allies, but if there’s one thing I hate, it’s rats. I’m sure Elise told you what we did to the last one since I made sure to share that story with her.”
Thatcher’s eyes widen. “I resent the implication. I am not a rat.”
I point the gun at one of the representatives, and they all stiffen. “Your new friends are planning something. Either you’re too stupid to see it, or they made you a better offer. Which is it?”
“I can assure you that this meeting was put together with the best of intentions—”
I remove the safety. “Once I start shooting, you’re going to wish you’d told me the truth when you had the chance. I might even be persuaded to make your death quick.”
Thatcher looks over at my father, whose expression remains blank. “Aren’t you going to do something? He’s going to derail everything.”
“My son has killer instincts,” Jack replies. “I taught him myself, and he’s right to question all of this.”
Thatcher throws both hands up and swallows. “The last thing anyone in this room wants is for things to get out of hand again. There’s still a chance for us to salvage—”
I point the gun at Thatcher again, and he snaps his mouth shut. “Don’t you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk? I know I do.”
“Elise will never honor an agreement with the man who killed her father,” Thatcher warns.
The phone in my pocket rings, slicing through the tension in the air.
I use my free hand to whip it out and answer without looking.
A few moments later, I slide the phone back into my pocket and press the gun to the side of Thatcher’s head. “Let’s go. You’re coming with us. Carlisle, take care of the rest.”
