“He doesn’t get to live, Drac. Not this time. Not after everything he’s done.” The man is shaking with vengeance, his arms barely holding his gun steady.
“You don’t need to go back to jail,” Drac reminds him. “I won’t lose you again.”
Lupo appears beside them, just as Ombra helps a young woman from one of the rooms, the rest of his club marching out with young girls crying in their arms. Some not even old enough to have their periods yet.
This is just sick.
“Whatever happens here won’t get past those doors. We’ll scrub any evidence clean,” Lupo encourages. “The man deserves to die. Let him make his move.”
Drac relents, releasing his hold on Voorhees' arm just as he raises his gun.
“Please,” Moseley begs, clutching Voorhees' pant leg with his stubby little fingers. “Don’t kill me! It was all Rico! I had nothing to do with this.”
The girl in Ombra’s arms voice carries across the room as she shouts, “He lies! He’s the one who ordered the men to take me.”
“God, Moseley, you’d think you were smarter than that,” Voorhees growls, his anger increasing.
“Please! I have money. I’ll pay you anything.” He fishes out his phone, fumbling with it as he brings up his bank account. “See! I have more money than any of you will ever see in your lifetime. It’s yours. Just please don’t kill me.”
Drac and Voorhees exchange a look—a look I know all too well. This shit’s about to get very, very interesting.
“That’s a lot of zeros.”
Voorhees grins. “Definitely. Alright, Moseley, you got a deal. Transfer us thirty million US dollars, and we’ll spare your pathetic life.”
He pales, brow scrunching in anger. “Thirty million! That’s almost half!” he rages.
“How much is your life worth to you?” Voorhees shoots him again, this time right through the foot.
The sad excuse of a man hollers in pain, barely able to grit out his next words without getting shaky. “Okay. Okay. Thirty million.”
Violare appears holding his laptop. “I’ve got both of your accounts up, ready for the transfer. I just need his password.”
“Damn, you’re good,” Drac compliments.
Lupo smiles with pride. “He’s the best.”
With a shaky hand, Moseley puts in his passcode, making the transfer; the thirty million appears in our club’s account immediately. “There, it’s done.”
“Not so fast,” Voorhees demands. “Now transfer the rest of it to them.” He nods to Lupo, who is standing with his armscrossed, that ‘don’t fuck with me’look plastered on his face as a warning.
He wasn’t expecting any money, but we wouldn’t have found this place without his club’s help, and there’s no way Drac or Voorhees would’ve left them empty-handed.
“Are you crazy! Then I’ll be left with nothing for me!”
“You’ll be left with your life.”
The second Voorhees raises his gun again, Moseley panics. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it! I made the money once, I’ll do it easily again.”
Violare sets up another transfer, and Moseley reluctantly makes the deal.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Moseley,” Violare exclaims, shutting the laptop before he disappears out the door.
“I swear, when I heal up and survive this, I’m coming after you all. I’ll fucking have your heads when I’m through with you.”
Voorhees smirks, then fucking fires his gun, the single bullet shattering through Moseley’s skull like a pinball game.
“Who said you’d survive this?” Voorhees growls, spitting on the lifeless body of the man who tried to sell me to the highest bidder.
