“Yes.” He strides by us like he doesn’t notice that we have him in our sights.
“You clean up nice,” Selkie says. “What’re you now, a gentlemen robber?”
Kozlov rubs his hands. “Jonny Fry, you’re in time with minutes to spare.”
“Jonny Fry?” I say bewildered.
Selkie rolls her eyes. “Don’t ask.”
Joker holsters his gun and the rest of us follow suit. He says, “You got your money. Let the girl go and it ends here.”
I feel like I’m in a 1930s gangster movie and Jonny Fry’s about to pull out a gatling gun and wipe everyone out.
Kozlov hands the briefcase to his second in command, who opens it and starts counting the bills.
In the meantime, Jonny Fry turns to Selkie. “Do you not have any fucking common sense? What’re you doing picking up Reese Toper? You think Renfrew’s gonna leave this alone?”
Selkie shrugs like she doesn’t have a care in the world, but I’m starting to understand her. Maybe she can lie convincingly but I see the fear in her eyes. “He’s not gonna take this personally. A payday’s a payday and he knows that.”
“We’re leaving,” Joker growls, then turns his back and walks towards the door. All the other guys follow suit except me.
“I’ll catch up,” I tell Joker.
He stops, turns and glares at me. “When you’re done with the fuckin’ family reunion, you get your ass to the clubhouse. You don’t talk to Hangman, I fucking will.”
“No. Better coming from me.”
“Yeah, you prick,” he replies and leaves.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Selkie
Eight grabs me by the arm and hustles me out of Kozlov’s suite. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he says in the elevator.
“Wanna loosen the grip, Galahad?” I snap back.
“Fuck the grip, I should beat your ass.”
“Huh,” I say half-pissed and half-turned on. “Try it.” It comes out sounding less hostile and more intrigued.
When we reach the lobby, he drags me out of the casino so fast I almost trip. At his bike, he grabs his helmet out of the saddle bike and slams it into my hands with so much force I stagger back. “What the fuck?”
“You picked up Reese Toper? Are you fuckin’ nuts?”
“It’s my job!” I try to infuse righteous indignation in my voice, but it lacks commitment.
“You’re a nightmare.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Do you have any sense of survival? Renfrew is a mean motherfucker. He thinks money will buy his way out of anything.”
“I think you’re a mean motherfucker, but I’m not afraid of you.”
“We’re not talking about me! If Renfrew catches up to you, he’ll carve you up, starting with your face, then dump you at a hospital. If you don’t die from blood loss, you’ll be scarred for life in a way that will make you never want to show your face or any other part of your body in public again.”
“And you wouldn’t if I picked up one of yours?”
He looks at me strangely. “We would have left you the fuck alone and dealt with it through the legal system. You’re doin’ your fuckin’ job. That don’t make you a target.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them and glare. “That’s what I did! My job.”
