EJ rustled something on the line—paper, maybe. Buddy’s gut clenched.
“Linda and Fallon are lovely bargaining chips. But I’m feeling generous tonight. So, here’s my offer.”
Buddy’s jaw locked. “Say it.”
“I have thirty girls,” EJ said, soft a penitent looking for absolution. “Thirty. Lost. Forgotten. Easy to move. Easy to keep. They cry like ghosts when the lights go out.”
Buddy’s stomach turned to ice.
“This is your choice. It’s always been your choice.” EJ’s voice warmed, almost affectionate. “I’ll let the girls go… but then I keep these two. Or, I kill the girls and let these two go. Simple.”
Buddy’s pulse stuttered, then roared back harder, as if bursting through a dam. “Where are the girls?”
“You care more about them than your lover? Your friend's dying mother? Interesting.” EJ laughed. “That’s a twist I didn’t expect.”
Buddy’s vision whitened at the edges. Blood raced in his ears. Fury climbed his spine like fire.
“I didn’t say that.”
“What are you saying?” EJ asked, but it was more of a taunt than anything else. “Simon tried to teach you how this works. Shame he didn’t get far. You locked up the errand boy, not the man he worked for.”
Buddy’s breath hitched—once—before he forced it steady. “What do you really want?”
“For you to make your choice.” The words sliced like a knife. “Tell all your teams to back off. Stop trailing us. Call everyone off. You do that, and I pull over and let Fallon and Linda walk away. Alive. I swear it.”
“And if we don’t?” Buddy asked, even though he already knew.
“Oh, then they die first,” EJ said. “And the girls go next.”
Buddy’s throat closed. Rage and terror fused until he couldn’t tell one from the other. “You expect me to choose between?—”
“No.” EJ cut him off, tone turning almost tender. “I expect you to lose. You’ve always been good at that.”
Buddy’s fingers curled into a fist so tight his nails bit into his skin.
“Choose who dies. Or everyone does,” EJ said. “You’ve got ten minutes.”
The line went dead.
Buddy’s world detonated. “Fuck.” He slammed the dashboard hard enough that Dawson flinched. The second hit was worse—fist connecting with plastic and metal until pain streaked up his arm. “Son of a—fuck!”
He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see anything except Fallon trapped behind that blacked-out glass. Linda beside her. Thirty girls whose names he didn’t even know.
Dawson grabbed Buddy’s forearm, yanking him back before he put a hole through the dash. “Look at me.”
Buddy didn’t. Couldn’t. His rage was a living thing—clawing, burning, ripping its way up his throat.
“That sick bastard—” Buddy gunned the heel of his hand into the glove box this time, harder, breath breaking. “He has Fallon. Linda. Thirty fucking—Jesus Christ—thirty girls?—”
“Buddy.” Dawson’s voice sharpened into command. “Reign it in. Focus.”
Buddy’s chest seized. He sucked in air, but it didn’t feel like enough. Didn’t feel like anything.
“He wants me to choose.” Buddy’s voice cracked. Then it hardened into something carved from bone. “He actually—he thinks I’m going to choose.”
“He’s trying to break you,” Dawson said. “So, don’t break.”
Buddy dragged both hands over his face, shaking. “I can’t lose her. I can’t lose any of them.”
