“I’m impressed.” I chuckle. “Or should I be concerned?”
He glares back at me, feigning confidence.
“You came unarmed. Or did you?” I cock a brow. Aware that he probably has a backup plan in place, I know I would.
“I did as you asked, Azrael. Now let them go,” he bites out.
“The card.” I wave my hand toward one of my men, and he pulls it from his back pocket and hands it over without so much as a word of negotiation. Is he really this naïve? Or is it desperation?
You’d do the same, a small voice whispers inside me.
“Follow me,” I bark in Owen’s direction, but he shoulder barges my man out of the way with a sneer on his lips.
I spin to face him.
“He tripped.” He shrugs, and my lip twitches at his arrogance. In another life, I could probably like this man, but he’s simply a means to an end.
I open my office door, and he follows me inside. Jensen shuts it behind us, cocooning us in a small fortress with a baby holding a grenade.
Owen seethes at Jensen, who stares blankly ahead.
“My men have full instructions to blow her brains out if you try anything. Sit.” I point toward the chair opposite me and take the seat behind my desk.
“I gave you the card, Azrael,” he spits out.
“You did,” I confirm in a monotone voice.
I’ve piqued his interest with my nonchalance of the card, and he sits forward.
“What is it you want? You never asked me if I made a copy of the files on there.”
“Did you?” I cock an eyebrow, and the baby coos, causing Owen to jolt.
“No.”
“Okay,” I state.
“Okay? You don’t care about the fucking memory card, so why are we here?” His face reddens, and the tension rolls off him.
But I ignore it. I sit back in my chair and study the woodwork of the desk. “I need you to deliver a package.”
I don’t miss the way he pulls back. “A package?”
“That’s what I fucking said,” I snap, and it causes the baby to fuss. My instinct is to soothe him, to give him some comfort, but not only is his father two seconds away from ripping me apart, I also don’t want to show a weakness.
With years of training, I remain emotionless.
“I need you to deliver a package for me,” I repeat slowly, like I’m talking to an idiot.
“You caused all this for a fucking package?” he snipes.
I hold his eyes and see the moment he realizes there’s more to this than a package. Much more.
He jumps. “A person. You want me to traffic a human?” Horror takes over his face, and I’m quick to reassure him.
“Not traffic a human. I said deliver a package.” The vein on my neck pulsates. She’s more to me than he could ever know, and he’s implying otherwise. So much fucking more.
“A girl?”
