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He clenched his jaw. “Fine. Quietly.” He looked me over, disgust clear in his face. “How much?” I didn’t answer. “How fucking much, Zeke?”
I exhaled through my nose. “Two and a half million.”
“Two and a…” His eyebrows shot up. “You gotta be kidding me.”
“I’ll get it.”
“You better, because if anything happens to her…”
“It won’t.”
He didn’t believe me. I saw it in his eyes, but I didn’t care. I turned away and stared out the window. If Nyce wanted pressure, he’d get it. He thought I was soft because I preached, wore a robe on Sundays, and shook hands with city officials. But he forgot how I built this. I wasn’t born in pulpits. I was bred in dirt. If I had to remind him who the fuck Ezekiel Montgomeryreallywas… so be it.
