Fresh muscle ripped the van doors open. New faces Benito didn’t know.
He sat up, wrapping an arm around his injured torso. There were two of them, an easy win on a good day—but this wasn’t a good day. It was the worst day of his life.
The biggest goon seized Benito’s arms and yanked him forward. “I got a message for you,” he gritted out, “in case you don’t remember what the boss said.”
Boss. Benito almost laughed.Asa, man. How long have you wanted this?
Long enough to find Benito’s weakest link.
Benito leaned heavily against the van door. “Get it over with. I got places to be.”
“Right, Martell. Like you’re going anywhere but a surgeon’s table to sew your guts back in.” The man pointed over his shoulder. Milton Keynes General loomed in the distance, and any hope Benito had that Asa had been bluffing died a thousand times.
They brought me home.
“Oi. Wake up.” The man slapped Benito’s face. “Andlisten. Stay out of London and off the road. Asa says you can live round here so he knows where to find you if he needs you. But stay out of business or you’re a dead man.”
Benito did laugh this time. “Why not kill me now then? Asa doesn’t need me. Isn’t that what this bullshit is all about?”
Another slap hit his face, harder this time. “This ain’t no bullshit, Martell. You’re on retainer. If you want out for good, you gotta pay. A hundred Gs. That’s the price, in cash, product, or fucking blood, else you rot here and spend the rest of your miserable life looking over your shoulder.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Don’t what?”
“Look over my shoulder. What if I come for yourbossin his bed at night and slit his fucking throat?”
The new muscle grinned, showing his missing teeth. “Then your pretty little sister dies. Remember that when you’re dreaming of me.”
