I cock my head. Drink in his sharp Italian suit, slicked-back hair, snakeskin shoes. He’s forty-four, a good fifteen years older than me. And he brought a bodyguard bigger than Griff to accompany him. The man really thinks highly of himself. Hmm. I’ll have to see what I can do about that.
“I suggest you answer within the next century, unless you want to find out how thin my patience really is.”
Griff, seated to my right, looks at me. He quirks an eyebrow, his black pupils dilating with excitement. He’s waiting for my signal. I shake my head.
Not yet.
“Hugo Perez,” I mutter casually, adjusting my watch. “The name blends right in, doesn’t it?”
The man chuckles dryly. “Yeah? I’m so glad you think so.” His lips thinning, he tips his head at me. “Are you Luke? You don’t exactly look like a geek who hides behind his computer. But then, you never can tell how small someone’s balls are under their suit.”
“Thatgeekwould be my brother, though I’d leave his balls out of this if I were you.” Felix must have been feeling particularly Irish when he came up with the latest fictional persona, McAvoy.
Hugo leans forward in his seat. The look he gives me is meant to be intimidating, I assume. “Let’s cut the shit. I think you’ve had enough fun pulling my strings like I’m a puppet over this past year. We both know how this works. You have photos on me; I want them gone. Give me the files now, and you’ll walk away relatively unscathed. Or don’t, and you won’t walk away at all.”
I let out a disappointedtsk. “You need to work on your threats if you want anyone to take you seriously. I have to say, with a past like yours, I expected more. At least a little originality.”
He straightens, his face going rigid. His attention shifts between me and Griff. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Shooting his gaze back to me, he asks, “You think I won’t kill over this? Do you really want to test me?”
The silent bodyguard beside him places a hand over the breast pocket of his suit jacket, not so subtly reminding me that he’s packing.
“Depends.” I tap a finger on the leather seat thoughtfully. “That could be interesting, and we do have a long drive ahead.”
The man frowns and looks out the heavily tinted window, finally noticing just how far we’ve strayed from his precious office building. He flicks his cold gaze from Griff to me, grits his jaw. “I don’t care how much testosterone your friend’s on, you’re sorely mistaken if you doubt what I’m capable of. Now, you will turn this car around and hand over the files, or I will personally slit your neck from ear to ear and smile as I watch you bleed out.”
Mmm, I close my eyes and picture it.
Him.
Sitting on my leather seats, just like he is now.
Bleeding out.
My fingers twitch. “Better. Certainly more original.” I center my gaze on his. “Except for one key mistake. Threats only work with honesty. The second you light your words with bullshit, they go up in flames.”
His face reddens, nostrils flaring. My knife burns a hole through my pocket as I watch the blood rush through his veins.
Not yet.
He lunges. “Just what part of what I said was bullsh—”
Griff has Hugo by the throat in the same instant my knife pierces the bodyguard’s jugular. It’s a clean kill—aside from the blood spilling over his suit—and leaves him lifeless within seconds. Quicker than I usually prefer, but I only play with my catch if it’s on the list. The bodyguard just happened to be in the way.
Hugo turns a shade paler with Griff’s grip still locked around his neck. His eyes, however, flash with defiance.
Any ordinary human being would be terrified, perhaps repulsed, in a circumstance such as this one—inhaling the scent of blood, shoulder brushing a dead body, smears of red staining his employee’s gaping neck.
Not him, though. We are all cut from the same cloth, after all. To a certain extent anyway. My brothers and I were the cloth; this man, one of the many people who’d held the scissors.
A spark of satisfaction simmers beneath my skin as I soak in the light spattering of blood coloring his left cheek, his neck. Although it’s not his own, the sneak peek of what’s to come will have to hold me over until we get to the house.
“To answer your question,” I begin, withdrawing a clean cloth from my back pocket and carefully wiping my hand, then the knife’s blade, “the exact part of your threat that was bullshit was in pretending you’d personally slit my neck.”
His eyes bulge, his voice livid. “You don’t fucking kno—”
“Because you’re the type to watch someone else do the cutting, aren’t you? The type to cash in without getting your hands dirty.” I pause mid-cleaning as I give him my undivided attention. “Of course, that’s unless you’ve changed since the last time I saw you.”
His brows pull together. “What the hell are you—” Griff loosens his hold as he watches recognition take over the man’s face. “But that was—that’s not—it’s not possible ...” This right here, those first few seconds our supposed victims begin to piece it all together, this is Griff’s favorite part. My brother snarls, sets his jaw. Never taking his eyes off the coward.
