“The Velascos have kompromat on me. It’ll end my career. Then there’s Charlotte, the things they’ll do to her. Ivan wantedPhilippe’s whereabouts, so I gave it. I couldn’t do anything about Burt, though. Dumb fuck. If it’s any comfort, he did try to protect you. He refused to tell the Velascos that you’d seen the folder.”
“How the hell is that supposed to comfort me?” Amelia demanded. It wasn’t a comfort at all, but an absurdity of fate, all the inconsequential decisions that lead to disastrous ends. “If Burt didn’t tell them, how did the Velascos know?”
Bound and beaten, Richard scoffed, scornful even then. “Burt went to Martin Kranski for help. He was worried for himself, but mostly for you. Kranski was a sloppy drunk. The information wasn’t hard for me to wrangle out of him.”
Amelia reeled from a sharp shock of brilliant hatred. “You told them! You sent them after me!”
“Oh, get off it. They would’ve gone after you anyway. Ivan’s interest in you is as much to terrorize your father as it is to eliminate you from the pool of people who knew he’d taken over. And now you’ve given him a third reason.”
Rich’s eyes raked over Amelia. She tugged her shirt up her shoulder to sop up the blood.
“I saw how you hesitated at the gas station. I saw the torment in you, the way Emory’s manipulated you into believing he gives a shit. And worse, you care about him. In fact, I’d say you’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
Amelia refused an answer, though it was obvious to her and anyone else around them and Richard too. He shook his head with a lurid grin.
“God, I’d love to see Cal’s face when he finds out you spread your legs for Emory Holt. If it weren’t so pathetic, it’d be hilarious.” Richard tipped his head to the metal door. “You know Emory’s just as violent and ruthless as them, right? He came to my party for payment. I’d say he collected, wouldn’t you?”
At the lewd suggestion, Richard stared at Amelia’s bare thighs pressed together.
“You don’t know him,” she said in a feeble attempt at defense.Emory was brave and strong, and he’d come for her soon.I won’t make it through the night.
“I know him far better than you do. I know the hatred the Holt brothers harbor for one another. I know how it fuels them both, how they’d tear this world apart just to watch the other bleed.”
Richard winced as he shifted against the wall, and his visage darkened with deep unease.
“You were at my party. You saw what Ivan did. He turned my home into his slaughterhouse. That should be a testament to how little he values human life. It was a shot across the bow for Emory to see. Ivan wants his brother to suffer. Like it or not, that agenda of misery now includes you.”
They both sat up as sounds rustled beyond the metal door. Ivan breezed in with three other men Amelia recognized from Richard’s party. Knees pulled to her chest, she coiled into a tight ball to make herself small, as if she might disappear that way.
Ivan snatched her by the forearm and dragged her from the mattress. She squealed and tried to wrestle her arm away, but his fingers only clamped tighter as he hauled her across the room.
With surprising strength, he tossed her at Richard. Amelia slid across the grimy floor and slammed into the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her. On her forearms and knees, she gasped for breaths but still scarcely managed to fill her lungs. One of the Velasco men pulled a phone from his pocket while another unbound Richard’s hands.
Ivan shoved the phone at Richard. “Call him.”
For what felt like ages, Richard fumbled with the phone and tapped at the screen. He handed it to Ivan just as Emory’s voice, muffled and deep, filtered through.
THIRTY-EIGHT
EMORY
Amile from the commuter lot, the Moriarty men regrouped at a truck stop diner aptly named Crossroads. They piled into two adjacent booths and nourished scant appetites while Zulu went to work.
Across from Emory, Liam perused yesterday’s newspaper. Ink stuck to his fingertips and transferred in sooty prints to his coffee mug. Next to him, Jack avoided Emory’s stare as he tapped the filter end of an unsmoked cigarette against the table.
Disgust overwhelmed Emory. The table was dirty and cigarettes filthy. And why was his nose buried in his phone? Why wasn’t he at the other table poring over leads like Corey, Pete, and Zulu? At least Liam put up a front of relaxed nonchalance, his own attempt at comforting Emory.
It might’ve worked, except the kitchen grills filled the diner with stifling heat. Emory would burn alive in there and be happy for it, anything to stem the anxious thoughts. He stared out the window, though there wasn’t much to see.
The parking lot was mostly empty save a handful of eighteen-wheelers lined up in rows. Drivers hopped from their cabs and walk bowlegged across the lot. Inside, they greeted one another with stiff nods and plopped down at the counter. They’d grind theireyes with the heels of their hands and grumble demands for coffee, black and hot.
Emory sipped on his own coffee loaded with cream and sugar to mask the bitter taste. Wanda the waitress wandered over and slung a worried look at the lot of them.
“You sure everything’s alright, hon?” she asked Liam but eyed Zulu with his gear scattered in the adjacent booth. She’d graciously run an extension cord from behind the counter and, until then, understood not to ask questions other than if they needed more coffee.
“Quite sure,” Liam said with a terse smile that sent Wanda on her way.
“I was texting Miri,” Jack explained and tucked his phone away. “She said they made it back to Liam’s.”
