I groan in frustration and follow him in before closing the door. “Let us explain,” I try, but it falls on deaf ears.
“No.” His head shakes vigorously. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave or I’m calling the police.”
Jude chuckles. “That will be hard to do with no phone.” He holds up the cellphone he probably snatched pushing past him, then smashes it on the floor.
His eyes bounce between us knowing he’s trapped. I mean, who would try to run from two men who look like us? Not only is he outnumbered, but in this day and age, who even keeps a landline?
I hold up my hand to silence whatever it is he’s about to say. I couldn’t give a fuck less what spills from his lips, because in the end, I’m still going to do what I have to.
I navigate through the home I feel I know just as well as him after reading the blueprint, thanks to a near-photographic memory. I turn right, starting down the long hallway that will lead to his office in the center of the house. The exact place we need to be for him to sign the documents we brought that will guarantee the Ciccones a twenty percent cut on his hotel business, and access to any property when we’re traveling.
I look at the walls as we walk, realizing it’s a shrine to Arloe. Each picture gives me a glimpse into different stages in her life. She’s a baby in the first—a chunky thing with a big pink bow. Then she’s a toddler and is running into her father’s arms. Her pre-teen phase is most interesting—a smile covered by braces and a bubbly personality that bleeds through the photo.
But as we take the turn, so does Arloe. She’s not too happy as a teen, but I see where her love for books started. It seemed innocent at first, G-rated books about wizards and descendants of Gods, and I wonder when she got into the crap she reads today.
I stop in front of the last picture. She’s older here, but not by much. Barron has his arm around her shoulder, smiling proudly, but she looks…sad and distant.
Normally, things like that wouldn’t even faze me, but Arloe is awakening something inside me. She’s changing me.
As we breach the threshold of his office, I raise my head and square my shoulders. Barron enters the space, fear and confusion lining his features. I nod toward his desk.
“Have a seat, Mr. Harway,” I deadpan.
“What’s going on? Who are you people?”
He doesn’t move, and I have to say I admire that about him. But I also see where Arloe gets her stubbornness from.
“We have some paperwork for you to sign,” I answer plainly.
He looks from me to Jude then back. “I’m not doing anything you say. Do you know who I am?”
Jude snickers. “We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t. Now, you heard the man…sit.”
When Barron doesn’t budge, Jude calmly removes his gun from behind his back, letting it linger at his side.
“This doesn’t need to be complicated, Mr. Harway. You’re a businessman, just like us. You sign what’s in that envelope my brother has there, and we’ll be out of your hair. It’s that easy.” I shrug but remain as neutral as possible.
That’s how it works with us. Jude’s the hot-headed, trigger-happy psycho while I keep my cool.
“I don’t know who you people—”
Jude cuts him off by cocking his Glock. Barron swallows a breath, his Adam’s Apple rolling under his skin.
“Sit,” I order again.
He finally moves and settles behind his desk. Barron reaches for something, but Jude’s at his side with the barrel pointed at his head in seconds.
“You’re an educated man, Barron,” Jude blurts. “Don’t get stupid now.”
The man hisses, and I saunter up to his desk, taking a seat in front of it. Jude stays standing, though, prepared to end this man’s life without a second thought.
“You have something my father wants.” I lean back into the seat then rest my ankle over my left thigh. “And we won’t go home without it. He’ll be angry, then we’ll be angry, and frankly, I’m not in the mood. We’ve come a long way. I’m starving and would really like to get this over with.”
Jude drops the envelope in front of him and removes the pre-written agreement that makes Eric Ciccone a shareholder in Harway Hotel Group.
Barron reads the documents, flipping through the pages angrily. He stops after the fourth page and shakes his head at me then snarls at Jude.
“I’m not signing over any percentage of my company.”
