Fucking pathetic. This spineless, wealthy collector with a hard-on for rare, illegal, or banned imports, who’s obsessed with exclusivity, and toys with legality. He’s all about the show… but now, he can’t back up what he asked for.
“Look, I…” he leans in, lowering his voice.
I lean back, not giving him the opportunity to shield his cowardice behind his polished façade.
He presses his lips together, and I try not to smile at how annoyed he looks.
“It’s a big risk,” he says through clenched teeth. “I just need to?—”
“You just need to shut your fucking mouth and listen.” I reach across the table to grab his scotch and take a swig. “Inever wanted to let you into the auction in the first place. You rich assholes treat it like a game, while we’re the ones risking everything. I’ll say it one more time, Victor. You asked. We delivered. Now you fucking pay.”
“Alder…” he shakes his head. “I can’t go to the auction and?—”
“You,” I say, pointing a finger at him, “wanted in.Youare the one who came tousbecause you wanted to flash your wallet so the investors in your new ‘import venture’ would think you’re the goddamn king of the black market.”
He nods a bit nervously, but then he throws his hands up and leans forward again, his eyes looking a bit too wild for my liking. “Fine,” he grits out. “I didn’t think the room would be so fucking heavy this time. There’s heat, and people are watching. I can’t be tied to this publicly.”
I finally take my eyes off him to glance around the room, catching the stares and hushed whispers aimed our way.
“You already are.” I take another drink, almost tempted to drag this out just because it tastes so damn good. “Pay now, or I make this even more public.Rightnow.”
His eyes widen.
“We risked prison so you could make a scene in front of your little investors, and now you’re choosing to fuck over the Basin Kings? This isn’t a flex, Victor. This is a deal. Pay. Or disappear.”
His eyes flick to the bar behind me, where his tablemates are seated, then back, as his fingers start picking at the edge of the tablecloth. “I don’t have that kind of cash on me.”
“Then wire it.” I hold his gaze as he squirms under my stare. “You know where.”
He hesitates, then pulls out his phone and starts tapping.
“Since you were ready to throw down at auction, might as well make it an even six figures.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue.
I take another drink of his scotch as I watch him. “And add another five grand for inconvenience.”
He glances up at me, fingers hovering over the screen.
“Want to make it ten?” I ask, leaning forward and resting my elbows on the table.
Victor holds my gaze for a moment before dropping his eyes back to his phone as he finishes tapping away at it. “Done.”
“Show me.”
He pauses halfway through sliding his phone back into his pocket, but then turns the screen to show me the full amount deposited into our burner account.
I drain the last of his drink as I stand and glance towards the bar. “Good luck explaining this one to your buddies,” I say. “Come get your car in the morning.”
Then I turn and walk out, past the head shakes and whispered disbelief, down the stairs, and right by the valet who half-heartedly says something I ignore.
As I swing my leg over my bike and start it up, I finally let out my sigh.
Auctions used to be the best way to move cars. It was fast money, and big money, with no haggling and no chasing.
But not anymore. Because now even the assholes with something to prove, and the money to do it, are starting to back out. And if this keeps happening, we’re headed for more risk than reward, more heat than profit, and a whole lot of shit we can’t afford to sit on.
I pulled it off with the Porsche this time and got the price we wanted. But if the next buyer flakes, we might not be so lucky.
