Every man has an Achilles’ heel, and I don’t like that I’ve been in his company for an hour, and I still haven’t been able to figure out what Noah Sr.’s is.
How does he get his kicks?
Does he like knowing his sons will suffer when he has the power to stop it?
Is he the kind of man who would let the world burn to satisfy his wounded pride?
“I can see I have your attention,” he adds. “Think about all the things we can do together. This city is ripe for the taking, Mr. Payne, and we are the kind of businessmen it needs.”
“You seem to be mistaken about the kind of business I do.”
Noah Sr. shakes his head. “Not at all. I know who you are, and the kind of business you run, and I’ve been trying to find an in for years.”
Why don’t I trust him?
Because you can’t trust a man who doesn’t care about anything. They’re too volatile, wild, and unpredictable, and there’s no telling what they’ll do to stay ahead.
I pity Noah and his brother for winding up with him for a father.
“I can see you need some time to think this through.” Noah Sr. motions to the waiter, reaches into his pocket, and takes out a card. “I’ve already made the call, Mr. Payne. I must admit Ryder’s story on you made for an interesting read. These stories tend to sell well. It’s a pity.”
I level Noah Sr. with a withering look.
Noah Sr. makes a vague hand gesture. “In any case, the story Ryder was working on has been… taken care of. Of course, there’s a possibility Ryder has backed up his files somewhere secure, but I’ll leave that to you to figure out.”
Noah Sr. pushes his chair back with a screech and stands up. The waiter returns with his card, and he puts it away. “I’m glad your special friend put in a good word for me.”
I almost choke on my drink. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I have no interest in her beyond getting a foot in the door, and she’s done that and more.”
My drink tastes bitter, and I have the sudden urge to track London down and shake some sense into her.
Or lock her in my room for the rest of her days.
But neither of those will get me what I want, and I doubt they’ll make London see reason.
Fucking hell.
Why would she reach out to Noah Sr.?
It’s like she’stryingto make the target on her back bigger.
“I always thought she was too good for my son,” he continues, “but there’s no accounting for taste.”
I press my lips together and say nothing.
He clears his throat. “Call me when you’re ready to do business. I look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Payne.”
Without waiting for a response, he spins on his heels and leaves.
In the car, I make a few phone calls, growing more suspicious by the minute. Then, I lower the partition between us and issue rapid-fire instructions to Katia, who doesn’t look fazed as she listens. A few blocks away from the restaurant, she gets out of the car and disappears into the shadows. Another of my men is waiting for us at the end of the street, and he climbs into the passenger seat next to my driver.
“We need to make one more stop before we go back.” I put my phone away and smile. “It’s not too far.”
A few minutes later, we drive up to one of the Fitzpatrick warehouses, and I lower the window. I start firing at random, and all hell breaks loose. Several men dive for cover, and a few reach for their guns too late. There’s a cacophony of voices, and my man hits a few boxes scattered on the ground, sending splinters of wood and glass in every direction. More voices grow in confusion and anger as I fire off a few more rounds, feeling better than I have in weeks.
I stop, and slide the window back up.
