Shit, this was bad. The three of them were not supposed to be together.
Antonio flicked his head toward the office, urging them inside. Though he didn’t want to, there were limited choices. Paul nodded at the others to follow him inside.
“What’s this about?” Dan asked.
Paul’s eyes were immediately on the office chair, where it seemed someone was sitting. With a painfully slow swivel, the chair turned, and sitting in it, hands folded at his stomach, was Dorian Blake.
He cast his eyes over the three of them, the same distasteful look Antonio had given them. But Blake didn’t look surprised to find them together at all. In fact, his eyes glowed with satisfaction. Purpose. Like he knew. “Have a seat, boys, we’ve got a lot to talk about.”
Still, Paul looked for his options, but found them slim. Blake’s men were surrounding them. Some gathered to block the door, others were blocking the window. In front of the desk were three armchairs, which must have been brought in especially for this moment, because they hadn’t been there before.
So they sat in the seats Blake had personally selected for them.
“Didn’t think I’d find you three all grouped up. I thought I warned you about that,” Blake said, giving them that tough voice that sounded like poison.
He moved around the front of the desk, leaning back against it to stare down at them. “This conversation is well overdue, I’m sure you’ll agree,” Blake said.
He was looking at them like he expected a reply. But come on, at this point, none of them were that stupid. Better to let him reveal what he knew than let something accidentally slip. Was Blake so arrogant he thought they’d spill the beans without a little torture first? And even then...
“Want to stay silent? That’s fine. I can do all the talking.” Blake smiled. He waved his hand at Antonio, who bounded forward with a gold wristwatch.
“Do you know what this is?”
Paul hesitated before he answered. “It’s a watch.”
Dorian smiled again, spinning the item on his finger. “It’s Adam Vandemilio’s watch. Dug it right out of his grave.”
“Well, why the fuck would you do that?” Carlos said, casually, breaking his silence.
“Why don’t you tell me,” Blake said, closing in on Carlos’s face. So close that his breath heaved and blew back Carlos’s hair with each puff.
This was getting worse by the second. Paul knew how unhinged Blake was already, but now he looked like he’d busted the door open to Crazytown and thrown away the key, leaking the crazy all over the carpets.
Carlos shook his head and shrugged, trying anything to avoid eye contact—and the heat that came from being under Blake’s suspicious gaze.
Blake turned his attention to Dan.
“Adam Vandemilio is dead, I don’t know why you wanted to dig up his watch,” Dan said, gulping so loudly that Blake snickered, until he noticed the red on Dan’s chin.
Dammit, Dan.The girls.
“Mmm,” Blake said, his poisonous tone now turning into an icy whip. “You’ve got some lipstick on your chin, Dan. Where’d you get that from, hmm? Not from one of the girls who no longer works for me.”
Dan sank into his chair, pushing his shoulders high.
“Okay, how about this one?” Blake said, turning his back to them and motioning Antonio to come forward again.
Antonio pulled out a file and Blake held up a picture up with pinched fingers.
It was a picture of the hitman who was supposed to take out Diego Garcia, lying dead on the plaza pavement. The hitman whom Paul had killed. His eyes were still open.
“Sharpshooter shot, right between the eyes,” Blake said. “You were a pretty good shot right, Paul? Back in the day.”
“Not that good,” Paul said, keeping his tone cool, the most casual of the three of them. “Plus, a trained sniper never goes for the head.” Paul tapped his chest. “Always aim for the center of mass.”
If he was careful, he might just get away with it. Commonly trained snipers never did go for the head, but Paul wasn’t commonly trained.
“And this?” Blake pulled a bag of cocaine crystals out of his pocket and threw it over into Carlos’s lap.
