Page 1 of One for the Money

Stretched out on a pallet of C4, I flicked the ash off my cigarette, letting out a heavy sigh. Bringing the filter to my lips, I took a drag of the sweet, spicy clove with a hint of menthol. If I were going to kill my lungs, at least it was going to taste good, not to mention the smell of clove was superior to traditional tobacco. Glancing at my watch, I frowned—they were late. I hate people being late.

“Bear, remind me, these assholes were the ones to set the time, right?” I asked, turning to look at my right-hand man.

The man was a towering beast of muscle with tattoos and scars covering his body. A coal-black pair of eyes met mine as he nodded, then flicked his fingers in a sign that told me his feelings about the matter. Grinning, I sat up and flicked the finished cigarette into the shadows of the warehouse.

“You’d think they’d learn how much I hate people being late after last time. Seems losing a few toes didn’t make a big enough impression,” I grumbled.

“I told you to go with the knee,” Bear signed, reminding me.

After hopping down from the stack of explosives, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my cropped leather jacket. “Look, it was his first time working with us, and I didn’t want to scare him off. Risto is an excellent customer, so I assumed anyone he sent our way would know our rules. Guess I’ll need to chat with the man so he realizes his referrals are his responsibility.”

The sounds of an engine roaring toward us and tires squealing alerted us as the box truck turned into the warehouse and raced toward me. Crossing my arms, I stood my ground, knowing they wouldn’t dare to run me over. Plus, Bear had his gun at the ready, and Bear never missed a headshot. At the last moment, the driver slammed on the brakes, causing the tires to smoke as the truck slid to a halt a foot away from me. If this prick was trying to scare me, he was going to need to do better than that pathetic attempt.

A man tumbled out of the driver’s seat, and two more exited the other side, all looking rather panicked. With exaggerated effort, I shoved back the sleeve of my jacket to look at my watch. “Seven and a half minutes late isn’t a good look for you, Norbert.”

“Von, I can explain,” Norbert rushed forward, only to be clotheslined by Bear, sending him crashing to the floor. “Fuck.”

Bear’s response was to sneer and let out a low growl.

“Norbie, Norbie, Norbie,” I scolded, pulling out one of my knives as I approached him. “Did you learn nothing from our last chat or is it that toes aren’t that important to you? Maybe this time I should take the whole foot?”

Norbert’s mousy, pinched face reflected the terror running through him at my words. “No, not my foot. If you take my foot, I won’t be able to work,” Norbert pleaded.

Crouching down, I flipped my knife, not bothering to catch it before it landed in Norbert’s calf. “Tell me why I should give a fuck about that, Norbie? You have no respect for my time and my work, so why should I give a shit about yours?”

“I have information,” Norbert shouted, shoving his hands forward to stop me from grabbing the blade. “Y-you, you’ve been looking for some people, right?”

Cocking my head, I considered his words. “I’m looking for a lot of people. You’re gonna need to narrow that down just a bit.”

Bear reached down and grabbed the back of Norbert’s shirt, hauling the man up so he now dangled, choked by his shirt.

“Talk fast. The longer you make me wait, the less interested I am in what you have to say,” I warned.

Norbert wriggled like a fish caught at the end of a hook, trying to grasp his shirt collar in an effort to breathe. “Can’t… no air.”

Grunting, Bear let go, and the man crashed to the floor once again, curling up on his side, gasping. I bent down and yanked my knife free, wiping the blood on his jeans before using my boot to shove him on his back. Then I planted my boot in the middle of his chest and put my body weight into it. These beauties were black leather with silver spikes scattered over them—a gift from my blood-bonded sister, Queenie. She knew just what to get me.

“How about now?” I asked, tracing the tip of the blade along his jaw. “I’m growing bored, Norbie. Talk fast.”

“Word is you’re looking for the Accardi heirs. I know someone who can be persuaded into telling you where to look,” Norbert blurted. “If you go to Overshire and find a bar named Bootleggers, ask for Trent. He owns the place. I promise you, Von, he will have information for you. Trent is the best forger in the business. If you want to disappear, he’s the one who can make it happen.”

Putting a little more pressure on the blade, I let the tip slice Norbert’s skin from the base of his ear to his chin. “That’s for being late… this way, you will see it every time you look in the mirror. As for your shipment, it’s going to cost you double. Oh, and if you’ve sent me on a wild-goose chase, Norbie, I’ll slit your throat.”

“Double?” Norbert gasped. “I-I can’t pay double.”

“Then it looks like you’re leaving without the goods, but, hey, look at the bright side, you’re still alive,” I pointed out, sheathing my knife and stepping away from the sad man.

His buddies helped pick him off the floor and back into the truck. One of them returned with a duffle, dropping it at my feet. “Here’s the payment we agreed upon for the whole thing. Would you be willing to sell us at least half?”

Running my tongue over the gems glued onto my sharpened canine, I considered the offer. “Fine, but just so we’re clear, this type of deal won’t happen again.” Stepping closer so we were nose-to-nose, I grinned, showing off my teeth. “Next time, you either take what’s agreed upon, or you get nothing. There’s plenty of other criminals out there to sell to who can afford my prices without the disrespect of being late.”

The man swallowed, and I was close enough to hear it. Knowing how terrified he was of me created such a warm feeling in my twisted heart. I knew I was fucked in the head, but instead of trying to change who I was, I decided to embrace it.

“Understood,” my prey responded, looking a little pale.

I stepped back and motioned for him to get to work loading the C4. The third of their group came to help, grabbing armfuls of the explosive and jogging back to the box truck. C4 was idiotproof—you couldn’t blow yourself up with it by shooting it or setting it on fire. This shit needed a detonator, plain and simple, but not many people knew that.

It had me wondering if these asswipes were educated on the matter. There’s only one way to find out.