Page 127 of Lawless Rivals

“I’ve got it, I swear to God. I just need⁠—”

“I’m not interested in excuses.”

I crouch before him to bring us level and press the barrel under his chin, lifting his head up until his eyes meet mine.

His throat works around it, breath catching in short bursts he can’t settle.

“How much do you owe me?” I ask.

“You know how much,” he says in a hurry. “I just needed a few more days⁠—”

The barrel digs in harder, and his words cut off. “I didn’t ask for an explanation.”

His jaw tightens, teeth baring until he realizes it won’t get him anywhere.

“Twenty k,” he says.

I hold his gaze while I nod once, as though we’re agreeing on something simple.

“And how much have you brought me?”

“Seven,” he says, swallowing hard. “I’ll get the rest, I prom⁠—”

I smack the gun off the side of his head, not in the mood to tolerate bullshit. He slumps to the ground, blood blooming from his skull.

That’ll hurt, but it sure as fuck won’t get my cash any quicker.

Dane shifts off the wall, coming toward me.

“We taking the seven?” he asks, not quite stepping in, just close enough to be heard.

From the ground, the guy whimpers some shit about selling a horse or whatever.

“You knew what the terms were when you borrowed my money,” I say, gripping my gun tighter. “Miss the payment date, it costs ya.”

“I didn’t miss it,” he insists, voice cracking at the edges. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

I sink to my haunches and jab the gun under his chin again, pushing so his neck strains against it.

His breath stutters.

“You think showing up with less than half counts?” I ask. “I’m running a fucking business. Not a charity.”

“It’s a down payment,” his words rush out. “You’ll get the rest tomorrow.”

“No one fucks with me,” I grit. “Not you, not anyone. Are we clear?”

“I’ll get it,” he says. “You know I will. Trust me, Saint.”

“I don’t trust anyone,” I mutter. “Especially not people who do business with Alasdair Harrington.”

I keep the gun where it is, so it’s easy to pull the trigger and show this fucker who’s in charge around here.

Seconds pass as I consider it.

“You know anything about the Crowe brothers from the North?” I ask him. “Are ya working with them?”

His breathing turns rough and uneven, the sound of it filling the room. “Never heard of––”