“You paid for it.”
The slayer’s eyes narrowed. “You’re gonna do business with me.”
“I can assure you I’m not here for the pleasure of your company.” As Assail motioned with his hand, Ehric took out a wrapped package. “A few ground rules first. You will contact me directly. I will not accept calls from anyone else within your organization. You may delegate drop-off and pickup to whomever you wish, but you will provide me with the identity and number of the representatives you are sending. If there is any kind of ambush, or if there is any deviation from my two rules, I will cease to transact with you. Those are my only stipulations.”
The lesser looked back and forth between Assail and the cousins. “What if I want to buy more than this?”
Assail had considered this probability. He hadn’t spent the past twelve months getting middlemen to shoot themselves in the head for nothing—and he wasn’t about to cede his hard-won power to anyone. This was a unique opportunity, however. If the Lessening Society wanted to make some money on the streets, he was fine with providing them the drugs to do so. It wasn’t as if this foul-smelling son of a bitch was going to be able to get to Benloise because Assail was going to make sure that didn’t happen. More to the point, Assail had a rate-limiting issue inherent in his business model—with just the three of them, he had more product than he had sellers.
So it was time to start outsourcing. His stranglehold on the city complete, the next phase was to handpick some third parties for contract work, so to speak.
“We’re going to start slowly and see how it goes,” Assail murmured. “You need me. I’m the source. So it’s your choice how we proceed. I am certainly not…how do you say…disinclined to increase your orders. Over time.”
“How do I know you’re not working with the Brotherhood?”
“If I were, I would have them ambush you right now.” He indicated the bags at the feet of the slayer. “Further, as a gesture of good faith, and in recognition of your losses, I have credited you three thousand dollars in this delivery. One grand for each of our, shall we say, misinterpretations from last night.”
The slayer’s brows popped.
In the silence that followed, the wind blew around them all, coats sweeping out, the lesser’s jacket collar whistling.
Assail was content to wait for a reaction. There were one of two answers: Yes, in which case Ehric was going to throw over the package. No, at which time the three of them opened fire on the fucker, disabled him, and stabbed him back to the Omega.
Either was acceptable to him. But he was hoping for the former.
There was money to be made. For both sides.
Sola kept her distance from the quartet of men who had gathered under the bridge: lingering on the fringes, she used her binocs to focus on the meeting.
Mr. Mystery Man, a.k.a. the Great Roadside Houdini, was backed up by two huge bodyguards who were mirror images of each other. From all appearances, it seemed that he was running the meeting, and that was not a surprise—and she could guess at the agenda.
Sure enough, the twin on the left stepped forward and gave a package the size of a child’s lunch box to the man who was on his own.
As she waited for the deal to wind down, she knew she was taking her life into her own hands on this one—and not because she was under the bridge after dark.
Considering the run-in she’d had with the man the night before, it was highly doubtful he was going to appreciate her getting on his tail, following him out here, and playing third-party witness to his illegal activities. But she had spent most of the last twenty-four hours thinking about him—and getting pissed off. It was a free fucking country, and if she wanted to be out here on public property, she was allowed.
He wanted privacy? Then he should take care of business somewhere other than out in the goddamn open.
As her temper resurged, she gritted her teeth…and knew that this was her worst character defect at work.
For her entire life, she had been the type to do whatever she was told not to. Of course, when that involved things like, No, you can’t have a cookie before dinner, or, No, you can’t take the car out; you’re grounded, or…No, you should not go see your father in prison…the implications were very different from what was going down in front of her.
No, you may not go back to that house.
No, you may not watch me anymore.
Yeah, whatever, big shots. She was going to decide when she’d had enough, thank you very much. And at the moment? She had not had enough.
Besides, there was another angle to her tenacity: she didn’t like losing her nerve, and that was what had happened last night. As she’d pulled away from her confrontation with that man, it had been from a place of fear—and that was not going to be the way she ran her life. Ever since that tragedy, oh, so long ago, when things had changed forever, she had decided—vowed, was more like it—that she would never again be afraid of anything.
Not pain. Not death. Not the unknown.
And certainly not a man.
Sola tightened up the focus, closing in on his face. Thanks to the city’s glow, there was enough for her to see it properly, and yup, it was just as she remembered. God, his hair was so damn black, almost as if he’d colored it. And his eyes—narrowed, aggressive. And his expression, so haughty and in control.
Frankly, he looked too classy to be what he was. Then again, maybe he was cut from the Benloise cloth of drug dealer.
Shortly thereafter, the two sides went their separate ways: the single man turned and walked in the direction he’d come from, a collection of barely filled trash bags slung over his shoulder; the other three recrossing the pavement, returning to the Range Rover.
Sola jogged back to her rental car, her dark bodysuit and ski mask helping her blend into the shadows. Getting behind the wheel of the Ford, she ducked down out of sight and used a mirror to monitor the one-way that ran underneath the bridge.
The road was the only exit available. Unless the man was willing to risk a pullover by the CPD for going against traffic.
Moments later, the Range Rover passed her by. After allowing it to get slightly ahead, she hit her own gas and slid into position about a block behind.
When Benloise had given her the assignment, he’d provided her with the make and model of the man’s SUV, in addition to that address out on the Hudson. Not the name, though.
All she had was that real estate trust and its single trustee.
As she tracked the threesome, she memorized the license plate. One of her friends down at the police station might be able to help with that; although, given that the house was owned by a legal entity, she surmised he’d done the same with automobile.
Whatever. There was one thing she was sure of.
Wherever he was going next, she was going to be there.
FORTY-SIX
The shout blasted through the dim bedroom, loud, sharp, unexpected.
As it reverberated in her ears, Layla didn’t immediately know who had woken her up with it. What had—
Glancing down, she knew she was sitting upright, the sheets crushed in her tight hands, her heart pounding, her rib cage pumping.
Looking around, she found that her mouth was wide open…
Closing her jaw, she knew she must have made the sound. There was no one else in the room. And the door was shut.
Lifting her hands, she twisted her wrists so they were palm up, then palm down. The illumination in the room, such as it was, was not coming from her flesh anymore. It was the bathroom light.
Jerking herself to the side, she peered over the edge of the bed.
Payne was no longer lying in a heap. The female must have left—or been carried out?