Kit didn’t mind proving that point.
Before any of them could notice his approach, he withdrew his guns, one in each hand and fired off rounds, head shots for two, and one in the chest for the man closest to the door.
He was still breathing as Kit came near, rattling breaths leaving his chest as he clutched at the wound as though that may help keep the blood in his body.
Kit also noticed that it was the same man that Caesar had with him in the lounge.
“It’s not personal,” Kit said as he aimed at the man’s forehead, watching his eyes widen before the life left him once he fired.
Someone was shouting over the walkie-talkie the man carried, but Kit paid it no mind as he ventured inside, gaze seizing on the men that were rushing toward him, guns at the ready.
They had no idea who they were up against.
Eighteen seconds.
Eighteen seconds was all it took for Kit to cut through every man in the room, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake as he finally found the man, he assumed, was waiting for him.
Elias Harrington sat in a blue velvet wingback chair, a saucer and teacup in hand as he watched the brutality with a blank expression. He didn’t move, nor did he attempt to placate Kit with words as though they might help save his life.
He didn’t say anything at all.
Kit holstered his guns in favor of the knives he had strapped to his wrists. As he turned one over in his hands, he said, “Whatever you think to say next, let it be the reason why I shouldn’t cut you into fucking pieces.”
Elias blinked, bringing his tea to his lips before taking a sip. “And to think, I thought you were more reasonable than that brother of yours.”
“Wrong answer.”
“Still upset about Uilleam, are you?”
Not particularly. Especially not after everything he had learned the night before.
As the blade was about to fly from his hands—and Kit could already see it sinking into the man’s chest, and blood welling around the white of his shirt—Elias set his drink down, with his other hand raised high as though to say he was not a threat.
“I assure you that you will want to hear what I have to say next—your wife’s life depends on it.”
His words made Kit pause.
Elias smiled. “Don’t worry. I know how you Runehart brothers are with idle threats—which is why I thought it best if I showed you.”
He produced a tablet, very much like the one Aidra carried with her at all times, but this one played only a video—no, a visual feed from whomever wore the camera it was depicted from.
In it, he could see Luna, oblivious to whoever it was following her as she walked the streets of New York. She wasn’t distracted by a phone, or any of the sights—it was clear to him that she was observing her surroundings—which could only mean that the recorder didn’t appear to be a threat.
“But if that does not suffice, I also have a man on that lovely assistant of yours—Aidra, is it? And don’t worry, I’m assured that the fellows you have monitoring the pair of them are easily dispensable.”
There was a feed for each of them.
Luna.
Aidra.
Fang.
Thantos.
Invictus.
T?cut.
If the Wild Bunch hadn’t noticed the threat, whoever Elias had on them were very good.
“There will also be a package delivered to the compound your brother has locked himself away in with enough C4 to level the block. So if you would,” he said, the first real trace of annoyance flaring in his gaze, “please have a seat so that we can discuss matters properly.”
“If it’s all the same to you,” Kit said tightly, “I think I’ll stand.”
“Very well. I understand that you’ve recently traveled to Santa Monica to meet with a man by the name of Caesar Rivera.”
Kit didn’t blink. If the man was able to track as well as he did, it wasn’t much of a surprise that he knew about Kit’s dealings. “Yes, the trafficker.”
“He proposed a deal, but you declined.”
“And you think to change my mind on this?”
Elias shrugged. “It is a viable business opportunity. I don’t want to see it wasted. Despite this,”—he waved his hand, searching for the right word— “unpleasantness, you are, as Caesar explained, very good at what you do.”
“How is trafficking with the cartels of any interest to you?”
Who was he?
Kit had done his homework, or at least attempted to, before he came to this meeting, but despite his expansive network, no one had been able to tell him a thing .
It was as though the man didn’t exist.
“That is merely another arrangement that’s paramount to what I’m trying to accomplish. You see, Caesar Rivera is of little interest to me. He offers his men,” this he said with a gesture to the bodies lying on the floor, “and in exchange, he receives my good will.”
“Then what is that you want?”
“Protection, of a sorts, for my client.”
Kit was growing frustrated, his temper flaring. “Who is your client?”