“Then the ladies will be forfeit.”
Blane kept his mouth shut, listening to see what Kade’s move would be.
“We just met them last night,” Kade said with a careless shrug. “I don’t give a shit what you do with them.”
Blane stiffened. That attitude wasn’t going to fly with him.
“Then I’ll just have them taken care of now,” Péng said, nodding at one of the guards who whipped out a cell phone.
“I’m guessing the cops will be wanting to know why two women disappeared inside one of your clubs, though,” Kade continued. “You do own the Lucky Seven, right? I mean, I know Ray here’s the front man, but your name’s on all the paper. I bet they’d have some uncomfortable questions.”
Péng stared at Kade for a moment, then waved a hand at the guard on the phone, who immediately ended the call.
“So are we at a stalemate, Mr. Dennon?” Péng asked. “Because I don’t take threats very well.”
“Then we have something in common.” Kade’s voice was like ice. “If you want the device, then you’re going to pay me twenty-five million. And I get the girls.”
“Fifteen and you get one girl.”
“Twenty and both.”
“Done.”
“See?” Kade asked with a thin smile. “I knew we could work it out.”
“Where is it?”
“You really think I’d have it on me?” Kade asked. “Please. It’s somewhere safe. Give me until midnight and I’ll have it for you.”
“That’s a long time,” Péng said. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”
“For twenty mil, I’ll keep my word. And the girls are to be untouched.”
Kade glanced at Blane and by mutual agreement, they headed for the door.
“When will Ray wake up?” Péng asked, a grimace of distaste crossing his features as he stared at Ray’s slumped body.
“Maybe for the Second Coming,” Kade said. “He’s dead. See you at midnight, Péng.” Then he and Blane were out the door and gone.
***
“How are we going to find that thing when you have no idea what happened to it?” Blane asked. “Those girls’ lives depend on you giving that thing to Péng.”
“I’m not giving him shit,” Kade said. “Even if I had the thing, I wouldn’t, because as soon as I did, he’d kill us all.”
“What?” Mannie shrieked. “Kill us? Are you shitting me? I didn’t sign up for that!”
“Chill,” Kade snapped. “No one’s going to get killed.”
“But you just said—”
“I know what I said. But I know Péng’s type. He won’t let us walk away.”
“Then what’s the plan?” Blane asked.
Kade was looking at his phone. “I’m really hoping whoever took this picture is a dipshit,” he replied.
“What?”
But Kade ignored him, doing something on the phone.
“Where am I going?” Mannie asked. He was driving aimlessly down the Strip, the neon lights of Las Vegas burning gaily all around them. They stopped at a light and a horde of tourists crossed the street, a menagerie of different sizes, shapes, colors, and ages. Some were dressed in shorts and T-shirts, others in jeans, and others in clothes that could only be worn either in Vegas or in a strip club.
“Here’s where we’re going,” Kade said, reading off an address.
“Where’s that?” Blane asked.
“It’s where they took the picture of the girls. Location services can be a real privacy problem if you’re not careful.” Kade’s lips twisted in a smirk as he glanced at Blane.
“Nice work,” Blane said. “Let’s check it out, but we’re going to need firepower if they’ve got them under guard.”
“Yep.”
Mannie gripped the wheel a little tighter at the mention of “firepower,” but didn’t say anything.
It took longer than Blane liked to get through traffic and to the address. They drove by slowly when they saw it.
“Indoor skydiving, base-jumping, and rock climbing?” Blane asked. “You sure this is the place?”
Kade double-checked his phone. “Yeah. I’m sure. The coordinates are an exact match.”
“Kind of a weird place to hold hostages,” Mannie said. “They own this place, too?”
Kade shrugged. “No idea. Maybe he outsourced this. Either way, we can’t go in there with one gun and seventeen bullets.”
Seeing the place jogged a memory for Blane. “I think I can help with that,” he said, pulling out his phone. “A buddy of mine, a SEAL, started this business out here I think. People pay to shoot a bunch of military arms at his ranch. He’s got all kinds of shit. Maybe he could help us out.”
“Give him a call.”
To Blane’s relief, Bill remembered him. They’d been on different Teams, but had crossed paths occasionally.
“I’ve got a problem,” Blane said, not wanting to divulge too much over the phone. “I need a favor. A down range kind of favor.”
“Anything for another SEAL,” Bill said. “And if you’re going down range, I probably have what you need. Come on out.”
Chapter Six