“I’ve done my homework.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Then you know I put out the call after the job you did for a client. News travels fast, and I’m not an easy man to impress.” Placing the glass down, he rubs his chin. Dissecting me. Waiting for me to ask a question that will never leave my lips. I’m not a man who worries about the whys or maybes. Instead, I match his composure and wait.
And wait.
His patience matches mine and, in this game, neither is willing to bend. I know why he wanted me and why the call came, but the change in negotiation came much sooner than I expected.
“Ask me.”
“How long?” There’s no need for me to elaborate and he sits forward, opening the drawer to his right and pulling out two items: a file and a knife. Both are pushed my way and I open the folder, reading the contents inside. He’s been busy. Most of the offenses here are well accounted for and I’ve never denied or hidden them, but it’s the last page that makes me pause. “Who gave this to you?”
There’s no mistaking the venom in my tone nor the tensing of my muscles for what it is…
A threat. A warning.
“I paid that contract out, Javier. No harm will come to them.”
“Who did this, Malcolm?” I grit out through clenched teeth, crushing the paper in my hand. “Who the fuck was stupid enough to put a hit on the women in my family?”
“It’s taken care of—”
“No. It isn’t.” With that, I stand, roughly pushing the chair back, and turn to leave, but before I reach the door, the knife once atop his desk embeds itself in the wall closest to me. My reaction is just as volatile, full of ire, and I grip the handle in my hand and pull it out. It’s a beautiful piece, and by the weight, I can attest that it’s solid gold. The blade is sleek, sharp, and I return the favor with a quick flick of the wrist.
“You haven’t been dismissed, Javier. Sit down.”
“Next time, I won’t miss.”
“Then you aren’t interested in taking a walk with me and meeting the name on the sheet you’ve crumbled in your rage?” That stops me in my tracks. No rebuttal. Not a single word as I retake my seat, eyes on him with a neutral expression.
Malcolm Asher played his cards well, and I’m not stubborn enough to walk out with the silent offers he’s made.
“I’m listening.”
“Look at the last line and read it aloud.”
“Castro Acevedo.”
“Do you know him?” A nod is my response, seething at the nerve of this son of a bitch. Castro Acevedo works with the presidential family in Colombia, an enemy to mine. They all are. “This came as a direct order the moment you left the country. They want you to come back.”
“I know they do.”
“So much so, that they sent Acevedo here.”
“Here?”
“Here.”
“Where is he?”
“I’ll give him to you on two conditions.” And there it is. His upper hand. Malcolm stands then and takes his jacket off, placing it carefully over his chair. Then the cufflinks come off and the sleeves are rolled up. He doesn’t answer me while he does this but does push across another piece of paper.
A smaller one with a single line written in neat penmanship.
Three years and ten bodies. Do you accept?
“I can, but I have a stipulation of my own.” Grabbing a pen from beside his stapler, I scribble my condition and slide it across.
I’ll concede to an open contract with no end date under my discretion after the three you request, but in return, you don’t interfere.
“You’re walking a very thin line, Lucas. My cousin isn’t—”
“I want the chance to get to know her, Malcolm,” I interject before he says something that will destroy any agreement we could arrive at. The click of his gun is quickly followed by mine as two hands raise, and we hold our ground. “I’d never disrespect her like that.”
“Give me one good reason why I should allow this?”
Because while I don’t believe in love at first sight, I won’t deny she’s caught my attention. That her sass has lit something within, and I want to see how dangerous her touch will be to:
My body. My mind.
I want her to burn me alive.
Keeping those thoughts to myself, I hold his stare. He might be the boss in Chicago, dominate the global market of finances, but I’m not some peon or low-level thug who came begging for a job off the streets. I’ll give respect but demand it just the same.
It’s the only way this agreement will work. I’d hate to hurt him or anyone in Mariah’s family.
“First, she’s a grown woman and makes up her own mind. Head of your family or not, I won’t allow you to take choices away from her.”
“And second?” There’s less hostility in his tone, and my stance relaxes a bit.
“She undid me.” I’m not going to beat around the bush or deny it. “Simple as that.”
For a few beats of the clock, we remain quiet. Each holding the other’s gaze. Our weapons are drawn.
“That honesty could get you in trouble.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“And it’s the only reason I’ll concede to your request.” Malcolm places his gun atop the desk, and I do the same. “Welcome to the Asher family, Javier.”
“Gracias.” I extend a hand and he takes it, giving it a hard squeeze.
“You hurt her, and I’ll kill you.”
“I hurt her, and I can guarantee she’ll pull the trigger herself.” At my words he throws his head back and laughs, shaking his head while picking up his gun and mine, handing over the latter. “Smart man.”
“Now, where do I sign?”
“Your word suffices, but I do believe you’re owed a signing bonus.”
3
I’M IN TROUBLE.
So much trouble since the moment he walked onto my floor and knocked the very breath from my lungs. My palms are sweaty, and my chest feels tight. My knees feel weak, and the delicate slip of lace covering my mound has been rendered useless.
And all because of one man. A very self-assured and dangerous man.
“Christ, Mariah. Get ahold of yourself,” I mumble under my breath, hand on the wall beside the elevator shaft after pressing the down button. For the next two hours, this floor will be closed to all foot traffic while they talk, and we await orders inside of a hidden room beneath the building where a selected few meet their fate.
The good.
The bad.
Their end.
The sound of his voice caresses my skin while the sound of footfalls over the marble floor follows. It’s faint—melodic—and I shiver. Goose bumps break out across my skin while I lean my head on the wall and close my eyes.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Never show weakness.
It’s the mantra I’ve been reciting since the day I learned who my family is. What they are—what I’m capable of without remorse.
However, thinking and doing it are two very different things because I’ve never been affected by a man like this. Not even by him.