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Seeing Razor’s pulsing violence doesn’t surprise me. My eyebrow ticks up, intrigued by the sudden change in Willis. He leans forward, his energy as explosive as Razor’s.
Fine, then maybe this isn’t the worst thing to come back to from my Amara memory.
“Tell him he needs to pay up, Carter.”
“Tell him being late fucking costs you.”
Do I let them keep this up, or do I finally put an end to this charade?
Decisions, decisions.
I check my watch. Killian should be here soon.
His reaction to what happened last night is far more intriguing than this pay-per-view show these two men put on.
I have to see the effect Amara and I had on Killian. If I have something to work with here.
It won’t happen if I tell him to join us. Killian doesn’t respond well to commands. The man needs a push in the right direction, and I’m the master of pushing. Buttons, for example. Or people. Off a cliff. It happened once. I was in a creative mood. Sue me.
Back to the real world.
The decision is final. Their duel needs to end.
While the two men are busy pretending they’re John Travolta and Nicolas Cage in Face Off, I smile.
Hand inside my pocket, my fingers curl around my trustworthy Cyclone. I slip the pocket knife out as the idiots here roar at each other. Focused on their petty back and forth.
I swear, sometimes I wonder if these people know me at all.
Razor screams first as my blade tears into the tissues and tendons of his hand.
Willis, the coward, pushes his chair back. Ready to escape.
The fuck he will.
“I bet you’d like that. Running like a fucking coward.” I fist the collar of his polo shirt, relishing in how he stumbles toward me. The thump his body makes as he hits the table. “You’re staying right here. Both of you.”
Razor shuts the hell up.
Willis is a different story. “We didn’t break any rules,” he whines.
“You think I’m blind?” My smile doesn’t leave me as I drag the cleaner’s face close to mine. “Is that what you’re saying, Willis?”
His face blanches. “N-no, Carter. I’m sorry.”
“Another second, and you’d have been at each other’s throats. Breaking. Our. Rules. Consider this your final warning.” I turn to the choked, silent Razor. “You. Ten thousand out of the forty you settled on is a goddamn quarter. You’re alive and your wife didn’t put a bullet into you. So, no, 10k isn’t a fair fine. You owe Willis another five. That’s it.”
“Sure, Carter.” Razor, the big intimidating man, quivers. “Anything you say.”
“Just five?” Willis has the nerve to sound outraged. “Carter, you can’t be serious.”
Bang.
The table shakes when I slam Willis’s head on top of it.
I pull him up, and my smile widens. The blood on his forehead and his moist eyes are what I live for. “You’re gonna tell me what I can or can’t be?”
“N-no, of course not. I’m sorry, Carter.”
