Page 92 of Pay the Piper

“I know, I love Mila’s bus—”

Teddy throws a rolled-up sock at Thatcher’s head, knocking his wig out of place. “Hey! That’s my sister, man.”

“Oh ho, ho, now look who doesn’t want to hear about sisters,” Nikki mumbles as he struggles to zip up his gown.

Gabri steps in, helping him get the job done, and then turns to Nikki to repay the favor. “This was not part of my plan,” he grumbles.

I can’t help but chuckle. “But, Gabri, you look so beautiful.”

“Watch yourself, Mavrin.” His curt tone would be scary enough if he wasn’t trying to put on a long curly wig. “I don’t see your dress.”

“I’m not wearing one.”

He growls. The others don’t seem to care, but smoke is practically coming out of Gabri’s nostrils.

I throw my hands up in surrender. “What? It’ll make for a better effect when I drop the heads if I’m dressed more…menacing.”

“The heads as balloons is wild…You’re wild, man.” Nikki bends over to secure his own wig, then flings his hair back as he stands up. “I love it.”

“Yeah? Just wait for the finale. My pièce de résistance.”

Gabri finally chuckles. He’s the only one who knows, and I swear his eyes lit up when I told him.

Time passes like molasses as we wait for the event to begin. Luckily, Fitzpatrick didn’t come back here to check on us himself. I would’ve just recalibrated and killed him here, but I’m quite looking forward to the theatrics. One of Santori’s men has been on the inside of Conor’s outfit for months, and the lazy bastard trusted him to “watch over the girls.”

Finally, Conor makes the opening announcements. My stomach curdles when his voice rings through the speakers, and my thirst for blood becomes insatiable yet again.

The lighting ensures Conor won’t be able to see past the first few rows, so only those bidders remain alive. But Rusev makes his way through them as soon as Conor takes his seat, leaving only Fitzpatrick and his right-hand man, McKenzie O’Reilly. He’s the one who threatened Abby to leave, and notoriously, the worst of his crew.

He’ll regret sending those pictures of what he allowed his friend to do to my sweet angel.

The bidding begins with our men dispersed through the lifeless audience. They place believable fake bids on “the girls,” a.k.a. the boys, until it’s time for Abby. The drugs I slipped into Conor’s drink earlier should be wearing off now enough for him to recognize that Abby is, in fact, a man. Thatcher, to be exact.

He leans forward to get a better look. But before he can stand, I drop from the beams above, landing in front of him. Rusev incapacitates him before he can draw his weapon, and Kirill does the same to McKenzie.

“What is all of this?” he growls, trying to sound tough despite his current predicament.

“You wanted payment for Abby, didn’t you?”

“Niamh,” he spits.

“Whatever she prefers. Either way, I came to pay the piper.”

“I sent that invitation to the Santoris. You and I both know a Russian bastard like yourself doesn’t have that kind of cash.”

“Oh, I didn’t bring cash.”

On my cue, one of our men cuts the line for the net that held the “balloons,” and my balloon heads fall gracefully atop Conor and McKenzie. “One hundred and thirty-one men. That’s really all you had, Fitzpatrick? I have over ten times that number who answer directly to me. Not bad for a Russian bastard nobody.”

If looks could kill…well, I’d be dead right now. The puny, pathetic wannabe. Both men are trying so hard to play it cool, but their eyes betray them as they look for aid.

“By all means, look around.” I relish the panic on their faces as realization sets in. “I believe what you’ll find is that I own you.”

Teddy, Nikki, and Gabri emerge from backstage, this time in their regular tactical gear, and join Thatcher, who’s still in costume.

“Where, where’s Niamh?”

“Abby is safe. Somewhere you’ll never be able to touch her again.”