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“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:
