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He doesn’t deserve to be treated that way.
Especially not for trying to do something nice for me.
I slap on a smile knowing it probably looks fake as fuck and say instead, “It’s okay. I appreciate it but no thank you.”
Lord knows I could use a drink myself but I don’t need to be rocking a buzz when Abel and I finally leave here.
Uncle Mickey snorts and takes a sip of his scotch.
“Are you sure?” Stewart asks, lingering by my shoulder.
My smile tightening, I say, “I’m sure.”
Stewart looks to my uncle like he needs permission to back off.
Mickey nods his head and waves his hand at him.
All the golden rings on his thick fingers glinting in the light as he does so.
Noticing the rings, I scowl at him.
Broke, my ass.
He’s just being cheap. Not wanting to help me simply because he won’t get anything out of it.
If he was truly broke, he’d be out on the street or in a shelter. He wouldn’t be able to pay Stewart. He wouldn’t be keeping the lights on to meet with clients.
“Two hundred isn’t enough,” I say, bringing the argument up again.
Willing to annoy the shit out of him until he gives me more or a better alternative.
The least he can do is point me in the right direction. He has to know someone somewhere that will hire me.
As much as I hate to admit it, Mickey’s my only hope. I have no other plans or options. If I walk out of here empty-handed, we’re truly fucked.
“Two hundred?” Stewart says in confusion, stopping between me and my uncle. “The Petrov job pays half a mil.”
Uncle Mickey starts to choke on his scotch.
Ignoring his sputtering and choking, I practically hiss, “Petrov job?”
“You know you haven’t been able to find anyone to fit the part. She would be perfect,” Stewart adds, oblivious to the way my uncle is glaring daggers at him.
Face growing darker and darker, Uncle Mickey coughs out, “Goddammit, Stewart!”
Then he throws his glass at him.
The glass sails harmlessly past Stewart, shattering against the wall a couple of feet away from his head.
But the small explosion nearly throws me into a flashback of what Kyle did to me.
Stewart looks at where the glass shattered then back to my uncle. “What?”
“You fucking idiot!” Mickey bellows then bends over, caught in another coughing fit.
As my uncle thumps on his chest, trying to bring the scotch up, I focus on Stewart. “Tell me about this Petrov job.”
Stewart looks at the broken glass, my uncle, then me. Torn between what to do.
