Page 52 of How Much For a Life of Lies?

There was no sign of a smile. If anything, he was more still, a silent but deadly presence demanding respect and commanding attention, and he wasn’t finding me funny at all.

“So much for work buddies,” I muttered.

He was out of the ’korsky as soon as we touched down and before I’d shut off the engines. I followed much more sedately after I’d undertaken all necessary checks. Then, with her locked down, I patted her side.

“Thanks, babe,” I whispered, sauntering into the office complex. There was no sign of Yuri, just Indigo and her two goons hovering. I’d already identified a pinch point for Goon One—he leaned to the left slightly. An old injury, maybe? Goon Two was more difficult to read, a mountain of a man who moved slowly but with purpose. A knife to Goon One’s bad side, maybe dislocate his shoulder. Goon Two I’d put in the shoot-him-before-he-even-realized-I was-coming-for-him category.

“Any problems?” Indigo asked, twirling that damn knife.

“I got us there. They took the cargo. I got us back,” I summarized.

“Yuri says you talk too much,” she smirked. I really hated that smirk.

“Well, Yurinator is a closed-off fuckhole who wouldn’t know good music if it killed him.”

She considered me for a moment. I kept my posture easy, no standing on ceremony, no inching closer even though it would be very easy to take her out. Getting rid of her wouldn’t get me closer to Kozlov, and that was our end game—no point in canceling the underdog when the big guy was the one we wanted the intel on.

“You’re hired,” she threw down an envelope of money. “Take it.”

I picked it up, opened it, and saw my entire fee, all twenty K in bills.

“You know online banking is a thing?” I asked.

She lifted an eyebrow, and that was a good sign our chat was over. “Abel, escort Mr. Talks Too Much to his room.”

“I don’t need to go to a room.”

Abel—Goon One with the wonky injury—didn’t pull his gun, but he rested his hand on it, and that was an easy-to-read threat.

Seems like I was going to my room.

So much for gathering intel.

TWENTY-ONE

Kai

The dull hum of the ventilation system filled the room as I sat on the edge of the bed, my mind racing with thoughts of escape and reconnaissance. This wasn’t how I had envisioned spending my time here—locked away with nothing but my own thoughts for company, in a room set up with two sets of bunk beds and a tiny bathroom. I was a prisoner, because they sure as hell locked the door on me, and my first instinct was to get out, but that wasn’t playing the long game.

Stay where you are, play it slow, don’t lose control.

I wish Zach would get out of my head, his warnings and his sexy ass.

“Because I have it bad,” I muttered to the empty room, and now I had too much time on my hands to not think about Zach and sex and his refusal to talk. Well, fuck that. When I got out of here I was shoving the annoying, closed-up, bossy SEAL against a wall, and forcing him to talk.

Or fuck.

Whatever.

Maybe sex was our love language. Gah, who said anything about love.

Footsteps outside the door brought me out of my reverie, and I sat straight, feet on the floor, my muscles tensing. The door swung open, revealing Abel standing on the other side, a tray of food in his hands.

“Food,” he grunted, thrusting the tray towards me without meeting my eyes.

I didn’t sweep his feet from under him and then render him unconscious in two swift movements because that was not playing the game I needed to play. So, I took the tray from him, my stomach growling in appreciation at the sight of the sandwich and bottle of water. “Thanks for nothing,” I muttered, but Abel had already turned on his heel, shut and locked the door, then left me alone once more.

I sighed, eating the sandwich as I tried to piece together what little information I had about my current situation. I was being kept here, but I’d done the job. The envelope of cash was on the table bolted to the wall, and they hadn’t killed me, so I couldn’t have been made. Even so, there I was, sitting on my ass and unable to do shit.

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