Page 129 of Notorious

One of the big guys moves like lightning, pinning Gary’s hand to the desk. Before I can process a thought, Rowan slices off the tip of Gary’s finger.

Gary howls. “The fuck? You fucking bastard!”

“Transfer the money,” Rowan orders.

Gary opens his mouth to spout off, but I can see the moment he changes his mind. Maybe he catches the light in Rowan’s eyes. How Rowan is getting off on his pain.

How he won’t be getting out of this as easily as he thought.

I’m fucking sick to my stomach, but not enough to leave. Not enough that I’ll fail to see this through. Johnny deserves the compensation he was awarded.

With trembling hands, Gary opens a browser on his computer, holding his pinky tight to his palm and wincing. With a few keystrokes, he’s in. “Where am I transferring it?” he asks sullenly.

I pull up the email from Alden and recite the account number for Danny’s law firm.

Gary pinches his nose. “I don’t have all of it in one account. It will take me a bit.”

“Then make multiple transfers. Fast,” Rowan orders. Gary makes a move toward him, and one of the big dudes cocks his gun.

“Fuck. Fine,” Gary hisses, his keystrokes shaky. After a moment he pulls his shoulders back. “Look. Five million transferred.”

“You left two million in that account,” Rowan points out.

“I’ll get it from another account.”

Without another word, Rowan slices the skin at the top of Gary’s ear.

Gary screams as blood pours down his face. “Motherfucker!”

“Transfer the funds.”

“Fine,” Gary spits. With a few more keystrokes, he transfers $2 million more. Then he logs in to another account and transfers $9 million.

“Where’s the rest?” I ask. “You are paying Johnny every penny you owe him. Don’t forget interest, which is more than $5k a day. Every day, he lives with the memory of you drugging him and making those men rape him. You took away his right to choose what happens to his body. Fuck you. You lost. Pay up. We know the production company has the funds. And you control the accounts.”

Gary sneers at me, but Rowan presses the knife to his throat hard enough that red beads start sliding down his neck. “Watch how you move,” Rowan warns him. “You draw back, they pull the trigger. You lean toward me, you get your throat sliced.”

“If I die, you won’t get the money,” Gary says cockily. But it feels like false bravado.

“We’ll figure it out.” Rowan starts reciting an account number, and Gary’s jaw drops.

“How did you know about that account?”

“We did a thorough skip trace on you. We know where you’ve hidden all your assets. Come on, transfer the rest of it from the Caymans. Let’s go.”

Looking defeated, Gary logs on to another bank account, and, now bleeding from three wounds, he transfers the remaining money into the Weston & Ramirez bank account.

“Check with Danny to see if the money’s hit the account,” Rowan says.

I move to the side and call Weston & Ramirez. After talking with their chirpy receptionist, I’m transferred to the bookkeeper, Alden.

“I’d like to know if you’ve received payment in full earmarked for John Haskell,” I say.

“Um, let me check the account,” Alden says. I hear a few keystrokes. “Yeah. Okay, wow. Yes. The money’s here.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Please let Danny know.”

“You got it.”

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