Page 74 of His to Destroy

Contact: "Stark, then. Look, I’ve got a job. Word is you’re the man to call when things need muscle without questions."

Stark: "Depends who's asking. And how much muscle you need."

Contact: (chuckles) "Enough to make a rival syndicate back the hell off. I've got a shipment moving through the docks in two days. High stakes. High payout."

A long pause.

Stark: "What's the cargo?"

Contact: "Guns. Nothing fancy. But enough firepower to make somebody very unhappy if they intercept it."

Stark: (snorting) "Firepower’s my favorite language."

Contact: "I’m offering twenty grand. Half up front."

I can almost hear Stark’s sneer.

Stark: "Twenty grand’s insulting. I don't get my hands dirty for less than forty."

Contact: (laughing) "Forty? For one night standing around looking tough?"

Stark: "Forty. Or find yourself another ghost."

Another tense silence.

The contact plays it smart, pretending to hesitate just long enough.

Contact: "Fine. Forty. But you show up on time, you keep your head down, and you bring your own backup if you need it."

Stark: "Send me the address. No funny business or you’ll regret it."

Contact: "Wouldn’t dream of it."

The recording clicks off.

I stare at the phone for a long moment.

The rage inside me has moved past boiling.

It’s white-hot.

Sharp.

He’s the same arrogant bastard he always was.

And now he’s walking straight into the jaws he thinks he’s smart enough to avoid, which is perfect enough for me.

I want him cocky.

I want him thinking he still has the upper hand.

Because when he realizes the truth, when he realizes whose hands he’s really in—

It’ll already be too late.

"Location?" I ask, voice low.

Sancia taps a map on her tablet. "Safe house just outside the industrial district. Recent acquisition. He won’t know it belongs to the syndicate."

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