Page 22 of Chained
Whitaker’s smile looked smug and predatory. “You’ll give me the most valuable thing you own.”
Dammit, why wouldn’t the asshole just spit it out? “My car?” Terry asked, hoping he looked innocent enough to get away with it.
“What the fuck do I want with that bucket of bolts?”
Despite everything else, Terry bristled even more. Helikedhis car. “I don’t own anything else that’s worth anything. A bunch of CDs, but I know you don’t want those.”
“Not when I could buy the bands, kid.” Whitaker stopped touching Edge, which was a relief. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m giving you twenty-four hours to decide whether you’re willing to give me anything I ask for. If you say yes, I’ll sign you on. But if you say no, I never want to see your fucking face again, and I guarantee you’ll never land a part, not even in community theater in Hoboken. Got it?”
Terry stood, his heart beating fast. He was close. So goddamn close. “How can I make that decision if I don’t know what I’m giving up?”
“That’s the way we play the game. You go all in… or you’re out.” Whitaker winked. “I’ll let you play with Edge some more today. Sweeten the deal a little.”
Arrogant, revolting son of a bitch. But Terry thought quickly. Maybe he could work out a solution to at least part of his problem. “Okay, thanks,” he said evenly. “Twenty-four hours. But I want to spend that time at home—my home. It’s too hard to think clearly here.”
Whitaker frowned and pulled a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He lit one, blowing the smoke in Edge’s direction. After taking a few more drags, he shrugged. “All right. I believe in freedom of choice, so you go back to your shithole if that’s what you need.” He pointed at Terry with the cigarette. “Just remember, I also believe in the sanctity of a deal. Once you decide, there’s no going back. No second chances.”
“I understand.”
A few more puffs, then Whitaker nodded. “Okay. You come back here tomorrow morning at eleven to sign the papers—or else get the fuck out of my city and never come back.”
“All right. I, um, need to grab a couple of things from the guest house.” He hoped for a few minutes to talk to Edge.
“Edge, escort him. I’ll have his piece-of-shit car brought around.”
“Yes, sir.”
Still smoking, Whitaker left.
Terry suspected that Whitaker’s apparent acquiescence was some kind of trap, so he remained alert as Edge led him silently out of the house. But nobody stopped them as they walked across the lawn. “Leave with me,” he said to Edge.
Looking grim, Edge shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Go. Don’t come back.”
“Do you know what he wants from me? That valuable thing he mentioned?”
“No. But….” Edge dropped his voice. “Did you notice anything with the actors at the party?”
“There was something off with them.”
“They weren’t like that when they got here. But the boss signed them, and… I don’t know. Their eyes died. Their scents changed.”
Lacking a canine’s sense of smell, Terry hadn’t noted anything weird about their odors. But he understood about their eyes. It was as if someone had replaced their lenses with mirrors.
Edge gave him a quick pleading glance. “Go away. Please. You didn’t tell him about last night. Thank you. I’ll get rid of the gun. Justgo.”
Fuck. How long had Edge known about the gun? He obviously hadn’t mentioned it to Whitaker. Terry couldn’t hold on to the secrets any longer. “I’m an agent with the Bureau of Trans-Species Affairs.”
“Wh-what?”
“Have you heard of it?”
“No.”
No big surprise there. “We keep a low profile. We’re a federal law enforcement agency. We investigate possible criminal activity related to paranormal beings or activities.” That was a quote straight out of the handbook.
“Paranormal. Like… me?”
Shit. “Like shifters, yes.”
