Page 140 of Player
Hayden arrives at twelve fifteen, wearing a business suit and aviator sunglasses. Looking GQ-worthy. Dressed like a boardroom executive instead of the deadliest of killers. It’s a subtle yet effective change in appearance, still it’s hard to guess what’s going on behind those sunglasses.
I don’t acknowledge him. And I’ve got to say, I admire his professionalism and for not reacting to my appearance—to the madman standing before him with two field dressed flesh wounds and a feral look in his eyes.
Now, with the end game in play, they’ll be no chance of finding Clarissa. Is she okay? Is she hurt? Has she even stuck around after escaping a hailstorm of bullets?
Focus, Finn, or you may not survive whatever Hayden demands you do.
The boss brought three men I recognize. TORC men. Posing as buyers number twenty-one to twenty-three. The last of the lot, then.
I search for sign of the Latin Lover, Diego, wondering if Hayden’s brought him in to help finish up. But he’s absent.
“Rambo,” I hear O’Brien bark, “Get over yerself and start loading those lorries.”
I move into action and begin helping two other fellas load the first of the lorries. Listening to Hayden calmly, yet oh, so feckin’ brilliantly work over O’Brien.
“We haven’t reached a complete agreement.”
“What bollocks is this?” O’Brien bellows, waving his pistol around like he believes he has a chance battling Hayden and living to tell about it. The boss stands before him, arms folded across his chest and completely unaffected by the man’s shenanigans. My TORC colleagues linger casual-like nearby and give away no signs of being a threat.
“We need to settle on a fair price.”
“Would you get a load of him?” O’Brien says to no one in particular as he struts around, agitated. “A fair price, he says?”
“You heard me.”
O’Brien snorts in disbelief. “See these men?” He kicks the lifeless body of one of the South Africans. “You might want to think long and hard before running yer mouth about prices. That goes for the lot of you,” he adds in a loud voice, addressing my colleagues.
No one reacts, everyone waiting for Hayden to signal.
The boss chuckles. “You planning on sicking Rambo over there on me?”
Jaysus. Does the man not miss a trick? I’ll never live this down.
O’Brien seems to relax. Maybe he’s under the impression I’d repeat my earlier killing spree if he orders me to? Or is it that he, like so many shysters before him, underestimates Hayden.
“I haven’t signed the paperwork,” the boss presses on.
“Paperwork?” O’Brien looks amused. “My office is this way.” He gestures for Hayden to follow him.
I wait for them both to disappear before turning to the other men. “Did you hear O’Brien tell us to get back to work?”
“Hell no.”
“Then I best hit the jacks before he returns.” I say it loudly so that even the other TORC operatives hear me. Then, ignoring everyone hovering about and waiting on the next step, I head off into the warehouse in search of Clarissa.
It doesn’t take long to catch a flash of her retreating back as she ducks behind the steel stacks midwarehouse. Even the feeblest of minds could deduct that the minx hid herself nearby and filmed everything.
I cut to the right then quickly sprint toward the emergency exit in the far back. I’m through the door and tucked against the outside warehouse wall by the time she’s exiting.
Clarissa races outside.
I spring into action, placing a hand over her mouth while wrapping an arm around her middle.
She struggles—I’m not surprised, my beour is a fighter through and through.
What does catch me off guard is the evil colleen’s backward kick and the hard, evil thrust of her heel to my family jewels.
