Page 82 of Reaper
"We're here to discuss Ruslan Volkov," I say, my voice steady despite the hurricane of doubt tearing through my chest. "You want his territory. We want him dead."
Charlie Eng leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. The smoke from his cigarette curls between us like a barrier. "Direct. I appreciate that in a woman." His gaze flicks to Reaper. "Your boyfriend could learn something."
The word 'boyfriend' hits me wrong now, tainted by whatever secret is eating at Reaper's conscience. Is he still mine? Was he ever really mine if he's been lying about Vanessa?
"Volkov's got safe houses, businesses, and security," Tank interjects, his gruff voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. "We need to know where he’ll be, we need weapons, and we need a way in."
"That can be arranged," Charlie says slowly. "The Brotherhood has been waiting for an opportunity to expand into Volkov's territory. His death would... open doors."
I watch Reaper out of the corner of my eye. His jaw is clenched tight, those magnetic eyes focused anywhere but on me. The man I love — the man I thought I knew — is sitting right next to me, and he feels like a stranger.
"What's the catch?" I say, because there's always a catch in this world.
Charlie Eng smiles, and it's as smooth as broken glass. "I need a favor first.”
“What kind of favor?”
“The non-negotiable kind.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell us? Just a bunch of cryptic bullshit?” Tank says. He shifts in his chair, his thick arms bulging as he clenches his fists.
“If you want my help, you’ll help me.”
Mayhem cocks his head, and I utter a silent prayer that he’s just stretching his neck and he’ll keep his damn mouth shut. I am disappointed. “Aren’t we already helping you by killing the head of your rivals? You’re really pushing us for a man who has an entire floor of his building filled with flammable chemicals and explos — ”
Diesel buries an elbow in Mayhem’s back, and Tank raps his knuckles on Eng’s desk. “What sort of weaponry and access does this favor buy us?”
Eng smiles, and his grinning face reminds me of a jack-o’-lantern with the candles snuffed out — dark, unnatural. “We have military-grade weaponry from several sources — Russian, American, and Chinese, as well. In fact, we just acquired a few crates of QBZ-191s.”
Mayhem leans forward in his seat, and his voice rises in pitch like a boy let loose in a Toys ‘R’ Us with his parents’ credit card. “Oh, I’ve been wanting to play with those. Do you have the QBZ-192s, too?”
Eng nods. “Some, yes. They are harder to obtain.”
Mayhem claps his hands. “I’ll bet. It’s only the special forces that get access to those. Whatever the favor is, I’m in, as long as I can take one of those home with me.”
God damn it.I stare at him. As do Diesel, Tank, and Reaper. So much for bargaining.
“Fine, we’re in on this favor, Eng,” I say.
Eng extends his hand, and Reaper, Tank, and I shake it. “Good,” he says. “Now, go enjoy yourselves. If you need to rest, there are rooms available upstairs. I will have them prepared for you. If you wish to drink, to gamble, to… partake… you may do so as well. It is all free for your enjoyment.”
I force myself to nod as if this is all perfectly normal, as if my world isn't cracking apart at the seams. "Before we go, can you tell us more about this favor? What exactly—"
"Details later," Eng cuts me off with a wave of his hand. "When it's time, I'll send for you. For now, relax. Enjoy."
The dismissal is clear, and my stomach drops. Whatever this favor is, it's bad enough that he won't even hint at it. I catch Tank's worried glance, see Diesel's jaw tighten. Even they know we're walking into something ugly.
But we don't have a choice. Not if we want Volkov dead.
The guys file out ahead of me, but I grab Reaper's arm as he tries to follow. His muscles tense under my grip like he's bracing for impact.
"We need to talk," I say, my voice low and sharp.
"Adriana — "
"Now."
The main floor hits us with a wall of noise and smoke. Music pulses from hidden speakers while the clink of glasses and muffled conversations create a backdrop to whatever illegal activities are happening in the shadows. I spot a quieter corner near the bar and drag Reaper toward it, my fingers still wrapped around his wrist like a shackle.
