Page 51 of Cain
He’s already waiting for me with his men, all lined up next to him. Protecting him. Or at least, that’s what it looks like.
“Cain, my friend. It’s good to see you,” he praises, forgetting how I loathe fake praising by traitors.
I halt in the middle of the room, ahead of him, and toss the bag on the ground.
Right after me, Landon and my men follow.
“I heard you wanted to meet me.” I fold my hands over my lower abdomen.
“Yes, my friend. It’s been a while.”
It’s safe to say that Torres is oblivious to everything. The plan is to make him believe he has the upper hand. That’s what will give him hope and will make things more entertaining.
“I’m listening.”
“As you may know, my drug business is growing. Demand’s through the roof. But I’ve been thinking … why stop there? Why not add guns to the game?”
There it is.
I tilt my head, amused. “Guns, huh?”
Torres grins, spreading his arms. “Business is all about expansion, my friend. And drugs … well, they sell. But guns make sure business stays running. You, of all people, should understand that.”
I exhale through my nose, nodding slowly. “You want firepower.”
“I want an empire,” he corrects, clapping his hands together. “And I know you’re the man to talk to. The best. The biggest. So tell me, why settle for being just a supplier when we could run this together?”
I stay quiet, studying him. Let him think he’s making progress. Let him believe he’s got me considering.
“And why should I believe you can handle it?”
Torres chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s the beauty of this deal, my friend. You don’t have to believe it. You just have to sell. I take care of the rest.”
I don’t react. I just stare. Let him sit in his own words.
He shifts slightly. I can see the awkwardness emanating from him. It’s almost too obvious. He’s used to people answering him—to men jumping at the chance to shake his hand.
But I am not his man.
I exhale slowly, stepping forward just enough to make him sweat a little.
“Is that right?” I murmur.
Torres’s grin falters just a little bit, but I catch it.
“You see,” I continue, pacing slightly, prowling right in front of him. “I’ve been thinking, Torres. Thinking a lot. About trust. About loyalty. And about what happens when someone gets … greedy.”
He’s fidgeting his fingers, and his jaw twitches. He’s listening now.
I bend down, gripping the bag I dropped when I walked in. Slowly. Stealthily.
Torres’s eyes flick to it. He doesn’t ask, but I see the question hiding behind his so-called intimidating composure.
I unzip it, reach inside, and pull out a thick, plastic-wrapped package, slick and dripping. With a quick flick of my wrist, I toss it to the floor. Torres stiffens, his jaw tightening.
“Go on,” I growl. “Take a look.”
He doesn’t move at first, so I squat, nudging the package with my boot.
