Page 14 of Sinner's Ransom: Taken
Chapter Four
Stone smiled up at the ceiling above him, where the rich brat had only just fallen silent. He lounged on the old threadbare sofa in the family room, something he’d picked up from a storage locker that had been auctioned off a few months ago. He didn’t need anything fancy for this place because he only used it for occasions like this.
George sat beside him, his glasses on and today’s newspaper in his hands. He rattled the paper and glanced at Stone. “Are we going to do what he suggested?”
They’d been sitting here for a few hours, listening to Montgomery scream and shout and yell all the curse words under the sun, but it didn’t matter how loud he was. The neighbors were at least fifty miles away from them.
“Maybe. It’s a good idea.”
“How can we trust him?” George folded the newspaper up and dumped it on the coffee table in front of him. He looked tired, with the age lines on his face more prominent than ever. He’d only begun needing his glasses over the last few years.
“We can trust his desperation. He believed that we were going to kill him once this is all over.”
“Aren’t we?” George peered at him carefully. “He has seen our faces and knows our names.”
Stone shrugged. “Maybe.”
George sighed and fell back against the sofa, massaging his forehead with his fingers. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, Stone thought he might have fallen asleep. “Remember our goal. We need to take Booker down a notch.”
“Thirty million isn’t going to take him down, George.”
“So up it. Ask for fifty million when we go to the media. The kid has a point. Booker won’t want to look like a bad father.”
Stone’s elbows rested against his knees and he clasped his hands together. The house was eerily quiet, not even the usual night bugs make their buzzing noises just outside the door.
George leaned forward. “What’s the problem? You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m trying to figure out the best way to do this. We need to tread carefully. This could also be a ploy to make us out ourselves. Don’t let Monty trick you. He’s a smart guy. He could be planning something.”
George hummed. “Right. Heisa smart kid. Reminds me a bit of Conall.”
“Conall?”
“Sloan Killough’s boy.”
“Ah.” Stone nodded. He’d heard about Sloan Killough and his boy from George before. Killough was a tough son of a bitch, but one of his weak spots consisted of his partner, who his mob referred to as his boy. Stone didn’t know much about them, other than they were both a force to be reckoned with, and God help the man who decided to hurt Conall.
“Are you still in contact with Killough?” Stone asked. “Could he help us get in contact with the media without giving away our location?”
George nodded. “The boss owes me a favor. I think we could arrange something.”
“Look into it for me, will you?”
George rose, groaning as his bones creaked with the movement. He patted Stone on the shoulder, pausing before he left. “Also, if you make me clean up puke again, I’ll rub your face in it. I’m not your maid, Stone.”
Stone laughed as George shuffled out of the room. He fell against the sofa, his head resting against the back of it, and closed his eyes.
Montgomery Booker was an enigma that Stone couldn’t understand. He was a spoiled brat like Salvatore said, but the way he fired up from a simple touch or word intrigued Stone. His beautiful fury ignited an interest inside of him that he hadn’t felt in a very long time, and he wanted to explore it more. He hadn’t failed to notice the way Montgomery shivered when he felt pain, or the way his breath hitched, and Stone craved more of his reactions. He wanted to discover how Booker’s son ticked.
He propelled himself to his feet and strode up the stairs again, taking two at a time. When he entered the room, he found Montgomery’s head bowed, his eyes half closed, but they widened again as soon as the door slammed open.
He glared at Stone. “What do you want?”
Stone crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall near the door. He studied Montgomery, his gaze roaming over the firm body hidden beneath the ridiculously expensive suit. It obviously fit him well, but it didn’t look right on Montgomery, not when Stone had seen so many photos of him in little clothing, or in simple knee-length cargo pants and a collared T-shirt.
“Are you hot in that?”
Montgomery’s eyes were watery, from exhaustion most likely, and he blinked down at his suit. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah.”
