Page 30 of Sinner's Ransom: Taken
“I hope that’s truly the case, Stone, because he will die one way or another.” George kept his voice low enough that Montgomery wouldn’t hear him. He let Stone go and walked away, toward one of the rooms Stone had set up for him.
Stone watched his back until he disappeared, a pain throbbing in his chest. He’d killed three people in his life and all three deserved their deaths. This was different. Montgomery was here because of his dad, and as much as Stone told himself Montgomery wasn’t innocent in hurting people, Richard Booker was a worse sinner than his son.
Anger welled inside him and he threw a punch at the wall, plaster crumbling under the force. He left a fist-sized hole there, but Stone didn’t give a damn. He walked away, his knuckles sore, feeling worse than he had before he’d done it.
He headed down the stairs and stopped in the kitchen. Opening the door to the food storage cabinet, he stared at the bottle of vodka sitting at the front. It’d been sitting there since he bought the place. He’d placed it there as a reminder, and sometimes his fingers twitched, reached for it, before he thought better of it.
This kidnapping was supposed to be easy. It wasn’t meant to be this complicated. Hell, he never expected Montgomery to help them try to get more money.
A text message buzzed on his phone, and he dug it out of his pants pocket, glancing at the screen. It was from Killough. He didn’t know how he had gotten his number, but he had a feeling he didn’t want to know either.
File sent to media. Will keep you updated.
“Fuck. Already?” Stone dropped his phone on the small table and sighed.
“He doesn’t mess around.”
Stone jumped, glancing around at the door where Ardan stood. He didn’t have a suit on anymore, and instead wore a pair of loose jeans and a simple blue T-shirt. He looked more relaxed than he had before. It was the first time Stone heard him talk, and he never realized he was Irish. He probably shouldn’t have been surprised, considering Killough’s mob were full of mostly Irishmen, or men who had Irish heritage.
“He likes money, huh?” Stone fell into one of the chairs at the table sideways and let his head fall back against the wall beside it.
Ardan stepped into the room and took the opposite seat. Even though he looked more relaxed, his shoulders were still tense, and alertness kept his body tight, like he expected someone to jump through the window and attack him. “Doesn’t everybody? I do.”
He had a point, and Stone couldn’t even be pissed about it.
“Want a drink?” Stone rose to get a beer out of the fridge, and passed one to Ardan without waiting for an answer.
Ardan stared at it, and he shook his head, resting it on the tabletop. “I can’t.”
“Don’t like beer?” He flicked off the lid with a bottle opener and retook his chair. The first sip of beer felt cool against his throat and he savored the taste. “Damn, that’s good.”
“I used to be an alcoholic.”
Stone flinched. “Ah.”
Ardan smiled at him, small yet real. “The boss did his research on you after George vouched for your crew. I know about your history. You avoid the heavy shit but drink beer?”
Stone slid his thumb over some of the water droplets on the glass bottle. “What did he find out?”
“About your family, mostly.” Ardan’s eyes flicked toward the window beside the table. “Dad, alcoholic. Mom, committed suicide. Sister, drug addict and committed suicide too.”
Stone’s grip on the bottle tightened and he clamped his jaw tightly. “Your boss needs to keep his nose out of my business.”
Ardan’s smile widened and he tilted his head. “My boss needs to know who he’s getting into bed with.”
“Tch.” Stone took another sip of beer and then dropped the bottle on the table a little too hard. “Last time I checked, he knows who he’s getting into bed with. A pretty brunet that wears a collar.”
Ardan chuckled and leaned back in the chair. “You can’t pretend you don’t do your research. You knew about your crew before you hired them.”
Stone couldn’t deny it even if he wanted to. “Let me guess, Killough dug into their pasts too.”
His laughter got a little louder. “Salvatore Russo, thirty-three years old, born in Brooklyn, New York, and moved to Los Angeles when he was six. His sister worked as a receptionist at Booker Industries. She was nineteen when she started. She was sexually harassed by her boss, and when she threatened to expose him, Booker tried to pay her off to shut her up. She refused, and a few weeks later she was murdered in a home invasion.”
Stone swallowed but listened.
“James ‘Jam’ Binder, twenty-three years old. His dad was a detective who went to Russo’s sister’s murder scene. He didn’t believe it was a coincidence, so he tried to go a step further, do some research. A few months into his investigation, the police department let him go, citing staff cuts. Another coincidence, maybe? Jam doesn’t think so, and neither did his dad, but when Ted Binder tried to take it further, his name was dragged through the mud until a witness to a barfight claimed Ted beat a man halfway to death. Ted was nowhere near there, but evidence was planted, and he was convicted to twenty years in prison. All of this leads back to Booker.”
Stone waved his hand to tell Ardan to keep going.
