Page 126 of House of Payne
If Michael is losing his nerve now, how will he see the rest of the takeover through?
I’m not the only monster he’ll face, and he’s already shaking in his boots.
I’m almost disappointed.
Michael drops his hand. “What do you want?”
“You want to renegotiate the terms? Congratulations, you’ve got my attention. Let’s see what kind of head you have for business.”
Michael stares at me, a myriad emotions on his face. “What do you mean?”
“It means, princess, that you just bought yourself some time. Go discuss this with your girlfriend, and we’ll be in touch.” I lower the gun and give him a slow, cold smile. “I’d count my fucking blessings if I were you.”
Michael looks from the gun to my face and back again. His eyes tighten around the edges, and he purses his lips. “That’s it? You’re just going to let me go?”
My smile falls, and I throw him a menacing look. “You’re right. I should go back to my original plan and shoot you.”
Michael opens his mouth to speak, but he’s cut off by a knock on the door.
Carlisle pokes his head in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but there’s some urgent business that requires your attention.”
I spin around to face Carlisle. “Have Mr. Everett escorted out.”
Carlisle pushes the door open the rest of the way and nods. A heartbeat later, two muscled men come in and flank Michael. “Oh, and make sure you give him a greeting worthy of the Payne name.”
I watch his back as he leaves, itching to fire another bullet at him and wondering how it would feel if one lodged itself in his leg or an arm.
You’ll have to settle for making sure the men have a little fun with him before they release him.
Once he’s out of earshot, I round on Carlisle and glare.
“This had better be fucking important or someone is going to lose a limb.”
Carlisle clears his throat. “Do you remember the reporter we talked about who’s been snooping around?”
I step behind my desk and reach for the decanter. “Reporters have snooped before. This had better not be why you interrupted me.”
I don’t have time to worry about some overachieving gossip columnist with nothing better to do.
“This one is different,” Carlisle replies grimly. “He’s like a dog with a bone. All the usual measures we have in place aren’t throwing him off, and they aren’t scaring him, either.”
I pour a generous amount of whiskey into my glass and look up. “And?”
“With the mayor breathing down our necks, I thought you’d want me to find another way to deal with him.”
I study Carlisle over the rim of the glass, the blood still roaring in myears. “How close is he?”
Maybe I’ll have a bullet put between the reporter’s eyes, just to make sure no one else comes snooping.
“Close enough,” Carlisle responds. “His story doesn’t have a lot of merit yet, but he must have an inside source.”
“At least he knows how to do his job,” I mutter darkly. “There’s something to be said for relentlessness.”
Carlisle straightens his back. “How do you want me to handle this?”
Sending Carlisle to take care of him is my usual go-to.
While he has dealt with many reporters over the years, we can’t afford to have anything lead back to us, and subtlety isn’t Carlisle’s strong suit.
