Page 82 of Emperor of Corruption
Not a strong enough defense to justify killing him, but a defense nonetheless.
What the fuck is he up to?We have some business interests together. Hehasto know that going after me could only hurt him.
“Am I going to need to call in a favor to keep you on a leash?” I ask Carter.
He bares his teeth at me. “Woof.”
“If you could try to act human for a moment, I’d appreciate an answer in the English language. I understand it’s hard for you to pretend to be a person and not a goddamn demon, but do me the courtesy of attempting to.”
“Courtesy?” Carter repeats, scowling. “Sounds middle-class.”
“Carter. Do not get rid of Silas.”
Carter’s scowl remains as he stares at me, thinking. He’s still playing with one girl’s nipple while forcing the other’s head farther down on his cock. The third woman is making out with his neck like it’s an Olympic sport.
“Fine,” Carter sighs. “I won’t.Yet.”
“Tell me before you do.”
“You’re no fun. The surprise is what makes things so enjoyable.”
“I’m sure.” I stand up, smoothing down my tie. “Keep me in the loop.”
“You’re not staying?” Carter asks, eyebrows rising. “Have a hot date with that reporter of yours?”
“I have a fuckload of work to get through. You might consider trying the same thing.”
“Hey, Iamworking,” Carter says. He nods at the girl between his legs. “It’shardwork, too.”
“Try not to catch an STD. HIV wouldn’t be good for your complexion.”
“Spend a lot of time thinking of my complexion, do you? Is a proposal forthcoming?”
I leave before Carter can irritate me into killing him. It’d be unfortunate to lose him as an ally and occasional friend.
My phone starts buzzing as soon as I get into my car. I recognize the number—it belongs to the man whose services I utilized to carry out the hit requested by The Eyes—so I pick up.
“Yes?”
“Job’s done.” The man on the other end of the phone, Greyson Blackwell, sounds vaguely impatient, as if he has better things to do with his time than get a multi six-figure check from me. “Do you require proof? I can have the head sent to you on ice.”
“Greyson,” a woman says—moans?—in the background. “Please!”
“My apologies,” Greyson says into the phone. I feel my eyebrows inch up—is he playing with someone as we speak? Since when do the Nighthawks—the single best organization of assassins in the country, possibly theworld—spend their free time with women?
“Do you want to be punished? Is that what’s going on here?” Greyson barks, though his tone is muted. “You will wait another half hour now. If you speak again, you won’t like what I do.”
A moment later, he’s back on the line. “Would you like the head on ice?”
“Photographs would do just fine.”
Greyson pauses. “Alright. They’ll be in your inbox in five minutes.”
“I appreciate it. How was the job?”
“Much easier than I anticipated.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Does that mean you’ll cut the cost?”
