Page 102 of Extradition (Mobsters + Billionaires 1)
JOE
I recognizedmy father’s men, and this was exactly the scenario I’d feared the most. They weren’t coming for me. They were trying to take Rand. I think he surprised them by fighting back as hard as he did. I shiver to think what they would’ve done to him to get me to come to Brooklyn.
I didn’t want to kill those men.
I didn’t fucking want to kill those men.
But they put their hands on Rand, and everything went red after that.
As we drive toward Tribeca—the opposite direction from Rand’s building—my decision is made. If my father wants me to go to Brooklyn so bad, I’ll go to Brooklyn. But I’ve got to get Rand home first.
If Rand says anything to me on the way over, I don’t hear him. We dump the hired car on a side street in Tribeca, then walk to Soho. Rand points out the blood spatter on our white shirts, which we remove and toss into trash cans.
From there, I spy an unlicensed taxi and hail it. If the colorful and pierced taxi driver thinks it strange that two suited but shirtless men are her fares, she doesn’t say anything.
Edgerton will probably take my tongue out with a rusty knife later for taking such a risk, but I’ve got three bloodied guns in the various pockets of this expensive suit jacket and not much else in the way of options.
We finally make it to Rand’s neighborhood and have the driver drop us off a block away, then wait for her to turn the corner before we start walking. We reach his building’s portico in minutes, and I let out a gust of air, too fucking relieved as we walk through the doors.
Rand’s eyes seek out mine, concern knitting his brows together. “Where’s my Joe?” he asks, kissing me gently. “Did I lose you back there?”
I blink, swallowing thickly. “Not permanently. But Joe’s not in right now.”
He tilts his head and takes my hand, leading me through the fancy, high-ceilinged lobby. Passing the plush seating areas and dense greenery, I scan the space, looking into the dark recesses for boogeymen that never appear.
Halfway to the elevators, we’re met by Edgerton and two other guys I recognize from the security team…plus Hopper, Luca Stefano’s probably-certifiable right-hand guy.
“What the hell is he doing here?”
Edgerton holds up his hands. “Don’t ask. Tell me you didn’t drive the car here.”
I shake my head. “Left it in Tribeca, took a cash cab from Soho to a block down the street.”
“Excellent.”
“Is the penthouse secure?”
“Yes. I have a crew up there, and they just swept the place.”
“Good.” I lean in and whisper, “I still have a job to do. Rand’s not going to be happy but put him in that elevator and keep him in the penthouse until I get back.”
If he even lets me back in the building after this.
Edgerton pulls back, his serious face shadowed with concern. “Take Hopper with you.”
I snort and go to say something sarcastic, but Edgerton cuts me off. “I don’t want to know the details, but if you’re going where I think you’re going, you’ll need him.”
“Is he going to eat my liver with some fava beans?”
“Eh. Liver’s too gamey for me.”
I have to lock down my startle response because Hopper is hovering, his face about two inches from mine. For a complete psycho, he’s surprisingly stealthy. And kind of a smoke show if you don’t mind all the crazy.
Fuck it.
“You’re driving.”
He lifts his fists like little pom-poms, and his eyes light up like someone’s shoved a sparkler up his ass. “Yay! I’ll go get the car.”
