Play Dirty (Wages of Sin #2) - Neve Wilder Page 0,77
of communication.
“Shit,” Jonah muttered over the comm. “Madigan?”
“I’m on it.” Madigan fought to quell the anxiety swelling in his chest.
“We’ve got your back. Sadie and Ronin, keep the first floor clear. I’ve got the exterior covered. Cas is still trying to get back inside. Quiet on the line. We’ll listen for your signal, Madigan, alright?”
“Yep,” Madigan replied, his voice far calmer than the frantic beat of his heart. He moved down the hallway as quickly as he could, gun at the ready as he opened one door after another only to find the rooms empty. He didn’t want to chance anyone coming at him from behind, though.
As he moved, the silence in the hallway had the effect of a countdown clock, the footsteps and gunfire upstairs suggesting Ronin and Sadie were keeping busy.
He slowed as he got to a door with a keypad attached to it. Backing up a step, he pointed his gun at it, then stopped and reached for the handle instead. Just in case.
To his surprise, the handle turned and the door opened.
Madigan flattened himself to the wall as he nudged the door wider.
Nothing.
No sound, no shots whizzing past him in greeting.
He darted to the other wall and pulled up short as he peered through the door, unable to tamp down the mix of nerves and anger that rushed through him at what he saw.
“Come on in. What a pleasure to finally meet you in person,” Bennington said regally, as if Madigan was about to join him for high tea.
After another sweeping glance around, Madigan made his way into the room carefully, stepping past two bodies near the door, gaze roaming every nook and cranny and making what assessments he could in short order. There was a sitting area to the left. To the right, an executive desk and small office area. He had a partial view of a pair of legs, unmoving, and recognized Eastman’s brown Oxford wingtips.
Straight ahead was Azrael.
A physical ache spread through Madigan’s chest as he shifted his gaze in that direction.
Bennington stood just inside the entryway to the safe room, gun in his left hand, arm slung around Az’s chest, holding him close, effectively using Azrael as a shield and leaving Madigan without a clean shot. If he was off by a hair, Azrael would pay the price, and Bennington’s knowing smile said he was aware of that fact.
It was the other hand that worried Madigan more, though—the one with Bennington’s thumb resting at the ready on the plunger of the syringe stuck in the side of Azrael’s neck.
Madigan kept his gun steady on the man as he crept forward.
“I love a bit of poetic justice,” Bennington said in a confiding tone.
Azrael’s face was calm and steadfast. Unafraid. Madigan instantly hated it. It was the stoic reserve of a man prepared to meet his death. Madigan wasn’t ready for Az to meet his death, and certainly not at the hands of a human shitstain like Bennington.
“That’s close enough.” Bennington lifted a hand to halt him, and Madigan thought he might explode with fury as he grit his teeth and forced himself to stop.
Azrael’s gaze sought his, and, this time, it seemed his dark stare drilled deep inside Madigan and unfurled through him like a soothing touch, requesting patience, requesting calm.
Madigan sucked in a slow breath and forced his shoulders to relax. He’d be of no fucking use to Az or anyone else if he couldn’t keep a cool head.
“I was on the way to that meeting in Rio when I learned Ryan had double-crossed me. The man has always had loose lips. I would’ve killed him myself if Azrael hadn’t, but he was useful for a while.” Bennington smiled. “For instance, before I learned I was being played both ways and decided to turn the game on him, Ryan was the one to let me know that Azrael was working with another man who had accompanied him to a club in Rio. Rare, these days, isn’t it, a partnership like that? No one trusts easily anymore.” Bennington paused a beat before resuming. “It’s a bit more than that between the two of you, though, isn’t it?”
“What is it you want?” Sheer willpower kept Madigan’s voice even when what he really wanted to do was tear into the man’s throat. “I can assume Azrael is still alive and you’re still here because you want something you think I can give you if properly motivated. Cut to the chase.”