He puffs out his chest. “You think I’m offering some second-rate raver garbage from California? I’m bringing you the finest. Crafted by scientists with degrees in a real lab.”
“Yeah?” I step closer, and I can almost feel Grady on the roof just begging to pull the trigger. “Show me, and I’ll show you the money. Then we’ll sort out whatever shit she’s gotten me into.”
I cast a mock-angry look at Grace, who throws up her hands and glares right back.
I hate like hell that she’s out there, but since she’s so good at playing along...
I don’t completely lose it when Clay lifts his hand a second later and motions to the barn.
“Grab her, you idiots. Find the money. Let’s make a deal.”
It’s a minor miracle I get away without sampling any of the crap in those bags.
He’s brought a junkie’s dream of high-grade amphetamine in small round pills, white powder meant to make people fly like kites, and other crap only the DEA could fully classify.
The last ten minutes feels like an entire year, with Grace at my side, and I can’t even hold her hand.
Not if we want to keep up appearances.
I just hope to God the wire I’m wearing is still working and Faulk’s team hears everything. They can’t come storming in while these goons can shoot back.
“It’s settled, then,” I say, throwing two black leather bags bulging with cash down in front of them. “Eight million even. Another two million I’ll wire to you as soon as we’re done here for Nelson’s life. And your word that you’ll fuck off out of their lives, and mine.”
Clay Grendal’s eyes light up—as much as two demon-dark black holes in a man’s face can, anyway.
He grips my hand like a tiger tearing at some slab of meat. The pump of his arm alone leaves zero doubt he plans to stab a dagger in my back the minute it’s turned. He’d still come back for Grace and probably kill Nelson in cold blood if I were making a real truce.
Bad news for him: I’m so fucking not.
“Hell of a shake,” I say, already moving to the small table a few steps away. “Former military?”
“I never had the honor. But I’ve seen more gun battles than the average bonehead grunt,” he says, gross pride in his voice. “I once thought about—hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
I freeze, already lifting the bottle, doing a slow turn as their guns rise again.
“Relax. I wanted to polish off the fine print right with a toast.” I give them a goofy grin, holding up the Macallan bottle. “If this goes well, I think I’ll be buying from you boys again. You’re pretty reasonable when you’re not trying to blow my brains out.”
A couple of his guys gasp when they see the bottle and lower their guns.
Grace just stares, worry etched in her pearl-blue eyes.
“Boss, that stuff’s the shit...if it’s real,” Jackknife grunts, the spark in his beady eyes saying it’d better be.
“Will you let me get some cups? I’ve got a few right over here. Go ahead, Grendal, take a sniff.” I struggle for a few seconds with the cap, tearing off its foil layer, working off the top, and then passing it over.
Tobin’s ruse with the seal worked. The bottle looks and feels as good as new.
Dammit, and now for the one part I forgot...I grab the only cups in the barn, the cheap red plastic ones we’d kept around for quick drinks of water after bringing in the horses, and walk back over to the group.
Grendal looks at me like I just pissed all over his expensive polished shoes.
“You can’t be serious? You...you expect us to enjoy a scotch like this out of these fucking frat house cups?”
“I’m sorry for the bad presentation. If you’d like to head on over to the house for some real glasses, we can. I’d ask my man, Tobin, but after the way you fucked him up earlier—”
“No. That was a mistake. We didn’t think you’d come to your senses so easily.” Grendal doesn’t wait as I pass out the cups, and then begin filling their glasses, saving one for me.
I give Grace a look. “Ladies last. This is a man’s drink, baby.”
Fuck, do I hate saying those words.
But the raw look of disgust she gives me—which I’m praying is still her playing along—makes the wolf and a few of his pack mates smile.
“To new friends and old acquaintances,” he says, lifting his