Jason felt sick. Wrong as it was, the man was right. But he also believed Jason had something he didn't.
"Look," Kent said, "this is a one-time opportunity to save the lives of your nephew and your lover. To watch Billy grow up. It's a good offer. Take it."
Jason sat back in his chair, met Kent's eye. The guy looked sincere, but that was like gauging the intentions of a crocodile. Still. Much as Jason wanted to doubt, Kent made sense. They were out of plays. Going to the alderman had been a last-ditch hope. If Kent let them go, there really wasn't anything they could do to hurt him.
Which only made his anger seethe hotter. Just like in the war, the real players were invulnerable. People talked about the immovable object and the unstoppable force. But the real story belonged to the people caught between the two. People like his brother.
" 'A complicated financial venture,' eh?" Jason shook his head. "You realize you're talking about people? You're killing them, burning their homes, ruining their neighborhoods. To make money. Just another rich white guy who can't get enough."
Kent snorted. He stood up, went around the desk, dropped in the chair. "It's not love that moves the world, Mr. Palmer, and the only color that matters is green. Black, white, brown, who gives a shit? It's about rich and poor. I'm very rich, so I win. You can spout coffeehouse crap all you like. But first decide whether you'd prefer to die tonight or to see your nephew grow up."
Think, goddamn you. Think. He looked away. Grit his teeth and tugged at his wrists. The zip-tie was unyielding, and his fingers thick and heavy. Every fiber of his body screamed to fight. To stand and make a move, to throw himself at Kent or DiRisio. He'd lose, but he'd go out fighting. A soldier's death. Not this terrible choice.
Not having to make a deal with the man who murdered his brother.
If he agreed, and Kent was honest, they'd be free. He could watch Billy turn nine, have another porch-lit drink with Washington, explore the thing between him and Cruz. And even if Kent decided to kill him, at least Billy would be safe. With the evidence gone and the witnesses dead, there would be no reason to come after the boy.
Kent spoke softly. "I know you hate me, Mr. Palmer. But you're a smart man. So do what you have to do. Tell me where those papers are." He ran long fingers through his hair, then laced them behind his head.
Sometimes you had to fold the hand. Jason dropped his head, stared at his lap. Forgive me, Michael. I tried. He opened his mouth to speak.
And saw Kent's gesture again. Running his hands through his hair.
"The big one was bald," Billy had said two days ago, sitting in the sunlight of Jason's apartment, telling a story that tore him apart. A story of two men that had come into the bar and killed Michael. One balding and big. The other thin and plain-looking, with black and gray hair.
And he realized that no matter what he said, Kent would never stop hunting his nephew.
DiRisio had been one of the guys in the bar. He'd bragged about it. The other man they had just assumed was Galway.
But Adam Kent's hair was also black flecked with gray.
CHAPTER 45
"It was you." The words came as a snarl, an animal roar. His mind screamed at him to stop, to slow down, but his anger had control. "Motherfucker." He started to lunge from his chair, willing to give it a shot now, knowing it didn't matter. That there was no deal. No hope.
Something slammed into the base of his neck, at the right-hand side. The whole world went watery. He struggled through it, his legs out of his control and far away, the weight enormous. His body told him it couldn't move. He moved anyway. Moved for Michael, and for Billy. Moved even though it was impossible.
Until DiRisio hit him with another open-hand chop at the other side of his neck, and his legs just gave.
Agony shot through his body, lightning bolts and pyrotechnics, the Fourth of July behind his eyeballs. He felt a hand in his hair, yanking, and then he was falling back into the chair. Landing heavy, his arms flopping useless in front of him.
"Don't kill him." Kent's voice was firm, none of the soft sell he'd been peddling.
"He's fine." DiRisio's voice seemed to echo and warp. "I hit the pressure points behind his carotids. No permanent damage."
Jason closed his eyes, fought for breath and balance. He felt like his center of gravity was doing flips. Gagged and coughed. Struggled. Get control. Do it now, soldier.
Deep breaths. Visions of melting ice, faint blue that washed everything away. That countered the fire in his head.
He opened his eyes. Hate like hundred-proof liquor raged through his veins. "It wasn't Galway in the bar. It was you."
Kent gave him an amused look. "Your brother had evidence that could have derailed everything I'd been working on. It might even have been enough to prosecute me. Me." He shrugged. "A business arrangement that important I'm going to see to personally."
His body rubber, Jason struggled to rise.
"Oh, for Christ's sake." Kent's cool slipping, finally. "Sit down. We can shoot you without giving you your wish."
Jason glared at him, his hands pulling useless at the zip-tie. "My wish?"
"To die." Kent smiled at him. "That's what you want, right? I know all about your discharge from the Army. I know what you've been doing since. And I know that if your nephew hadn't been holding you back, you'd have let yourself get killed already. Well, guess what? Tonight's your lucky night." He buttoned his tux jacket and turned to DiRisio. "Let's end this costume drama, shall we?"
DiRisio jerked his head at Scarface. The man pushed off the wall and padded out the door.
What was this? Something he hadn't anticipated. Then he realized. Cruz. They were going to use Elena against him.
He bit his lip till he tasted blood. All right. It was time to get dying. When she came in, they'd make their play. Go out in a blaze of glory and end this thing before anyone else could get hurt. Frankly, he welcomed it.
But when he looked back, it wasn't Cruz framed in the doorway.
Billy's eyes darted and his skin glowed feverish. He held Washington's hand so tightly both their knuckles were white. The old man wobbled on his feet, a trail of blood running from his temple.
"No." The word slipped from Jason's mouth. His chest felt like it was in a vice, and liquid fire burned in his bowels. "No."
"I'm sorry, son." Washington sounded tired. "They came out of nowhere. Ronald tried to fight, but-" His voice tightened.
"Uncle Jason?" Billy's voice was ribbon thin. "What's happening?"
The trust in his voice tore like fishhooks. Jason stared. His lover and his father and his brother and his nephew, all of whom he'd failed to protect.
Liar. It was worse than that. He hadn't just failed them.
He'd doomed them.
None of this would have been happening if he'd just left well enough alone. If he'd simply gotten the boy out of danger, instead of pretending he was a soldier, chasing the monster in hopes of slaying it. Running from his home may not have been much of a life for Billy, but at least he would have been alive. But now…
He realized that Billy was staring at him. He forced his hands to stop shaking. "It's okay, kiddo. Everything will be okay."
DiRisio chuckled.
"Bring them in." Kent gestured. "The woman, too."
Scarface put a meaty hand against Washington's back and shoved, sending him staggering into the room. Billy clung to his hand, his eyes lasered on Jason's. Scarface followed, a gun held to Cruz's side. The mercenary guided them to a leather couch against the wall. Washington sat stiffly, Billy close beside him. Scarface dumped Cruz on the far side, her arms zip-tied in front of her. Last in the door was Galway, his face drawn and pale.