Fast Burn (Body Armor #4)(68)
“Maybe...but not this time.”
“Meaning?”
“Whatever it takes, we’re going to bury him.”
Sahara frowned. She wondered if that was jealousy speaking again. “Not until I’ve found out what he knows about Scott.” Then again, if her suspicions proved true, she wouldn’t need Ross Moran at all—and Brand could do whatever he wanted with the brute.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ROSS WASN’T IN the mood to hear all the nonsense. Around him, his cohorts badgered, argued and complained. It was annoying as fuck. “Enough already. What’s done is done.”
Olsen, his unofficial second in command, sat beside him. “Just because you’ve gone soft on her doesn’t mean the plan was bad. We still need our money, and she’s still the quickest, easiest way to get it.”
Ross shook his head. The bitter coffee he drank made his stomach burn. After the sleepless night he’d had, it was too early for this shit, too early to meet in an abandoned house, too early to be convinced that Sahara should still be a target.
And yet, at the same time, it was already too late for him.
He kept remembering the contempt in her beautiful blue eyes, her complete disdain when he mentioned grabbing dinner to talk. He’d thought for sure that she’d come along willingly to learn more about Scott. He’d have happily, ruthlessly, used her curiosity, and her love for her brother, against her.
But no, she was too sensible to fall for it. Even more troubling, she was already involved with a damned fighter who looked to be perpetually angry.
That burned worse than the shitty coffee.
Without inflection, hoping to discourage his nitwit cohorts, Ross said, “She’s a lost cause.” With any luck, the others would buy it.
Of course he didn’t mean it, not when it came to his personal involvement, but they didn’t know that.
“We disagree,” Terrance said. “Once we have her, she’ll pay up.”
Ross shook his head. “She’s too smart for us to catch her off guard again. She won’t be left alone, not for a single minute.”
The fighter stuck to her as if they were already married.
Except when he let Chelsea Tuttle grope him. What the hell was up with that?
Could it mean Sahara wasn’t really all that involved with him? He’d been watching her for a while and she never dated. Somehow, while he’d been growing enamored during his surveillance, she’d been hooking up without him noticing.
Hopefully, it was only a hookup—and with any luck, her angry protector wouldn’t bring more danger to her with his associations.
“So she has a man or two with her.” Olsen shrugged. “Big deal. We can handle that.”
“Those bodyguards of hers are ex-MMA fighters, not ill-trained street thugs. You saw what happened to those two.” He gestured at Andy and Terrance, whose wounds hadn’t completely faded yet from the beatings they’d received.
Terrance’s still-swollen nose sat off center on his face, framed by two black eyes. A patchwork of mottled bruising, splits and lumps covered Andy’s face. When he smiled, you couldn’t help noticing the missing tooth.
Ross shook his head. “Whoever rescued her that day worked the two of them over as if it was his job—a job he loved.” Ross was willing to bet it was her escort. That one certainly looked capable of inflicting all sorts of damage. Ross wasn’t afraid of anyone, but Sahara’s friend had given him pause.
“There are four of us,” Olsen reminded him. “And you’re the best at fighting.”
Yeah, he’d convinced them of that. Beating any one of them wouldn’t make him break a sweat, but that wasn’t saying much.
Still, he put on his macho act and nodded. “I can handle myself, but I don’t see the point in doing it. It’d be a waste of time because Sahara doesn’t know where Scott is. That means we can’t use her to make him pay.”
Andy gave a huff of disagreement. “She knows, but even if she doesn’t, so what? Body Armor is her company now, so she can damn well pay us.”
“That was never the plan.” Sometimes he hated dealing with imbeciles. “Scott owes us. Scott should pay.” Sahara shouldn’t have to pay for her bastard brother.
Besides, his pals were running short on patience and high on frustration. He wasn’t sure he could control them and he didn’t want Sahara in any real danger. If any one of them touched her, Ross knew he wouldn’t be able to control his temper.
She was his. Somehow, he’d make it so.
Idly, Olsen turned his coffee cup on the scratchy surface of the thrift store table. “You didn’t mind getting the money from her before.”
Ross swiped a hand through the air. “That was just a gut reaction, a desperate grab to make it work.” And an attempt to spend more time with her. “But it’s not what we’re about.”
“Maybe it’s not what you’re about,” Olsen said. “But I’m betting the rest of us feel different.”
Ross twisted to face him, his anger dangerously close to the surface—and his phone alerted him to a message. Glad for the interruption, he withdrew it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. Money is in your apartment. Now leave her alone.
His eyes flared. No fucking way. It couldn’t be...