Minutes to Kill (Scarlet Falls #2)(7)

“You gonna kill the blond?” Sam asked. “She saw us.”

Mick scratched his goatee. “Maybe.”

“It’d be fun.” The gleam in Sam’s eyes caught the moonlight. “No restrictions on her. I’ll do it for you if you want to keep your hands clean.”

It wouldn’t be the first time Sam had killed for him. At the age of twelve, he’d taken out the neighborhood bully with a hammer to the head to defend his brother. That kind of loyalty couldn’t be bought. Not that Mick had needed the help, but he’d wanted to consider all his options. He had a tendency to overthink a situation. They hadn’t been caught, and Mick had learned to trust his little brother’s killer instincts.

Jewel groaned.

Mick leaned over the seat. “Hear that, Jewel? Whatever happens to that bitch is on your hands. You involved her in this.” He got out and opened the back door. “Let’s go.”

Five girls made a hasty exit, but Jewel, with her hands tied behind her back, was wedged in tight. He pulled the knife out of his pocket and unfolded the blade. Her eyes widened as he leaned over her. His hand trembled. He wanted to do it. But she didn’t belong to him. She belonged to Mr. K.

The boss had hammered the math into Mick’s head. An ounce of cocaine or a hit of crack can only be sold once. A girl can be sold hundreds of times.

“Get the fuck out of the car.” He reached in, sliced the plastic ties, and grabbed a handful of her hair. “I said now.”

Jewel stumbled across the curb. She went down on her hands and knees on the hard-baked earth of the front yard. Mick closed the vehicle door. Anger flowed into his chest. Hot and thick, it fueled his body almost as well as coke. He kicked her in the ribs, sending her sprawling. He reeled in his excitement. You break it, you buy it was the boss’s motto.

“Get up.” He stalked toward her.

She rose onto her feet, swaying like a drunk. Mick grabbed her by the arm. “Inside.” He opened the door and threw her across the threshold. She fell to her knees on the stained carpet, balled up like an armadillo, and stayed there.

The living room was empty except for Lisa, Sam’s girlfriend. The other girls, smart little bitches, had scurried for their holes like rats. Leaning over the glass table with a rolled dollar bill up one nostril, Lisa was halfway through a short line. Stringy white-blond hair hung over her pasty face. Sound effects—bells—from the game show on the TV clanged through the room. She snorted the last of the powder in one quick sniff, then swiped her hand under her runny nose. “What happened?”

“Bitch tried to run.” Mick crossed to the glass table. “You’d better not have done all my coke.”

Lisa shrank onto the couch cushion. “You said I could have one line. That’s all I did. I swear.”

Still eyeballing her, he stepped up, opened the square tin, and checked his supply. The glimmer of fear in her eyes pacified him. He nodded, and she exhaled.

That’s what he wanted to see: obedience and appreciation. He was in control. It didn’t matter that Lisa was Sam’s girlfriend. Mick could have her any time he liked. But he was done with whores. The finer things in life were trickling into his grasp, one by satisfying one. He’d come up in the world, and he wasn’t letting anything shove him back down again.

“What are you gonna do with her?” Lisa gave Jewel—curled, shaking, and smelling like fear—a glare. Lisa wasn’t going to let that little bitch ruin what she had going. If one girl escaped, what would stop the others from thinking they could do the same? Mr. K demanded a high level of efficiency, and no one who could testify against Mick would ever walk out of this house alive.

“I don’t know. I have to think.”

He turned to Jewel. Her eyes were squeezed shut, as if she didn’t want to see what was coming.

Smart thinking on her part.

Anger flared fresh in his veins. Tonight’s act of rebellion could ruin everything. This gig was good, but he was tired of worrying about Mr. K’s rules.

He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her toward the back door. She got her feet under her body and stumbled behind him. The yard was a twenty-by-twenty rectangle of concrete and dirt, walled in by a heavy wooden fence that sagged in places. His big pit bull slunk out from behind the garage to greet him.

“Sit.” Cringing, Butch obeyed. If only the girls learned as quick as the dog.

A small metal shed squatted in the rear corner. Jewel stumbled as Mick shoved her into the darkness. She fell onto her knees then curled up into a miserable ball. He handcuffed her to a pipe sticking out of the dirt. Then he walked out, shutting the door and fastening the padlock. Dumb bitch acted like Mick was new at this. He wasn’t. He’d practiced taking a girl to the edge of death and holding her there. Some girls held on a long, long time.

He went back into the living room. His brother was kicked back on the sofa, his posture deceiving. No matter how relaxed Sam appeared, violence flowed just under his skin. His eyes were coke-bright. Mick snorted a spoonful and poured himself a glass of vodka. The numbness slid over him like crushed ice flowing through his veins. Five minutes later, he felt reenergized, as if anything was possible.

Jewel was off-limits, but there was no reason he couldn’t kill the blond. Mick went out to the car and got her purse. Back inside, he flopped in a chair and pulled out her wallet. It was a fancy job with two zippered compartments. He rubbed a hand across the deep gray leather. Felt expensive. He slid a thick stack of bills from the billfold.