My gut sinks as we leave the hall for a wide-open warehouse floor. “But you said … you just said that if you’re good at it, don’t work for free. So why are you?”

Tommy turns to me, eyes shrewd, but before he can get a word out, his focus shifts to behind me. “Well, that’s interesting.”

Without warning, he releases his hold on the flashlight, and light floods the building. Which isn’t a good thing.

Not when what I’m looking at is ten or so enormous men and women surrounding us.

“Shit,” I mutter. “Sorry to barge in,” I get out, sounding like I’m trying to swallow gravel. “We were looking for someone.”

“They’re not here,” a woman immediately replies.

“Right. Okay.” I go to walk backward but collide with Tommy, and the gun I was holding clatters to the floor.

The three people I can make out by the dim light immediately turn their attention to it and then snap back to me again. “That’s umm⁠—”

Tommy takes over. “Colin St. Clare. Know where he is?”

Unlike me, Tommy doesn’t sound like he’s shitting bricks. He keeps his attention on the woman who spoke while I watch the shadowy people surround us. My heart is getting sickeningly fast.

The woman narrows her eyes at Tommy. “No. Now, get out.”

“Colin with a C,” he pushes. “In case that helps your memory.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Guy who’s wanted by Carson Alexander.”

This time, the answer takes longer to come. It’s a man who steps in this time. “We said get out.”

“I’d love to,” Tommy continues, and I can tell he’s smiling even without looking at him. “And I would, totally, of course. If you weren’t lying to me.”

My attention whips to him and then back to the crowd again. “You know where he is?”

“We told you we didn’t. Now, you have ten seconds to leave, or you won’t like what comes next.”

“Ten …” Tommy says. “Nine … eight …”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“They said I won’t like what comes next—six!—so I can’t wait to find out what that is.”

“What are you⁠—”

“Fivefourthreetwo … one!”

And before I know what’s happened, as he hits one, Tommy kicks the strength from my knees, and they smash into the concrete floor. The pain barely has had a chance to register when the shockingly hard barrel of his gun presses against the back of my head.

I freeze.

Spine turned to ice as the hairs prickling down my neck stand on end.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I wheeze.

He releases the safety with a too-loud metallic clink.

“You might want to tell Colin St. Clare that he has ten seconds to get his ass down here. Or he’s not going to like what I do to his brother.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

PERRY

“What was that?”