“Valenzuela finally stops fuckin’ around, chews you up, spits you out,” Nair hissed, jerking his finger through the air at Dad with each “you,” he then turned and jerked it to me. “Valenzuela puts you on the auction block, I’m buyin’. Cover you in my cum then make that pussy work for me.” He turned back to Dad. “And everyone in Denver knows Valenzuela’s biding his time. That shit’s gonna go down. Make no mistake. Only one who’s in denial about that is you. You hearin’ me?”

“Our history,” Dad whispered, “gives you sixty seconds to get your fat ass out my door.”

“Fuck you,” Nair spat. “You had the balls to do it, you’d—”

I was desperately tugging my phone out of my purse.

I was too late.

Nair stopped talking because Dad pulled the gun out of his desk.

“Right,” Nair taunted, grinning an oily grin.

I quickly searched for Gill’s contact on my phone.

The door opened.

Georgia started in.

Dad pulled the trigger.

Nair’s head exploded.

He just had to pull out his .45.

I closed my eyes, swallowed the sick that surged up from my gut, turned back to the window and dropped my phone hand.

“Seriously?” Georgia asked, not hiding her exasperation. “Our cleaning bill is out the roof already.”

“Reschedule,” Dad barked. “And clean that shit up.”

I opened my eyes and stared through the grime at the parking lot.

“Olivia?” Dad called.

I turned my head his way. He was now close to the door.

He held my gaze and nodded, seemingly communicating something weighty, like for some reason he was proud of me.

I felt my flesh crawl.

Dad turned away, walked out and slammed the door behind him.

I looked back out the windows.

I then heard Georgia say, obviously into her phone, “Yeah, Gill. Call Henrietta. Get some heavy duty bags. Clean up on aisle five.”

I sighed.

“Liv,” she called to me.

I looked to my sister.

She had a hip hitched, her phone up in front of her face, her eyes to it, thumb moving on her screen.

“How’re you fixed for next Thursday?” she asked.

Good God.

My family.

* * * * *

Nick

5:38 – That Evening

Jogging down the stairwell to get to the underground parking lot of his building, Nick made his fourth call to Olivia that day.

He was concerned.

It was his third call, the first, that morning, she’d answered. The last two that afternoon, she had not. But he’d also texted three times, all that afternoon, and none of those she’d answered.

He had no ears at that warehouse.

And he had a leak.

She had a meeting that afternoon at that warehouse.

She worked with vipers.

And she was his.

They found that out, they’d strike.

He had no choice but to let her go to work every day with that threat hanging over their heads, a threat she didn’t fully understand.