No one spoke.

He waited.

“Yes, you are understood,” Quentin said.

“Good.”

He walked to the outside of the circle and paced the perimeter. He stopped beside a thirty-something white woman with bleached blonde hair and a tanned body. She was gorgeous except for the mass of scar tissue that coiled its way around her neck. She had a tiny keyboard mounted to one wrist and what looked like a speaker mounted to the other. Kruger reached down and stroked the blonde’s hair. She tried to pull away, but he jerked her back into place atop the bright white leather couch.

He was proud of her for not wearing a scarf or covering her scars. It showed character and strength.

As he stroked the blonde’s hair, he said, “Now, to all of you kind patrons and employees of GoBox, you are merely collateral damage in this mission. You are not important to me. Stay quiet and out of our way.”

The blonde woman raised her hand to one wrist and pressed a flurry of keys. From the speaker on her right arm, an electronic women’s voice said, “You’re a disgusting creep.”

“What an interesting device,” Kruger said. “Are you nonverbal?”

The blonde typed, and the electronic voice said, “Yes.”

“Do you not appreciate how I’m treating you?” Kruger asked.

“I hate bullies,” she typed.

He leaned down to eye level with her. She matched his gaze. There was fire in her eyes.

He slapped her hard across the face, grabbed the small keyboard from her wrist, and threw it across the room. She covered her face and began to sob.

“Stay quiet and out of my way, and we’ll all walk out of here alive,” he continued. “Cross me in the smallest manner, and you will die. Disobey me? You will die. And let me make this clear. I am not here to steal your money. Why I’m here has nothing to do with any of you or your assets. No one tries anything, then no one dies. Am I understood?”

They all gave some sort of frightened affirmation, and he said, “Good. Now, I’m done with all of you. Except for you, Mr. Yarborough. You, I’m afraid, are going to have a very bad day.”

Chapter 16

August Burke hated meeting new people. Maybe hate was too strong of a word. It was more that, in his experiences, new people didn’t offer enough reward to justify their risk. New people frightened him. Not physically. He actually wasn’t afraid of anyone physically. It was from an emotional perspective that he feared those unknown variables. With time, he could quantify people. He could mentally calculate their reactions to most situations. But spending any amount of time in the company of strangers was both emotionally and mentally exhausting.

And, unfortunately, ASAC Samuel Carter—his companion? boss? slave master?—was little more than a stranger to him. More unknown than known. And that made August Burke very uncomfortable.

To compound his exasperation, he would now be forced to interact with people who were entirely unknown quantities. Burke felt his pulse rate rising, his breathing becoming more and more labored, the closer Carter and he came to the crowd of people.