Page 183 of Remy

I smile with menace. “We’re not friends.”

“Well, we’ve definitely seen you around.” The other guy pulls out his phone, taps the screen, then holds it up in my direction. Staring back at me is a recent surveillance photo taken out the front of my Baltimore apartment building, with my dashing face taking center stage. “Congratulations, you’ve got a price on your head, Costa.”

Fuck.

It’s one thing to be at war with the cartel, but for them to outsource my demise takes it to a whole new level.

I huff a laugh as my cell buzzes short and sharp against the table. “Don’t get shy now, boys. Tell me what the Rodriguez family are offering.”

“One fifty,” the guy closest responds with a grin.

One hundred and fifty grand?

“Wow.” I raise a brow. “That’s insulting. Give me a week and I bet they’ll be far more generous in their attempts to get rid of me.”

Phone guy shrugs. “We’re happy with the current terms.”

“Really?” I position the pad of my finger over my gun’s trigger, so fucking tempted to squeeze. “You think attempting to kill Lorenzo Cappelletti’s nephew is a smart decision?”

He lowers his cell and takes a sip of beer. “It would seem like an insult to fate not to at least try. We weren’t even in town because of you. Now look at us.”

His companion chuckles. “You’re the easiest stroke of good luck we’ve had in a long time.”

“The result of the Irish getting involved in Italian business won’t resemble anything remotely close to luck,” I drawl.

“We’re not affiliated with the mafia. We’re merely contractors looking for a payday. But don’t worry, Costa—we won’t do it here.” The guy closest waves a lazy hand toward the rest of the room. “Too many witnesses.”

They’re serious.

They actually plan on killing me.

“Well, I wish you all the best.” I slide from the booth, keeping my gun hidden inside my jacket. “But you won’t succeed. All you’ve done is piss me off and scare my girl. And while I could ignore the former offense, I assure you I won’t let the latter slide.” I tip my head in farewell. “I hope you enjoy your final moments.”

I stalk toward the bar, daring to turn my back on them.

I have no doubt they’ll attempt to kill me, but like they said, they won’t do it here.

There are too many repercussions for lone contractors who don’t have the backing of a big organization to keep them out of prison.

I head for the far end of the bar to the two older men talking casually with the bartender.

“Excuse me,” I interrupt their conversation, the three of them turning to face me with varying degrees of annoyance. “I’m not usually one to cause trouble, but I thought it might be best to inform you that those two Irishmen over my left shoulder are trading kiddie porn while under your roof. Do with that what you will.”

I take a second to watch their expressions morph into rage as the bartender grabs a wooden bat from under the counter. Then I head for the front door, shooting my Irish buddies a smirk as they begin sliding from their booth.

I won’t have much time, but I shouldn’t need it. A few seconds head start is enough to get me into the Escalade.

Shouts ring out behind me, the men from the bar calling for blood as I push through the exit and stride onto the sidewalk.

The Escalade is right where I left it, Ollie behind the wheel like I instructed, the engine purring.

I keep my pace in check, not wanting to scare her as she swivels a finger back and forth between us, silently asking if I want the driver’s seat.

I shake my head and round the hood, climbing in the passenger side to fasten my belt. “Drive, Pyro.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to switch spots?” she asks in panic.

“There’s no time.”

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