Page 20 of Ruthless Lullaby

The thing about organ trade is that it's unpredictable. One minute you're on top of the world, the next you're dodging bullets and watching your back every second of the day. It's a constant fucking headache, and honestly, I'm getting tired of the stress that comes with it.

But Global Media? Now that's a different story. It's the perfect cover for my less-than-legal activities, like the Tramoxine project. It's a legitimate business, a way to keep the money flowing without drawing too much attention from the wrong people.

If Maurice took over the organ side of things, it would free me up to focus on Global Media and Tramoxine. He could deal with the shit surrounding Jennifer Shirkova's kidney and the mess with her father. And I could pour all my energy into making Tramoxine the success it’s meant to be. No moredistractions, no more worrying about the next kidney going missing or some rival family trying to fuck me over. Just pure focus ontheproject.

So yes. This could be the all-in-one solution.

"You're one lucky asshole, Maurice," I drawl, fixing him with a pointed stare. "I won’t give you cash."

He looks up. "How does that make me lucky?"

"I've got a better offer for you."

Maurice furrows his brow. "Better? What’s the offer?"

I spread my hands, a smirk playing on my lips. "Only the opportunity of your miserable life, brother. The way out of the steaming pile of shit you've buried yourself in. The light at the end of your fucking tunnel."

Maurice leans forward, his interest piqued. I let the silence stretch for a moment, savoring the power shift. "I'm willing to hand over my organ trade business to you. The entire operation, as it is. It's yours to run."

He scrunches his nose, confusion etched on his haggard face. "The organ trade business? I don't know shit about moving body parts, Maron."

I wave a dismissive hand. "You have that fucking ball sitting on your neck, right? It’s called your head. And you will use that to learn,bratok. Got it? You will learn, just like me and everybody else in the world."

He puts up his hands. "Okay, okay, Maron, don't get yourself worked up. Go on."

I let out an exasperated sigh. Classic Maurice - always trying to control the situation, even when he's as deep in his own shit as he is now.

"The point is, this is your chance to finally get your shit together. I'll give you training, hold your hand through the first few deals. Micromanage your ass until you get the hang of it."

Maurice's face suddenly darkens, his fists clenching at his sides. "I didn't trek my ass here for a fucking job, Maron," he spits, his voice rising with each word. "I came here asking for temporary help. Because last time I checked, we were family. Or something like that. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"Your definition of family is quite fascinating, Maurice," I remark, trying to hide the frustration in my voice. "Whenever you find yourself in need of money, you suddenly remember you have a brother. Then you reach out to me, take what you need, and vanish into thin air without repaying a single fucking penny."

Maurice's face flushes with a mix of shame and indignation. "It's different this time, Maron," he insists.

I lean forward, my eyes boring into his. "How the fuck is it different?" I spit out. "And what assurance do I have that I’m going to get my money back this time? Your word?" The last two words come out as a mocking sneer.

"Yes, my word, Maron," Maurice says, meeting my gaze with what he probably thinks is determination. "Iwillpay you back this time. I swear it."

I let out a harsh laugh. "I've heard that song before, brother, and I'm not buying it." I stand up, towering over him, my voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "I won't give you money. End of story." I give him a look that's designed to freezeblood, my words as sharp as steel. "Take the job or fuck off. Your choice."

The tension in the room is palpable as we stare each other down, years of resentment and broken promises hanging between us like a toxic cloud.

“Alright, alright.” He finally backs off. “Tell me the rest of the offer.”

I continue to eye him for a few moments before I start talking again. "You will handle operations after you receive the necessary training. And you will get thirty percent of the profits."

"Only thirty?" he scoffs. "Why not at least fifty?"

"Because I’m still the business owner and the one taking the risk," I snap. "Face it,bratok. You’re not in a position to negotiate. You lost all your money gambling and your girlfriend of two and a half years. I don’t even understand why she would put up with you for that long. Right now, you’re a fucking loser and here I am, giving you a chance to turn your miserable life around. Show me that I can count on you and maybe, justmaybe,we can re-negotiate the deal."

Maurice stands up, pushing his chair back so forcefully that it topples over. His face is red with anger, years of pent-up resentment finally boiling over.

"You know what, Maron? I'm sick of this! All our lives, you were the big boy who saved little Maurice from trouble. Well, newsflash: I'm the older one! I'm not some snotty five-year-old anymore who needs his baby brother to swoop in and save the day!" He's practically shouting now, spittle flying from his mouth. "All my life, I had to feel inferior like I was some shitty loser because I could never compare to my so-called big brother.You took everything from me, and now when I'm in trouble, you hand down some pity help to poor little loser Maurice?"

I stare at him like a dumbass, caught off guard by his sudden outburst. Is he fucking serious? What planet does he live on? I've never seen him like this.

His voice drips with sarcasm as he continues, "Do you think you can make me work like a donkey for thirty percent while you sit on a beach sipping margaritas and snorting coke off the ass of hookers while I give you the remaining seventy percent? Fuck you, man! You can shove your fucking job offer up your ass!"

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