Page 53 of Outlaws’ Runaway

Burton looks almost as surprised as I feel, but he nods and shakes Savage's hand. “Deal.”

Fuck, I hope Savage knows what the fuck he's doing. If he doesn't, that's gonna be all our asses on the line.

30

PAIGE

The Fabbri officesare bigger and fancier than I expected. From everything I’ve heard, they're new in the city, but if they have something like this and are laundering millions through local businesses, they definitely have money coming from somewhere.

The building has a glass and marble facade, with windows tinted darkly enough that it's impossible to look in. Over the impressive entrance, there's a sign that reads, “Fabbri Holdings and Trading Co.” A door guard in a simple black suit stands outside. He’s wearing shades and looking like his nose was broken at some point. The guys drive right up onto the sidewalk and leave their bikes parked in front of the doors.

“You can’t park there!” The guard snaps, but Savage ignores him.

I walk right into the lion's den between Crank and Poe, who both have an iron grip on my upper arms like they're guiding a prisoner. Savage leads the way, money in hand, obviously the leader of our group.

And bringing up the rear is Detective Burton, dressed like a biker and making the spot between my shoulder blades itch. I don’t like having him behind me. I don’t trust him. Maybe the Outlaw Sons are rubbing off on me, but I feel like I’d rather have the upfront violence of the bikers than his hidden agenda crap. Even dressed to match, Burton sticks out like a sore thumb to me. Something in the way he carries himself, I think. You can put the cop in biker leathers, but you can't make him move like one. The real bikers have a casual air of danger about them, like they're always a moment away from turning themselves into a serious problem if things aren't going the way they want. Burton doesn't have that. He's too stiff, too insecure. It's like he's radiating cop, no matter how he dresses.

And well out of sight, though I know they're there, are Burton's people, waiting for his signal. And also waiting are Hellfire and the Sons. Because, as Hellfire said, “I’ll use them if they want to volunteer to be meat shields, but I’m not fucking trusting them.”

I’m glad there’s backup, but I’m still nervous. This is the first time I’m involved with something that has an actual plan and it feels like hunting for bears by crawling into the bear cave, instead of just waiting outside to deal with it there. Apparently, Stefano’s apartment is on the top floor of this building though, so catching him outside is rare.

Otherwise, the building is disappointingly boring. The reception could be confused with any other corporate reception. Leather chairs, a receptionist behind a large counter, and card-activated gates that register the guests coming and leaving. Savage approaches the counter, where a thin man in a blue suit is talking on a hands-free headset. He looks up as Savage comes close, eyeing him like something just hauled out of a dumpster.I'm half surprised he doesn't physically hold his nose, but when he speaks, his tone is flat and professional.

“Mr. Savage, I presume. Mr. Fabbri is expecting you.”

“Does it ever get confusing when everyone's named Mr. Fabbri?” Crank asks no one in particular, a levity in his tone that doesn't reach his eyes. “Or is it like, Mr. Fabbri the second, Mr. Fabbri the third, Mr. Fabbri Junior?”

The corners of Poe's mouth twitch, but nobody laughs and the receptionist sends him a death glare. I think he's just eager to get the riff raff out of his lobby. “Please, have a seat and Mr. Fabbri will send someone down to bring you inside.”

None of the guys sit. Probably not wanting to get distracted and caught in a position they can't react quickly from. Poe gives my arm a comforting squeeze.

Five minutes later when I'm starting to wonder if keeping us waiting is on purpose and sitting down wouldn't be so bad after all, the elevator dings and a group of black-suited men come out. They could be brothers, all of them dark-haired, same bodybuilder frame, and identical suits. If one of them is the Fabbri we’re looking for, he doesn't stick out from the rest in any notable way. The man in front gestures at the receptionist, who pushes a button behind the counter. The security gates swing open.

“Please, Mr. Savage, this way. Mr. Fabbri is waiting upstairs.” He gestures towards the elevator.

I'm not the only one who's tense. I know my men well enough to see the signs now. Savage looks just a little extra predatory today, Crank has no trace of amusement in his expression, and Poe’s dark eyes are searching every corner and shadow for signsof surprises. I don’t have their training, but even I can feel the driving need to shut down all the parts of me that might cause me to hesitate at the wrong moment.

The elevator ride is quiet and tense. Stefano's men spread out to the edges, forcing us to stand in the middle. The guys form a shield around me by putting me between them, but the strange addition of Burton is a constant thorn in my side. The man who told us to follow doesn't seem interested in continuing any sort of small talk. He stares straight at the elevator buttons and ignores us.

I'm so tense, even the ding of the elevator makes me jump a little. Here we go, I guess.

The elevator opens into a fancy lobby. The elements of marble and glass from the outside are continued here, elegant but cold. Heavy biker boots echo as we walk over the marble floor through a pair of double glass doors with a gold inlay of what I assume is the Fabbri corporate logo. They might be criminals, but they're good at making it look like a completely legitimate business. Who knows? Maybe it even is on the surface. Something that pays taxes while they run their other operations behind.

I don't know. I'm not an expert on organized crime. I’m just a girl who stole a million dollars from the mob by accident.

We walk down a short hallway to a single door, flanked by the suited men the whole way. One of them opens the door and we step into Stefano Fabbri's office. He stands behind his desk, waiting for us.

I get my first look at the man who has turned my life upside down. He's as oily as he sounded on the phone, though it's more of a vibe. I mean, his suit is so fancy, it has to be custom made.I've seen my share of laundry after all. It fits him like he was born into it, dark blue with subtle, slightly lighter pinstripes. He has the kind of fake smile that a used car salesman would be proud of, and his immaculate hair is glossy and slicked back. He's clean shaven with nothing out of place. Still, there's this feeling that I'm looking at a sewer rat in a fancy suit.

His office is built to impress, with classical art pieces, heavy furniture, and a massive wooden desk. On one side is a sitting area with a few leather chairs around a black stone coffee table, on the other, the office extends far enough to have a matching stone top meeting table with twelve chairs around it. Large windows give an impressive view of the city, with the ocean stretching off in the far distance. Sunlight fills the room, but the temperature is perfect. In some ways, I'd assume someone like him would prefer darkness.

“Savage,” he says, dropping the Mr. that everyone else seems to want to add. I definitely recognize that same detached voice that I heard on the phone. “I'm so glad you came to your senses. I would've hated for us to get off on the wrong foot so early in our relationship.”

“We don't have a relationship. Let's just get this shit over with,” Savage growls. If I didn't know better, I'd be fully willing to believe that he was about to sell me out. Luckily, I do.

“Of course, of course. If we can’t be friendly, then let’s at least be civil. Refreshments?” Fabbri gestures at the meeting table. “I can have someone bring water, wine, soft drinks, beer…”

“Nah, we're fine.” Savage takes a seat in the middle, with Burton on one side, and Crank and Poe on the other with me between them.

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