Page 1 of For a Price

CHAPTER 1

Katerina

I’ll doanything for the right price.

It’s a life motto I’ve lived by from the time I was a small kid on the streets of Northam, just trying to find a bite to eat.

Times were tough and I was an orphan with no real roof over my head. Me and the other strays scavenged what we could, where we could, from who we could. An unlocked bike parked outside a café. Unwanted and burned loaves of bread tossed out by the local bakery at the end of the day. Wallets and watches we swiped from unsuspecting people we came across on subways and sidewalks.

We spent the nights either committing crimes or laying our heads down in abandoned buildings that offered even just a little refuge ’til sunrise.

Because I spent the early years of my life doing what I had to in order to survive, doing so now feels natural. My instinctual way to live.

They say petty crime is the gateway, like marijuana is for drugs.

Let’s just say I graduated from snatching purses off the street a long time ago.

As I enter Wong’s Wok on 94thand Olsen, I’m ready to dive into my next big gig. JC is already waiting on me, his hoodie up over his head, a spoon in his hand as he blows at his hot egg drop soup.

“’Sup?” I say, grabbing hold of the chair opposite him. I flip it around so I can plop down backward on it, arms folded along the top. “Sorry I’m running late.”

“Nothing new. You and early don’t go together,” he answers. His brow lifts higher glancing across the table at me. “You and sitting down like a normal person don’t either.”

“I woke up early for this.”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

A grin twists onto my lips. “You know I’m a creature of the night. Daylight hours are for sleep. Now, spill.”

As paranoid as he is neurotic, JC glances over his left and right shoulders. Never mind that Wong’s is virtually empty—beside the whirring ceiling fan and collection of house plants in the corner, the only one around is Grandma Wong herself.

She’s sweeping the floor of her vacant little Chinese restaurant during its slowest business hours, humming to herself as she goes.

JC blows some more on his egg drop soup, then swallows his first spoonful. “It’s like I said. Finch is willing to pay big bucks if we do it.”

“And he’s a feeble old man. You said seventies?”

“Walks with a fuckingcane,” JC answers. “All we’ve gotta do is kick it out from under him. And bam! Grandpa’s down for the count.”

I shake my head, on the verge of a laugh. “You are definitely going to hell.”

“Maybe. Which is more reason to do whatever the fuck I want. You in?”

“You kidding? It’s either this or spend another night as a bottle girl at Bang Bang. Guess which I choose?”

“Then get ready. It’s happening tonight.” JC pauses again to watch Grandma Wong shuffle across the restaurant with her broom and dustpan, her slippers tapping against the clean floor. When he’s sure she’s out of earshot, he continues. “We’re meeting up on East Crosby. Across from the Northam Bank building. He works in the Crowne Towers. He’ll be working late tonight. Some proposal for his investors on renewable energy crap.”

“Where do we come in?”

“You got the uniform, didn’t you? We’ll be posing as the building’s cleaning crew. We wait ’til he’s in the elevator, acting all innocent and inconspicuous-like, and then we go for it.”

My brows push together. “Go for it?”

“You heard me. Go for it. He steps into the elevator and we strike. Inject him with some fucking bear tranquilizer. He’ll be out for hours. Fozzil’ll be getaway driver.”

“And if he has security?”

“He won’t,” JC says confidently. “Trust me, Finch has done his research. He works late all the time and never has anybody covering him ’cept his driver. Grandpa Volkova won’t know what hit him.”

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