Page 130 of Magic or Madness

This continues for another few minutes until the guys band together, taking Max down to the ground and subduing him with hands and arms tangling around his neck.

I’m no expert, but it looks like a classic sleeper hold.

“Enough. Either you’re in or you’re out, but you’re done breaking shit,” Lex says, his voice raspy from being out of breath while Max slowly fades out on the tiled floor.

“Come here, Bambi. We got something while you were gone,” Ozzy whispers, pulling me into the office.

I follow him eagerly, ready to see what they found, but his face is more grim than excited.

“What is it?”

“Another email. Less ominous, more threatening,” he explains, his eyes not meeting mine while we wait for Lex’s laptop to load.

I hold my breath, the possibilities flooding my mind like a broken dam, but my eyes widen at the email as I read the words of a twisted person.

In a nutshell, we have twenty hours to respond, and if we choose to abort the job, he’ll release the information about Doc being murdered.

On top of that, a promise of retribution is included, with undertones of violence. Whoever this is, he’s relentless, and we’re no closer to discovering his identity.

“I have an idea,” I say, and he sits on the desk giving me his full attention.

“I knew yoga would give your mind what it needed,my smart girl.” He beams with pride, looking at me like I hung the stars in the sky.

“I was thinking, we need to draw this person out. Possibly set a meet? What if we lure him in by offering to exchange money for him to keep quiet about Doc? We set a trap, just to get eyes on him or someone in his circle,” I propose, and Ozzy nods along with my words, his eye contact unwavering.

“It’s very dangerous, but I think we can pull it off. Got a number in mind?”

“I mean, what kind of money do you think would get this guy out of bed? A hundred grand, two?” I mull it over aloud, and he takes a moment to think about it.

“Probably two. We can swing it, but we need real cash, too.” He runs to the wall, jotting down this new idea on the board, but I’m hung up on what he said.

Real cash?

How the fuck can weswingtwo hundred grand?

“What are you talking about, Ozzy?”

He stops in his tracks, the marker in his hand hovering over the paper before he turns around to face me.

“Fuck.”He rests his head against the wall, tossing his curls into a lazy bun, and the frustration starts to boil to the surface.

“Are you hiding something from me?” I ask, straight to the point, and his body visibly tenses.

“Yes, and no. It’s for your own good, Bambi. I promise,” he says softly, but I can’t help the feeling of betrayal creeping over me.

“Cut the bullshit, Ozzy. Just fucking tell me.” I cross my arms over my chest, attempting to hold back the tears threatening to spill at any moment.

“Alright. A few years ago, Doc had us end a counterfeit cash operation, and we came out with three million dollars in fake money. There’s maybe half left, and we brought one hundred grand back with us from Jacksonville. That’s where I was the morning of the beach trip,” he confesses, sitting back on the desk as he explains.

It’s nowhere near as bad as I imagined, but I’m a little annoyed he didn’t tell me.

“Okay, baby, okay. Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, prying his legs apart with my knee and sliding against his body.

He pulls me in for a hug, and I instantly feel better with his arms around me. I can never stay mad at him for long.

“I hate thinking about that job, and the money. I wash my share, but after that, I put it out of my mind. It was the first time I … killed someone, and it haunts me still, that’s all. I wasn’t hiding the money from you, just the reminders.” He swipes away a tear from the corner of his eye, and I cup his face with my hands.

“It’s alright, baby. I understand. So, can we use the counterfeit money?”

---