Page 118 of Undertow

We walk through the yard, down the long, sandy path pretending to be a driveway, and onto the main street. A car is parked on the shoulder several yards away.

Tyler nudges me forward with the gun, and I suppress an eye roll. He’s loving this starring role in his own mob drama. Adrian is a little less theatrical as he pulls open the door to the backseat.

“Get in.”

I follow the order, ignoring Tyler’s gloating at my struggle to maneuver into the small vehicle without the use of my hands.

Once I’m inside, they close the door and hop into the front. Tyler immediately twists the gun back to aim it at me again.

His smug expression means he has no idea the safety is still engaged and he’s holding it all wrong for an accurate shot. He clearly trained for this moment by watching TV.

They’re just lucky I have no intention of resisting.

Silence permeates the vehicle as Adrian takes us closer to the main thoroughfare running through Undertow. I’m grateful for the gun’s safety as we rumble over the rough surface. Without it, we’d all be dead by the time we turn onto the road toward Palmetto Acres.

Outside, I’m an unreadable statue. Inside, I’m a riot of mixed emotions. Relief that they’re ending this farce by sending me back to McArthur. Fear for the same reason.

“What did they promise you?” I ask, breaking the long silence.

Adrian’s head turns slightly as he drives. Tyler’s grip tightens on the gun.

“You really think we’d tell you that?”

No. But I want them thinking about it.

It’s hilarious that they think McArthur is going to deliver on whatever promises were made on his behalf. The man is probably just learning about it now. Merrick would have been the one to make this deal, and he would have seen through these idiots the second the call connected.

They’re cashing in their chips for nothing.

Julia was right in her critique of her brother. His hatred of me is clouding his judgment. Tyler never had a drop of judgment to begin with.

“Right. Well, whatever they’re paying you is pennies compared to what they’ll get from stealing La Quinta Muerte business from you.”

“They’re not paying us anything, asshole. We’re not that stupid,” Tyler tells me.

Somehow, I contain my snort.

“Oh, so they got you to bend over by asking super nicely? Did you at least make them buy you a drink first?”

Adrian fires a glare at me, nearly swerving off the road.

This is too easy.

“Fuck you, Shaw, or whatever your name is. We’re getting a huge stake in their operation.”

“Twenty percent!” Tyler boasts. His smug look is the perfect accessory to his impotent pistol.

“Twenty, wow,” I say dryly.

“Twenty is pretty damn good for doing nothing. They take all the risk and do all the work. All we have to do is let them use our access points,” Adrian says.

“Ah.”

I don’t bother pointing out the many holes in their analysis. This deal is bullshit anyway. I already know McArthur is planning on eliminating the Hartfords. Their stake will be zero percent when they’re in the ground.

I shake my head with a smirk as I settle back against the seat.

“You think this is funny?” Tyler snaps, leveling the useless gun at me again.

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