Page 71 of Exhale
“I don’t get it.”
“I don’t either,” Lucas lied. “Just don’t let him know, please.”
“I won’t,” Micah promised.
“Lucas!” Nix snapped into the phone, bringing him back to his penthouse and the view. “Don’t forget who put you where you are today.”
“I haven’t forgotten a damned thing, but don’t you forget who helped Remy run your operation out here all those years,” he retorted just as harshly. Reminding the man that with Remy now dead, there was only him left to get shit done.
“I’m low on produce. I need a shipment as soon as possible,” Nix grumbled.
“How many?”
“Ten.”
“That won’t be cheap.”
“I have a high-end client who will pay top dollar,” Nix said.
“I’ll call you when it’s on the way,” Lucas said and hung up.
He didn’t ask about the assassination attempt because he’d done his part. He’d given the location to them. Now it was up to whoever to get the job done.
Straightening his tie, he gazed at himself in the mirror. He was a far cry from the boy without a home who ran on the streets. He’d clawed his way up from the slums, and he aimed to stay at the top.
Striding out of his rooms, he headed down the hallway. He had a meeting to attend, and then he’d need to change into his street clothes to hang out at the shelter just in case Jordan contacted him. He had gone by there a few times, even though it stank to hell, and he hated the whole scene.
His purpose in locating Jordan had been simple. Get close to Jordan and closer to Micah. Even though the story about tailing Jordan had been bullshit, Jordan didn’t know that.
Lucas had connections with some very high-powered people who could give him all kinds of information.
Smiling, Lucas headed toward his study.
In the shadows, Black stood across the street from the high-rise penthouse and waited.
He was patient. He knew his prey would come out sooner rather than later. And when he did, it would be the last thing Lucas ever did.
It was just over an hour later that Lucas emerged from the front doors, walking with his head tucked down.
Dressed down was an understatement. The man looked just like a vagrant. To Black, Lucas’ appearance was carefully crafted down to the ratty gray sneakers and greased stringy hair.
It was all a facade.
Lucas was a trained killer.
Black knew firsthand because he’d personally trained the guy.
But Lucas was a bad seed.
The guy was just born plain bad, and there was no fixing that. Black had tried through the years to get it through the guy’s head that he didn’t need to be evil, but Lucas got off on being a sick, twisted psychopath.
When the man slipped between the buildings, Black shoved away from the wall he’d been leaning against and followed.
Just before Lucas reached the end of the alley, Black called softly.
“Lucas.”
Lucas spun around, knife in hand, glaring at him through the distance. What Lucas didn’t know was that Black had placed a padlock on the rusted metal gate that led to Main Street.
