Page 2 of Proposition 1

“I’m Michael’s sister.”

“That new kid that disappeared with our bag,” Meathead Number One supplied.

Keeping my gaze focused on the man behind the desk, I ignored the goon on my left and straightened my shoulders.

“He was attacked by four men on his way to deliver your bag. I’m here to work out a deal to cover whatever he owes you for it. He’s just a dumb kid, and we don’t want any trouble.”

The man’s heavy eyebrows lifted, the only sign that he had heard me as he continued to stare. He remained silent for a while before he leaned back and steepled his hands in front of him.

“So, your brother gets jumped, loses our product, and yet you’re the one here trying to work out a deal to pay us back? What kind of man is he?”

My brows drew together as my lips tightened.

“He’s not. He’s still a kid and I’m responsible for him. I just need to know how much he owes you to make this even so we can forget about each other.”

His head dipped, chin resting on his chest. His steady gaze was unnerving, but he at least seemed to be considering what I said.

Turning his attention to Meathead Number One, he leaned forward and placed his arms on his desk.

“How much was in the bag?”

“Twelve kilos.”

I had no idea what that meant. I’d been a good girl, far too busy to get involved with recreational drugs like some of the other kids at school. The only thing I knew was they used to buy what they called dime bags of pot that cost ten bucks.

“As noble as your intentions may be, I have a feeling you don’t have an extra twenty-two grand lying around, so how do you plan to pay me?”

The air rushed from my chest, my eyes widening before I could control my response. That amount was so far past what I had considered that my mind went blank.

Twenty-two thousand dollars.

That was almost half of what we owed on the house. It was about how much I made in a year at my office job. It was double what we owed in medical bills for Momma.

The man waited as I gaped, mouth opening and closing as I tried to get my brain to string words into sentences. Eventually I gave up and bowed my head, sucking in deep breaths to keep from breaking down in front of these men. I could feel my hands trembling at my sides.

The door opened behind me, but I was too focused on trying to get myself under control to look up. A couple thousand dollars I could have figured out, but twenty-two was not feasible.

I couldn’t leave my brother to whatever they would do to him, though. With the reputation these men had, I wouldn’t be surprised if they put a bullet in his head and forgot about him.

He was a kid. He’d never done anything like this before. How did he get trusted with something worth that much?

The longer I thought about it, the angrier I got. They would have seen he wasn’t capable of defending himself, much less something with that much value, yet they gave it to him anyway.

When I looked back up, there was another man standing behind the desk, but I ignored him. My glare focused on the one still seated. The one responsible for allowing this situation to happen.

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