Page 4 of Jinxed

“Fuckkkkkk…” We’re trained, all our professional lives, to trust our instincts. To walk through a door when it’s necessary, even under fire, but to stay the fuck away from that door when our gut says to.

My gut, tonight, says I’m about to die. It says this shit is bogus, and no way Vallejo is gonna pull a random dude from his club and invite him up to his office for no reason.

He wants something from me.

Or he smells law enforcement and is about to put a bullet in my head.

But to turn around and decline Vallejo’s offer ends with a slug in my back anyway.

“What’s up here?” I speak louder to be heard over the music, tapping Stevens on his muscular shoulder to draw his attention. “Where are we going?”

“Shut the fuck up.” He continues up, knowing I’ll follow. But just in case I get a wild hair, he slides his suit jacket back and frees his gun to hold it at his side. So I see it. So I know I’m dead if I make a wrong move. “Mr. Vallejo has requested you come to his office.” He visibly, obnoxiously, switches off the safety on his pistol and glares at me over his shoulder. “Means you’re gonna go to his fuckin’ office.”

“Hostiles approaching Fuller’s six,” Trueman says. I turn and look down the stairs, though I know I won’t be able to see him. “Three of them,” he continues. “Armed and dangerous.”

“Maintain your cover,” my father orders. “Stay undercover, Agents. Don’t blow this now.”

“This way.” Stevens turns faster than his beefy body would suggest he could and grabs my shoulder to shove me up the final stair and into a poorly lit hallway. He pushes me ahead of him, so my situation somehow turns from being led to slaughter to walking the plank instead.

Both versions suck.

“We see you via thermal imaging,” my father announces. “Two hostiles at the end of the hall. Three more inside Vallejo’s office.”

“So I’ve got five,” I sigh. “including Vallejo.”

“What the fuck are you saying?” Stevens grabs my shirt and yanks me around with a fast swing that has my feet skidding on the carpet runner beneath them. “You say something, asshole?”

I look down at his veiny hand, calm and composed on the outside, before reaching up and opening his fingers to force him to release me. “It would seem I’m Mr. Vallejo’s guest.” I shove his meaty fist away and stare directly into muddy brown eyes. “Manhandling me will no longer be tolerated.”

“I asked,” he takes a step closer and grits his teeth so I catch the glint of a single gold incisor, “what the fuck did you say?”

“I was singing under my voice.” I turn on my heels and stride toward the door at the end. Stevens is a gym rat who injects extra juice on the side, and his career inside a drug cartel’s private security, it would seem, has kept his temper and emotions close to the surface.

I’m safer with Vallejo than I am in the hall with his muscle.

One of those men has control. The other, doesn’t.

I come to a stop at the office door and look up at the damn near seven feet of strength posted on each side. “Chase Donner.” I keep my hands to myself and skip the usual pleasantries when meeting someone new. “Mr. Vallejo is expecting me.”

They don’t speak. Neither of them open their mouths for even a second. But they both nod, so their bald heads glisten under the party lights of the dark club. Then the one on the right grabs the knob and pushes it wide to allow me entry.

Gregory Vallejo’s office is exactly how I expected it would be. Rich with tapestries, glittering with diamonds and adornments, and bathed in money. His desk is massive and weighs no less than a ton, I’m sure. His chair, tall and extravagant with dark leather and high armrests.

The two hostiles already reported to be inside, man the door in the same fashion the two on the outside do. While the third hostile—Vallejo himself—sits behind his desk and prepares a cigar for himself.

He clips the end off with a glittering silver cutter and sets the sealed end on his dark oak desktop.

I start forward slowly. Non-threatening. And I look around as though in awe, the way any “Regular Joe” businessman would when in a sparkling new space. But whenJoewould focus on the pretty gold and dripping money, I confirm where the exits are.

Picture windows on my right. Two of them. A door hidden in the tall bookshelves lining the back wall. I can’t see that doorway without walking up and inspecting it closer, but I know it’s there. The schematics we already procured assure me so.

I glance back at the door I came through, and all four men who watch me now, then I bring my gaze to their boss and fake a smile. “Your office is fancy, Mr. Vallejo. You’re an exceptionally successful man.”

“Yes.” He brings his lighter up and flicks it to life, the bright orange flames dancing and swirling until the end of his cigar glows and a puff of smoke races from between his lips. I come to a stop six feet from his desk, set my hands on my hips, and wait. “I am an extremely successful businessman, Mr. Donner. As was my father, and his father before him.” He sits back in his chair, brings one leg up to rest his ankle on the opposite knee, then he flicks a wrist in my direction. “Sit down. Talk with me.”

“I mean…” I cough to clear the nerves from my throat and pull the visitor chair closer. “Sure. Though you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Vallejo.”

He takes another puff of his cigar and raises a brow behind the waft of smoke he breathes out. “I tend to ensure everyone I deal with is at a disadvantage. Though I ask…” He lowers his hand and meets my eyes, “What precisely do you mean?”

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