Milán #2
I raise my brow at him. “Are we?”
“Brother. Uncle. Different branches of the same tree, I’d say.”
“A strange choice of venue for a family reunion, in that case.” My gaze moves between him and Rory.
“Not good enough for Mr. Big Shot Tennis Star?”
“Finally somebody gets my name right,” I say mildly.
He lets out a bark of laughter, still snickering as he waves his hand toward me. “Sense of humor. Good, good. I can appreciate that.”
“Oh, thank fuck,” I say dryly. “That was one of my priorities.”
“Didn’t your parents ever warn you that you won’t make many friends with an attitude like that?”
“Okay. I’d say it’s been a lovely chat, but my parents did teach me not to lie, so…
” I shrug one shoulder before I glance at my watch.
“Four thirty-six. I haven’t gone to bed yet tonight, and lack of sleep tends to make me a tad cranky, so I think it’d be better if we headed out before I really get going. Rory?”
He looks up, but instead of standing, he just swallows and looks away.
I take a step forward. “Rory?”
“I wouldn’t get any closer, if I were you,” Dallas says.
I throw him an annoyed look. “I would shut the fuck up if I were you.”
In response, he pulls a gun out of the waistband of his jeans and points it at Rory. Yeah. That definitely gets me to stop moving.
My feet lock to the floor before I even realize I’ve stopped.
For a second I can’t hear anything except the sudden rush of blood in my ears.
My stomach drops so hard it almost feels like missing a step in the dark.
The gun looks huge in his hand. It looks heavy and real in a way that makes my knees weak.
And every stupid, reckless thing I was about to say dies in my throat.
A tight, electric fear crawls up my spine. My palms go damp. I try to swallow, but my mouth has gone dry.
Because now it isn’t just Dallas running his mouth.
Now Rory has a gun pointed at him. And one wrong move from me could be the thing that gets him hurt.
It makes Dallas smirk.
“Finally seeing some respect out of you, huh? You don’t like guns, do you?”
“Not especially, no,” I say as calmly as I can possibly manage while my hands shake, and there’s a metallic taste of fear in my mouth.
“The almighty Milán Corbin. Afraid of a gun.”
“Are you trying to shoot me or flirt with me? Because you’re doing a shit job of both.”
“Milán,” Jordan says quietly. Urgently.
It’s almost as if Dallas is only now realizing Jordan is there, and I don’t know how. His quiet, steady presence behind me is the only thing keeping me grounded right now.
Dallas tilts his head to the side and points the gun at Jordan.
“You. Why don’t you come and sit down next to Rory here?”
Jordan doesn’t move right away. His gaze flicks to me.
Dallas motions with his gun, visibly impatient. “Let’s move. We don’t have all night.”
Jordan starts to move. I grab his arm, but he looks at me, deep blue eyes as calm as I’ve ever seen them as he shakes his head at me and goes to Rory.
“Now,” Dallas says. “Time to talk business.”
“Put. The gun. Down,” I grit out through my teeth.
He tuts. “I don’t think you understand how this works. See, I have the gun, which means I call the shots.” He smirks. “Call the shots. Get it?”
“Clever,” I say, a compliment stretched to mockery, complete with a slow clap.
“Glad we’re on the same page. Should make this quicker.”
“At least we agree on something. Not seeing your face anymore as soon as humanly possible sounds like the best idea you’ve had so far.”
His fingers tighten around the gun, and his lips pull into a sneer.
“Enough!”
He jerks the barrel of the gun up to point it right into my face, and my shoulders relax the tiniest bit.
That’s it. Keep it on me, fucker.
My heart is in my throat, but I ignore it as best as I can. My gaze finds Jordan, and he looks back with the kind of steady calm and trust I honestly don’t think I deserve, but it makes me determined to live up to it, if nothing else.
“I don’t know who you think you are,” Dallas says.
“Among other things.” I widen my eyes. “Oh, did I somehow get the wrong impression? You don’t exactly strike me as the brightest bulb in a chandelier.”
He strides forward until the gun is aimed straight at my face in the kind of proximity that is decidedly not comfortable.
“I should shoot you right now,” he says, just as Rory jumps up.
“No!” he shouts.
The panic in his voice makes my breath hitch. Dallas turns around. I could tackle him to the floor. His back is to me. But the gun is aimed at Rory again now, and I hesitate a beat too long.
Dallas takes a look at me over his shoulder, and then his gaze settles on Rory again. He marches back to Rory, grabs his forearm, and pulls him up.
“Hey!” Jordan snaps, but the moment he jumps up, Dallas presses the gun to Rory’s head, and Jordan comes to a screeching halt. He takes a deep breath, raises his hands in front of himself, then takes a slow, deliberate step back.
“Enough of this shit,” Dallas says.
“That’s the first good idea you’ve had in, I suspect, ever,” I manage to get out. “So we’re gonna head out, then.”
“Not so fast,” Dallas says, voice hardening. “You want to leave? Fine by me. All you have to do is settle the small issue of payment, and you’re free to go.”
“Payment?”
“You can’t expect me to part ways with my dear nephew just like that? No, I figure I need some kind of compensation. To ease the ache in my heart.”
“Are you sure you have one that’s capable of aching?” I ask.
The urge to punch him is almost irresistible by now. My fingers curl into a fist in anticipation.
“I wouldn’t.” Dallas jams the gun more firmly against Rory’s temple.
I’m fairly sure I’d be pissing myself, but Rory doesn’t make a sound.
He just closes his eyes for a second before he aims his gaze at his feet and keeps it there.
I will him to look at me so I can get at least a hint that he’s somewhat okay. He doesn’t.
Jordan is slowly inching his way toward the stairs again, though. Our gazes collide, and he looks at me, brow hitching the tiniest bit before he very deliberately looks to the side for a second, then back at me.
“Well?” I say loudly. I’m mostly out of options, but right now all I really need to do is be annoying enough to keep Dallas’s attention on me. I can do that. “I can’t say I was holding my breath before, but you don’t really seem to have a plan.”
Dallas’s jaw tightens for a moment.
He scoffs and shakes his head.
“Money, Corbin, if it’s not clear yet. I want money.”
“Oh, in that case, let me get my checkbook.”
He sends me a disgusted look. “Do you ever just shut the fuck up?”
“When asked nicely. But you don’t need to bother. See, I don’t particularly like you.”
“I don’t care for you much either,” he snarls.
“I’m crushed.”
“Fuck you,” he spits.
“There’s not enough money in the world.”
He takes a couple of quick steps toward me, and Rory lets out a whimper when the gun slams into his temple.
“Money!” Dallas snaps. “Let’s get this over with. You wanna walk out of here in one piece? Better pay up. I’d say a million dollars for every year I’ve raised the boy for you seems fair, so, fourteen million?”
I let out a short, incredulous laugh. “That all?”
His upper lip pulls into a sneer. “We’ll round it up to a nice, even fifteen million. It’s a tax on you, just because I find you that fucking annoying.”
“And how do you suggest I get that money to you? Venmo?”
“It’ll be morning soon enough. All you have to do is walk into a bank and have them transfer the money to a nice offshore account I set up just for this purpose.”
“And in your tiny, pea sized brain, I imagine that’s how you think these things work? That I just have fifteen million dollars sitting in a bank account somewhere?”
“Don’t even try. I’ve seen plenty of estimates of your net worth. Frankly, I’m being extremely considerate by not asking you for more money. It’s not like you can’t afford to pay me a fair amount. I’ve earned it, taking care of the brat for you.”
“Yeah, you’re benevolent as fuck. I don’t have fifteen million in cash just lying around somewhere, you absolute fucking shit-for-brains moron.”
He drags Rory after him and points the gun at my face again. It’s a moment of relief. Better me than them.
“I’d start figuring it out, then,” Dallas says. He pushes Rory away, holds the gun against my temple and slams his knee into my stomach so suddenly I have no time to react. I double over and try to breathe.
“Not so chatty anymore?” Dallas asks. He aims the gun at Rory again. “Come on. Let’s get moving. I don’t have the whole fucking day!”
I can’t leave them here. I can’t stay either. I wince as I stand up straight.
“Fine. You’ll come with me to the bank and let them go,” I say.
I don’t have a plan. Mostly I’m just throwing things at the wall and hoping something, anything, will stick.
“Fuck off. What do you take me for? An idiot?”
It takes everything in me not to answer that.
“Get. Me. My. Money!” Dallas screams, so suddenly I jerk. “Or good luck seeing the brat ever again.”
I raise my hands placatingly. I’m out of options. All of them.
“Okay, okay. I’m going,” I say. “I’m going.”
I turn.
“No!”
I whirl back around at Rory’s desperate voice.
“No,” he says loudly. “Please. I’m sorry. Don’t. I’m so sorry.” His eyes are huge and his voice breaks, but he swallows and goes on. “It’s not true. None of this. I came here voluntarily. I… I… He’s not going to hurt me. There are no bullets in that gun. I’m—”
A loud crack makes my ears ring, and I instinctively crouch before I look up frantically.
Dallas is standing, Rory’s forearm still clutched tight in his hand, holding the gun up toward the ceiling, where panicked pigeons have taken flight and flecks of paint and plaster are raining down all around us.
Rory’s mouth has dropped open, and he seems to be frozen to the spot.
“You dumb little shit,” Dallas says with a harsh laugh. “You really thought you were getting your hands on any of my money?” He laughs; a loud, ugly sound that echoes from the tired walls. “You’re as useless as your mother.”
Rory has started to cry. Silent tears flow unrestricted, and the urge to kill anybody who makes my kid cry makes me take a step forward, fists already raised. Fuck the gun.
“I’m sorry,” Rory says. He dashes his wrist under his nose. “I just want to go home. Please. I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” I say gently, my attention only on Rory. “It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry.” It comes out on a hiccup.
I shake my head. “Whatever it is, I’ll fix it. I’ll make it okay. I promise.”
I mean every word.
Whatever purpose I’ve been searching for most of my life is right here. In this life I accidentally stumbled into. I see the obvious so suddenly and clearly. Finally.
I smile at Rory.
He sniffs and smiles back. Tentatively. It’s so small, but it’s there.
“How sweet,” Dallas says. “Can we get back to—”
His voice is cut off by a loud clang when a rusty paint can smashes into his temple.
I stand there blinking for a moment, trying to process what just happened, but Jordan is already charging toward Dallas, who must have a pretty fucking thick skull, because he recovers way too quickly and is already waving the gun around again.
Jordan slams into him just as Dallas turns.
I thought I’d maxed out on being terrified for the day, but it turns out there’s room for more, because seeing the man I love wrestle on the floor with a motherfucker with a gun makes me freeze in terror.
Jordan rams his fist into Dallas’s face, and the gun goes off again.
Rory lets out a terrified squeak, which makes me snap out of the state of frozen fear I’ve been in for the past few seconds.
“Run!” I shout without looking at Rory while I spring toward the two men rolling on the floor. I slam my foot down on Dallas’s wrist, trapping the gun. I put as much of my weight on my foot as I can until Dallas lets out a shout and lets go of the gun. I pick it up and aim it at Dallas.
There are sirens in the distance, but I’m not sure if they’re real or if I’m imagining them, because my eyes are on Jordan, and there’s blood, and suddenly I can’t breathe anymore.
“Oh, fuck,” I say, mouth dry and static playing in my ears. “You’re…”
Jordan looks at me and then down at his body.
He frowns. “What the—”
Dallas makes a grab for the gun. I slam my heel down on his wrist, and he lets out a loud shout of pain.
Jordan is pulling his jacket to the side.
The doors at the back of the room fly open. Shouts ring out.
“Hands where I can see them!”
“Hands in the air!”
Over and over again. I raise my arms. Somebody slams into me from the side, and I have a whole second of the words “Oh shit” playing on a loop in my mind before my head smashes into the concrete.