Chapter Fifty-Three
Where the hell was that bastard?
Tyrone paced back and forth in the warehouse.
He’d come in alone, just like he’d been told. Well, he appeared to be alone. That would have to be enough.
Tyrone wasn’t a fool. He never went anywhere alone. He’d sent his two most trusted men, two-thirds of his trinity, here to take up positions an hour before his scheduled arrival. His driver waited in the Escalade.
Wasn’t nobody pulling no shit over on him. Too many dead bodies piling up lately.
“What the hell?” he muttered as he checked his Rolex. The man was supposed to have been here at seven sharp. It was ten after.
Too damned dark in here. Couldn’t hardly see a thing. He’d left the loading dock doors open wide enough to let some light from the street filter in, but it was still too damned dark.
A rusty creak echoed in the darkness.
Tyrone turned toward the sound, tried to see through the dark.
“That you, asshole?” He was done playing games.
A rolling sound told him the dock doors behind him were being pushed closed. He whipped around. The narrow beam of light from the street disappeared as the door slammed shut.
He snatched the pistol out of his waistband. “You don’t want to pull no shit on me,” he warned. “I have the video. You are screwed if you mess with me.”
A footstep, then another . . . coming closer.
Shit. What the hell? “You better talk to me before I start shooting.”
A click echoed and a blinding light hit him square in the eyes. Tyrone tried to shield his face with his hand.
“Where’s the video?”
“You got the money?” Tyrone demanded.
“The tape,” the voice pressed. “It wasn’t in your SUV.”
What the hell was he talking about? “Ain’t no way you been in my ride.” Bullshit.
“You mean because of the hulk behind the wheel?”
The beam of light circled around Tyrone’s face. He backed up a few steps. “That’s right. My man would’ve killed your ass if you’d come near my ride.”
“That would have been very difficult for him to do, considering he’s dead.”
Fear slammed into Tyrone’s chest. “Antoine! Jerome!”
“They’re dead too,” the voice warned. “It’s quite thrilling how quickly a man bleeds out if you open up the proper artery.”
“You are dead!”
Something hit him in the chest. Tyrone hesitated. Tried to see what the hell it was.
A jolt of electricity loosened his fingers on the gun. It clattered to the floor. Tyrone tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t work.
Another jolt hit him.
He crumpled to the floor.
The footsteps came closer and closer. The beam of light shone straight down in his eyes, but he couldn’t close them. Couldn’t even blink.
“What a pity.”
Hands groped his body, searching for the videotape. Tyrone would have smiled if he could have. The bastard wasn’t ever gonna find that tape. Screw him.
Strong hands dragged him across the floor, then lifted him into a chair.
Tyrone tried to make his body move . . . couldn’t.
Piece after piece of duct tape was ripped from a roll and wrapped around and around his arms and legs, securing him to the chair.
The light was in his face, leaving the bastard in darkness.
Tyrone wanted to close his eyes against the light but couldn’t.
That Taser had messed him up bad. But it wouldn’t last much longer .
. . he could feel his strength coming back.
When the bastard finished, he stood back, the light still shining in Tyrone’s face. “Tyrone Nash. The King. You are so full of yourself. It’s time the world saw you for what you really are. No one.”