“You have a problem, Andrews? Need I remind you what is at stake here?” Brant folded his bloody handkerchief and tucked it into the pocket of one of his men’s suits, then turned to them. “Put Fenn’s chair back up.”
The two men moved to do as he asked. Hayden peered around Andrews’s legs, watching Fenn. His mouth was a little bloody, yet it didn’t compare to the bloodthirsty look in his eyes as he stared at Brant.
“I will go no further than this. My father’s sins were his own, and I will not finish any grand plan of yours if it includes killing these two men.”
Andrews reached behind his back, the movement apparently casual, almost as though he was going to rest his hand on his hip. Hayden’s gaze darted to his hand, and she saw the butt of a gun at Andrews’s back tucked into the waistband
