Ten thousand dollars.
Ten thousand bucks to break Ace Kane’s arm or leg.
Ace’s eyelid twitched.
Not out of fear.
Out of pure insult.
“Seriously?” he exhaled a soft laugh, the kind that meant trouble. “At least make it thirty or fifty grand. Then maybe I’d think you actually meant business.”
He turned and looked right at Colin Hawke, who was dragging his crippled leg behind him.
“But ten thousand? To buy my limb? You’re not hiring someone—you’re cussing me out.”
Then he flicked his cigarette aside, raised his chin, and waved toward the blond punk and his crew as they prepared to attack.
“Hold it. No rush. Before anyone swings anything, let’s talk business.”
Ace crooked a finger at the blond punk—the one gripping an iron bar.
“Come here. Yeah, you. I’ll transfer you ten grand.”
T
