I can feel the tension ratcheting up, thick as smoke in this shithole warehouse. My hand remains perfectly still on the table, but I’m acutely aware of the Makarov holstered at the small of my back.
“Risk and reward meets margin, my friend,” I tell him. “We’ve both got to get our piece. Eleven percent is my final offer.”
“Hm.” Reaper drums his fingers on the table. Then he grins, showing a gold tooth that glints in the dim light. “Heard you got yourself a new girl,” he drawls.
“Pretty little thing, from what I hear. Young, too. You dirty dog you.” He scratches his brow. “Works for your boy, right?”
The bare bulb swings. Shadows snake across the concrete.
“Maybe we should talk about fourteen percent, eh?” Reaper’s grin widens. He thinks he’s found leverage, something to squeeze. “I’d h
