Chapter 7 - The Currency of Mercy
Marcus pulled a small, snub-nosed revolver from his pocket, his hand shaking with furious panic. "You think you can play games with me? I'll put a hole through both of you and leave you in the dirt!"
Maya gasped, stepping back, but Damian did not flinch. He didn't even widen his stance. He looked at the gun with the cold detachment of an executive reviewing a poorly drafted proposal.
"Shoot me," Damian said softly. "The gunshot will bring the patrol cars waiting at the intersection within forty seconds. You'll spend thirty years in Stateville for capital murder. Or..." Damian tossed the envelope of cash onto the hood of Marcus's car. The thick stack of bills landed with a dull thud.
Marcus blinked, confused by the sudden offering. "What is this?"
"That is three thousand dollars," Damian said. "It's enough for a bus ticket to Texas and a month in a flophouse. Take the car, take the money, and leave this state. If your face appears within Cook County limits after noon today, the state attorney gets the unredacted warehouse surveillance logs."
Marcus stared at the envelope, then at Damian's unwavering gray eyes. Sweat broke out across the broker's forehead despite the bitter morning chill. With a frantic, clawing motion, Marcus grabbed the cash, scrambled into the driver’s seat of his sedan, threw the car into reverse, and tore out of the lot, gravel spraying against the rusty fencing.
The empty lot fell dead silent, save for the wind whistling through the cracked concrete.
May you like
Maya let out a ragged breath, her knees giving out. She braced herself against the side of the SUV, tears spilling freely over her cold cheeks. Damian stood motionless for a long moment, watching the dust settle where the car had fled. Then, he turned to her, knelt down, and offered her his wool scarf.
"Come," he said gently. "Your brother is waiting."
