When he lowered his glass, he said, “I have every right to make a living. For me and my crew.”
Mav nodded and said, “Yeah, you do. But in this case, you’re making that living in a way that conflicts with our interests.”
“Maverick’s proposing,” Prince said, quickly, before Ruiz could respond, “to buy out the contract you made with Blackmon. In full. You back off the Simpson family, and we’ll handle the Blackmons going forward.”
Shep hadn’t realized how twitchy Ruiz was until he went completely still.
“It’s a generous offer,” Prince said. “You don’t have to get your hands dirty, you stay on good terms with the rest of the underground, and you get double the cash.”
Ruiz tapped his fingers on the side of his glass. “Why?” He sounded suspicious.
Mav shrugged, loose and easy. “Because Sig Blackmon’s a nasty little prick who deserves to go to jail.” He cocked his brow again. “Do youwantto help him? Or was this just about a payday?”
Ruiz sipped more scotch, then nodded.
Mav nodded back. “How much did he pay you?”
“Twenty-thousand.”
Prince snorted. “How much did hereallypay you?”
More fidgeting. “Twelve.”
Pongo wrinkled his nose in freckled contempt.
Toly hummed into his vodka.
Tres Diablos? Weakass shit. Embarrassing.
Prince and Mav remained stoic, their expressions anything but insulting.
Mav said, “If you tell me everything Blackmon asked for, and agree to abandon the contract completely, I’ll give you twenty.”
Both Diablo thugs sat forward until their chairs creaked. Ruiz glanced toward them, and they shared a silent communication of head tilts and nods.
Ruiz turned back to Maverick. “Cash?”
Mav gestured, and Topino got up to join him. He stood beside his chair and set a janky old Igloo cooler on the table at Mav’s elbow; swiveled the lid back to reveal rubber-banded stacks of twenties.
Mav laid a hand on the edge of the open cooler. “Tell me what I want to know,” he said, “and it’s yours. We’ll shake hands and walk away on friendly terms.”
Ruiz hesitated another moment, but his gaze was pinned on the cooler. He wet his lips and said, “We were sitting on the house. Blackmon wanted us to get the mother or daughter off on her own. Slap them around a little. Not kill them, but scare them.”
Mav nodded. “What else?”
Ruiz fiddled with his glass some more. “There’s another girl. The friend.”
The whole room waited, silent.
Shep’s pulse threatened to drown out whatever Ruiz said next. He curled his hands into fists on the tabletop, and Toly made a subtle shushing gesture with his near hand.
“Blackmon said,” Ruiz continued, voice wavering, losing some of its hostility, “that he’d give us an extra five grand if one of my boys put her in her place.”
Shep wasn’t aware of moving. One moment he was at the table, the next he was halfway between it and the main table, and there was a wiry strong arm around his waist, and Pongo’s hands were pressed to his chest, pushing him back.
“Whoa,” Pongo said, like he was a fucking horse, his eyes big. “Dude.”
The owner of the arm revealed himself as Toly, when he took a fistful of Shep’s hoodie and yanked until the collar cut into his throat. His voice was low and calm in his ear. “You need to stop. You expected this. Calm down.”
