Page 49
Story: The Enforcer
“Tell him it’s hisbrother. I need to see him, now.”
Angel cocked a brow, obviously surprised that Hector—for the first time ever—acknowledged his relationship to Kristoff. He said something in his earpiece and the gate opened.
Hector parked close to the veranda. He spotted several men in and around the perimeter.
“Three on your six,” Achilles said.
“At least a dozen around the house.”
Oddly, they weren’t approached by any of them. There was one guy waiting for them on the front porch. Track pants, red sneakers, black wife beater, and a face similar to Angel.
Damon held out his hand. “Your piece.”
“I don’t think so.” A Marine, former or not, never voluntarily gave up his gun.
Within a heartbeat, they were surrounded by six men, holding them at gunpoint.
“Now, let’s talk about this,” Achilles said.
“You have me confused with my brother,” Damon said, his eyes narrowed on Hector. “I’m not much of a talker.”
“Let him keep his piece,” Angel said, who had caught up to them. “Let’s see if he can restrain himself in front of Kristoff.”
“Could be interesting,” Damon eventually conceded. The pointed guns around them disappeared.
“I put ten on the boss.”
“You still owe me for guessing that stripper was a natural blonde.”
Angel scowled. “You cheated. You hadn’t told me you’d already seen her pussy.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Hector sighed. “Jesus.”
Damon shook his head. “Follow me.” He led them into what appeared to be a state of the art gym. Kristoff was punching a bag in a corner.
Achilles gave him a pointed look.
So, they both liked to punch stuff. That didn’t mean shit.
When Kristoff heard them arrive, he turned around.
“Bratan,” he greeted him.
“Don’t call me that,” Hector snarled. “You don’t get to call me brother. Ever.” He had to remind himself that he didn’t come here for himself. His issues could wait, stay buried where they belonged.
Kristoff’s eyes narrowed. “Let me guess, my sister-in-law asked you to come over and you caved?”
Hector walked over to him, very aware of the twins following him, ready to pounce on him the second he became a threat.
Damon helped Kristoff take off his gloves.
“I’m here for your guy Pachenkov. I need you to tell me where he is. He’s got something that belongs to me.”
“First, thatsukais not “my guy.” Never has been. In fact, I believe he’s plotting to take me out to prove the world that he’s his own guy. Second, what could he possibly have that’s yours? I didn’t take you for someone that walks in the same circles as that human garbage can.” He sounded utterly bored.
Figures. The last time Hector had asked Kristoff for help, he hadn’t given a damn either. But this time, Hector wasn’t a teenager anymore. He wouldn’t back down.
Angel cocked a brow, obviously surprised that Hector—for the first time ever—acknowledged his relationship to Kristoff. He said something in his earpiece and the gate opened.
Hector parked close to the veranda. He spotted several men in and around the perimeter.
“Three on your six,” Achilles said.
“At least a dozen around the house.”
Oddly, they weren’t approached by any of them. There was one guy waiting for them on the front porch. Track pants, red sneakers, black wife beater, and a face similar to Angel.
Damon held out his hand. “Your piece.”
“I don’t think so.” A Marine, former or not, never voluntarily gave up his gun.
Within a heartbeat, they were surrounded by six men, holding them at gunpoint.
“Now, let’s talk about this,” Achilles said.
“You have me confused with my brother,” Damon said, his eyes narrowed on Hector. “I’m not much of a talker.”
“Let him keep his piece,” Angel said, who had caught up to them. “Let’s see if he can restrain himself in front of Kristoff.”
“Could be interesting,” Damon eventually conceded. The pointed guns around them disappeared.
“I put ten on the boss.”
“You still owe me for guessing that stripper was a natural blonde.”
Angel scowled. “You cheated. You hadn’t told me you’d already seen her pussy.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Hector sighed. “Jesus.”
Damon shook his head. “Follow me.” He led them into what appeared to be a state of the art gym. Kristoff was punching a bag in a corner.
Achilles gave him a pointed look.
So, they both liked to punch stuff. That didn’t mean shit.
When Kristoff heard them arrive, he turned around.
“Bratan,” he greeted him.
“Don’t call me that,” Hector snarled. “You don’t get to call me brother. Ever.” He had to remind himself that he didn’t come here for himself. His issues could wait, stay buried where they belonged.
Kristoff’s eyes narrowed. “Let me guess, my sister-in-law asked you to come over and you caved?”
Hector walked over to him, very aware of the twins following him, ready to pounce on him the second he became a threat.
Damon helped Kristoff take off his gloves.
“I’m here for your guy Pachenkov. I need you to tell me where he is. He’s got something that belongs to me.”
“First, thatsukais not “my guy.” Never has been. In fact, I believe he’s plotting to take me out to prove the world that he’s his own guy. Second, what could he possibly have that’s yours? I didn’t take you for someone that walks in the same circles as that human garbage can.” He sounded utterly bored.
Figures. The last time Hector had asked Kristoff for help, he hadn’t given a damn either. But this time, Hector wasn’t a teenager anymore. He wouldn’t back down.
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