Page 102 of Collateral Claim

Slada sips from her cup with steady hands and a sparkle in her eye.

Connor packs his laptop and winks at me on his way out the door.

“Where’s he going?” I ask Slada.

“The boys won’t stay under their father’s roof.”

Endo walks into the living space. He’s wearing black slacks and a black shirt buttoned only halfway. Under it, he wears a thick golden chain without a pendant. He chews gum, not even bothering to hide the holster with his weapon.

The energy he’s throwing off is unhinged. My dad’s actions might push this man over the edge, and I’m not sure anyone can survive that, least of all my dad. Or me.

“Where is your vest?” Slada asks Endo.

He doesn’t answer.

“Did you forget to put it on?” I ask, annoyed with him.

“No.”

“I’m not going to lunch with you unless you put on your vest,” I say.

“I saw the way you looked at the bullet scars on my chest. Maybe I want more of them.”

My breath hitches. “That’s not funny.”

He laughs. “It is to me!”

Endo’s laughter alarms me. I look to Slada, who shakes her head. I’m not sure what she’s disapproving of, me or him. Hopefully, the fact that he’s not wearing the vest and not that I confronted him about being suicidal.

A soft knock on the door cuts off any further conversation. Slada opens it to admit a petite, topless woman dressed in a sheer white beach throw over the bottom of her bathing suit. She’s barefoot, with a freshly painted French manicure on her toes. A black-and-white outline of a clown face is tattooed on her toe.

My mind goes to branding, but I shut down the train of thought. First, I’m speculating, judging her circumstances based on my first impression. For all I know, she’s here by choice. If I allow myself to think she’s been taken and sold here or forced to work here, I’ll probably try to save her and end up dead alongside her.

Her voice sounds like a violin when she says, “If you would follow me. I will take you to the table.”

Slada follows the woman, and when I go to step after her, Endo cuts off my path. I look up at him.

His gaze is intense.

I hold it and place my hand on his cheek. “You are cornered. I get it. No need to explain, but no need to get yourself killed either.”

He captures my wrist, brings my hand to his lips, and kisses it. “This is it, Scarlett Pembroke. You’re going home.”

I frown. “How?”

“Over my dead body.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“I’m walking into a death trap, and I know it.”

“Walk away, then.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you won’t come with me.”