Mila was behind me, shaking from head to toe.
She tore free of my grip and dropped to her knees in front of Lucas Perry with a hard thud.
"Mr. Perry… please… let Suse go…"
She slammed her forehead against the floor, over and over, each impact loud enough to hear.
"I signed the agreement myself, it has nothing to do with her… I'll go, I'll go entertain the clients… just please don't go after her…"
Her forehead was scraped raw from pressing it against the floor, a bright red mark spreading across the skin.
Watching her kneel there, begging those animals, made my eyes burn.
I grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet, then backhanded her across the face.
She froze.
"Mila Pruitt, you stand the hell up straight."
"You kneel to these animals one more time and we're done. I mean it."
She bit her lip. Tears rolled down in long, unbroken strings.
Footsteps flooded the corridor, dense and closing fast.
Combat boots thudded against the carpet.
Over a hundred elite security guards, scrambled from the corporation's local headquarters, sealed off the entire top floor.
The fire doors at the stairwell were locked from the outside. The elevators were set to exit only.
My crew was boxed in the hallway, a wall of black uniforms on both ends.
No way out.
Lucas Perry didn't rush. He just sat on the couch, watching me.
Muffled thuds echoed from the corridor. My guys, dropped one by one with stun batons.
Screams, back to back.
Less than two minutes and the hallway went dead silent.
A security captain walked in, blood on his boots, and gave Perry a nod.
"Mr. Perry, everyone outside has been neutralized."
Perry nodded, satisfied.
He stood and strolled over to me, taking his time.
"Little street punk. Little, little street punk."
He sighed.
"You really thought you could grab some guys, bust in here swinging, and that would fix things?"
"In this city, how much do you think fists are worth?"
"Capital. Legal teams. Media. Networks. You haven't even heard of half the things that could grind you into nothing. Any single one of them would do."
He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pulled out a stack of hundred-dollar bills, and bounced it in his palm.
Smack.
Ten thousand dollars, hurled straight into my face.
The bills fanned out and scattered across the floor.
Zane Lambert sidled over, crouched down, and slapped his knee, laughing.