He ran for the door.
Chapter Fourteen
Bright sunlight blasted his eyes as he yanked open the door, bleaching everything in a glaring light for a split second. And then his vision adjusted and fear engulfed him.
A beefy man gripped Sienna’s upper arm, growling at her as he tried to drag her toward a white van parked in the gutter. Sienna bucked and thrashed in his hold, lashing out at him with her feet, swinging at his head with her free hand.
For a surreal moment, James registered the blood trickling from her attacker’s bottom lip, and then the world froze as the man yanked a knife from behind his back. “Get in the fucking van, bitch.”
No.
“Si!” Zachary yelled.
James charged the man. Drove his shoulder into his flabby gut. Smashed him backward into the side of the van.
The knife clattered to the ground.
Sienna screamed.
A distant part of James’s mind heard Thomas shout something and then what felt like a sledgehammer struck James in the gut.
“James, stop it.” Sienna grabbed him before he could launch himself at the burly bag of fat and muscle again. “Stop it.”
Hot pain radiated through his body. Sucking in a breath, he glared at the man over her shoulder. “Thomas, call the cops.”
The man sneered. A wave of cold pride swelled through James at the blood oozing from the split in his lip. Sienna had done that to him.
“Reynard wants the money your father owes him. Now.” The man slid a look to Zachary, now standing beside her. “And he’ll get it, any means necessary. Doesn’t matter where you go, he’s got a long reach.”
She lunged at him. James grabbed her, hauling her back to his body. “I’ll kill anyone who hurts my brother,” she growled, straining against his arms.
The man raked a lecherous, piggish gaze over her. “Reynard says he’d be happy for you to clear the debt, no money required.”
Kill him. Kill the fucker now.
He ground his teeth, stare locked on the creep. The need to pound the man’s leering face into the ground damn near overwhelmed him, but it wouldn’t fix the situation, and he needed to fix the situation. Now. “Pablo Reynard?” He forced a calm curiosity to his question. “The bookie? How much does Platinum Joe owe him?”
The man snorted, and then spat a wad of blood and snot at the ground in front of him. “Two hundred and sixty-four grand. Thirteen percent interest daily.”
“Tell Reynard he can get—” Sienna began, but James turned to her and pressed his finger gently to her lips.
She looked up at him. His heart twisted at the fear and fury in her eyes.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Trust me.”
With a quick nod to Thomas, a silent take care of her, he turned back to Reynard’s grunt.
Pablo Reynard. Clinton had gambled through the dubious bookmaker more than once, much to James’s displeasure. The bastard was the go-to bookie for Sydney’s financial and cultural elite, dealing only with those with the means and motivation to never make a scene when they couldn’t pay their debt. He’d be most displeased by the fact Sienna’s father had screwed him.
To the best of James’s knowledge, Reynard was untouchable.
Money had the ability to open doors and close mouths. And when it came to the rich and famous in this town, no one wanted even a sniff of a scandal attached to them. Better to quietly work out an arrangement with Reynard, than bring the media’s attention to their door. It was a situation James had a unique perspective of, given he ran the biggest media empire in the country. He’d used that situation to his advantage with more than one business rival.
Holding the lackey’s gaze, he raised a bored eyebrow. “I’m assuming, as a professional business man, Reynard has a card with the appropriate details required for an expedited payment?”
The man chuckled, lips curling away from his teeth. A flash of silver caught James’s eye, and then he turned his attention to the small card being offered to him. “He does.”
James took the card, withdrew his phone from his hip pocket, and opened his banking app. “Two-hundred and sixty-four grand? Plus interest?”
“James.” Sienna grabbed his wrist. “You can’t.”