I yanked my head back. My stomach turned at the scent of stale cigarette smoke.
“I’m surprised you don’t remember me. The Empress sapphire ring?”
Old memories soured my stomach more than him.
He’d been part of the Empress sapphire job, the guy with the contacts to move the stolen goods. I’d never met him as a kid but knew he was a dealer in art, jewels, weapons, and pretty much anything else that could be traded on the black market. He was the guy who financed big jobs, which was, I assumed, how my dad ended up being his grunt. The cord would never be cut between them.
Burns eyed the revolver in my grip. I took in their weapons. All of the men packed heat. It was like a western standoff, and I was losing.
Three against one were shitty odds.
If I meant to shoot my gun, I should’ve done it before now. I’d already blown my window of opportunity, dammit. Killing a man–or men–protecting my own home was legal. I was also a law enforcement officer being threatened.
The bastard had the nerve to hold out his hand, palm up. Smiled.
I didn’t move, weighing my options. Which, frankly, were shit.
If he’d wanted me dead, that would have happened by now too.
“What do you want?”
“For starters, your gun. Give it to me, little girl.” His tongue flicked out and licked his lower lip.
Little. Girl?
Little fucking girl?
I was pretty sure literal steam came out of my ears.
But then Burns jerked his chin at the bigger guy with him, who held up his phone screen, and ice-cold washed across my skin. I blinked, trying to figure out what I was seeing. It was a live feed of my dad, tied to a chair in what looked like a warehouse. He’d been beaten and had a gag shoved in his mouth.
Fuck.
I wanted to puke for what my dad’s life had become. How Burns had such ruthless control over him. And now me.
I only hesitated a moment longer before I placed my Glock in his palm.
“That’s better. We’re just here to talk, Meg. We didn’t come to hurt you although Jake does have a thing for torturing women.” He tipped his head at the skinnier of the two men with him. The one with a gold tooth and tattoos across his knuckles, which he actually cracked now for full cinematic effect.
I didn’t say anything. If he expected me to beg and plead for my dad’s or my own life, it wasn’t happening. That didn’t mean I wasn’t a little afraid and a hell of a lot pissed on the inside. I tipped my chin up.
“What do you want?” I repeated my earlier question.
Burns strode to my sofa and made himself at home, settling in and crossing his ankle over a knee. He even had the audacity to set his arms wide along the back. His goons remained standing. “Have a seat, Meg.” He indicated the armchair across from him as if this was his house, not mine.
Before I could even decide whether to comply or not, the goons grabbed my arms and propelled me to the chair, where they shoved me down.
My upper lip curled with rage, but I kept my mouth shut.
Burns looked the same as I remembered. Not good-looking but distinguished with graying hair and a lined face from what I guessed was years of smoking. “I understand your dad already paid you a visit. Is that right?”
I gave a single nod even though I was sure he knew the answer already.
“He needs your help with a job.”
I gazed sullenly at the man. If he expected me to make conversation, he was going to be disappointed.
“He said you told him no.”
“Uh-huh.”
Burns held my gun in his lap and removed the ammo from it with an ease that proved he knew his way around a weapon. “You see, that doesn’t work for me, Meg. Your dad owes me money. A lot of it. And I need him to complete this job, so I can be made whole. Do you understand?”
Was it childish that I didn’t feel like saying yes?
Burns lifted his chin at the guy with the phone again.
“Hit him,” the goon ordered.
He turned the screen to my face to witness someone punch my dad’s jaw. The sound of bone hitting bone and my dad’s resulting groan sickened me.
“Yes! I understand!” I shouted. I didn’t like my father. He’d made shitty choices I hadn’t recognized when I was a kid that were just… wrong. I hadn’t understood then as that was what I’d thought parent/child relationships were. Looking back, it was really, really whack.
He’d left me when I’d been caught by the police, not even visiting me in juvie. He’d been on the run, and his neck had been more important to him than his own daughter.
It seemed that was still the case since Burns was sitting on my sofa threatening me.