25
Terms for a talky.
Ramon Gutierrez fell back in his chair, stunned.
Killian refused to move, standing straight with his hands behind his back in an at-ease position, waiting for Gutierrez’s response. After everything that had happened last night, he refused to take any chances. He would not let Nick put himself in a position with too many uncontrolled variables. At least Killian could manage this element of the insane plan.
“This is just…” Gutierrez’s voice trailed off as he shook his head.
Crazy? Insane? Foolish? He could finish Gutierrez’s sentence with a number of words.
Nick’s plan was irrational.
They had arrived home last night, all battered and bruised from the battle at the hangar. Nick had tended to their injuries, striking up a conversation to pass the time and distract Dex from his wounds. Dex had started blabbing about various business relationships and how Petrov was probably similar to Mr. Ramon Gutierrez, Killian’s most unpredictable client.
Nick’s curious nature had triggered a series of questions which Dex had willingly answered. All while Killian sat at his side with his hand on Nick’s thigh, needing that physical connection to ensure they were all still alive and breathing.
The conversation had strayed to that last contract for Gutierrez—the assignment to avenge his sister’s kidnapping. Something Dex had said must have triggered the plan in Nick’s mind because Nick’s expression had transitioned from a frown to a huge grin in a flash. He wanted to talk to Petrov and somehow felt a conversation would resolve the situation.
A. Fucking. Conversation.
Seriously?
A “talky” would magically fix what a hangar full of dead bodies couldn’t? Between Nick’s insistence this was the answer and Dex’s bragging I-told-you-a-talk-might-clear-things-up in the middle of bruised-rib chuckles, Killian couldn’t wrap his brain around that idea. And when he questioned Nick, the man refused to reveal anything more.
“You’re mad!” Gutierrez’s little outburst brought Killian’s mind back to the present and their impromptu meeting. The man crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “And I don’t mean that as in…you’re angry. You seem to have that perpetual look on your face regardless.”
Killian didn’t need clarification. He agreed. Nick’s plan to have a heart-to-heart with Aleksei Petrov was pure madness.
“You set him off last night,” Gutierrez said, wagging a finger at him. “That asshole called me in the middle of the night, raging over the phone. The last report from his men said some… ‘crazy killer’”—he used a mocking tone and air quotes—“had come for the beaten man but they had killed him. When Petrov arrived at the hangar and saw his dead men, he knew there was only one man who could possibly cause that much damage on his own. So imagine how pissed off he was, knowing that same man has a contract in his hand for a job Petrov wants completed.” He quieted, waiting for a response or acknowledgement.
Gutierrez stifled a chuckle when met with silence. “He’s assuming you mysteriously rose from the ashes and killed them all.” Gutierrez finished with an exaggerated flourish of his hands.
He could be rather dramatic at times.
“With so many rumors about you…” Gutierrez gave him a smarmy smile, likely pausing for greater effect. “It’s no wonder he thinks you’re some phantom who’ll slit his throat in the night.”
“Set up the meeting.”
“Why on earth would you want to meet with him?” Gutierrez stared at him, waiting for an answer. “His form of conversation is to collect your business associate and beat an answer out of him. You can’t reason with him.”
He remained silent.
“You’re crazy if you think you can talk to that animal,” Gutierrez continued pushing.
Killian sighed. Yes, yes, and yes. Gutierrez loved to state the obvious. There was no need to rehash the insanity behind Nick’s plan, whatever the hell it was. “Set up the meeting.”
“Don’t take offense to this, but you’re not a talker.”
“I’m aware.”
“And I doubt he’ll want to have a pleasant chitchat with the man who killed over a dozen of his men last night.”
“I won’t be the one talking.”
Gutierrez slowly raised an eyebrow, his curiosity obviously piqued. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his ridiculously gaudy cherry wood desk.
Killian held back the desire to roll his eyes. “Set up the meeting.”
“This is insane.”
I agree. “Set up the meeting.” He could parrot the request all day if necessary.
“Why was your associate asking questions about Petrov?” Gutierrez was persistent. That, coupled with his need to know everything about everyone, often made him relentless. “During his middle-of-the-night yelling call to me, he mentioned the questions about his presence in town were asked before you received the contract. Why?”
Killian remained silent.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Gutierrez stared at him, narrowing his eyes, waiting for a reply.
Let him stare all he wanted. Killian had never lost a staredown match and didn’t plan on losing one today.
Gutierrez scoffed again and shook his head. To his credit, he recognized when his efforts were pointless. “I’ll need to give him something. Otherwise, that bastard won’t show up.”
“Then offer me.”
“Absolutely not.” Gutierrez looked horrified. He stared at him, the shock slowly fading from his expression. He shook his head and huffed a cynical chuckle. “You’re not listening.”
“Obviously, I’m not a listener or a talker.”
“You have a death wish.” Gutierrez pinned him with another glare, all joking evaporated within a split second. It was these constant whiplash changes in his mood that often set off people and reaffirmed Gutierrez’s unstable nature.
Killian remained ramrod straight with his hands behind his back. “I need you to set up the meeting.”
“Is that all you’ll need?” Gutierrez asked, his eyes probing in that way that made the average man’s skin crawl.
“I’ll need a few of your best men. Three to six will do. It’s more for visual effect than anything.”
They stared at each other for a few beats, neither one saying a single word. Killian could play this game all day if necessary, because there was no way he was leaving without a meeting and a guarantee of extra muscle.
“The only thing that will get Petrov here or out of South Florida is you fulfilling that contract. Find that doctor, hand him over, and you’ll get your meeting with—”
“I’m not handing him over.”
Gutierrez threw his hands in the air and hissed out a Spanish curse. “What the hell is so special about this doctor?” He sighed and shook his head, doing a fabulous impersonation of a bobble head doll.
A few moments later, Gutierrez slowly tilted his head upward, a silent “ah” parting his lips as if enlightened by a sudden thought. “The doctor,” he said, almost in a whisper when he leaned back in his chair. He rested his elbows on the armrests and clasped his hands, resting them on his stomach. “All this for one man?”
“All this for the only man.”
Gutierrez pursed his lips, looking off to the side. “I see.” After a few moments of silence, he returned his gaze to Killian, his brown, usually empty eyes sparked with something…different. Almost normal. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s personal.”
A slow, twisted smile spread across the man’s face. “I’ll set up the meeting on three conditions.”
Killian arched an eyebrow. Negotiating with this man was never a good thing. “I’m listening.”
Gutierrez tilted his head back and laughed. “We’ve already established you’re not a listener.”
“Touché.” Killian couldn’t fight the hint of a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. He did like the crazy fucker. “What are your terms?”
The man rose from his seat and walked around to the other side of his desk to stand face-to-face with Killian. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the edge of his desk. “If anyone is going to kill Petrov, I want to be the one who does the honors.”
“Fine.” Killian could handle that. He sure as hell didn’t want that blood on Nick’s hands, and he wasn’t thrilled about having Nick witness any more violence being unleashed by him. “What are your other two terms?”
“I want you to introduce me to this doctor. I want to meet the man who has this much power over you.”
“I’ll introduce him to you after you schedule the meeting.”
Killian took a deep breath, preparing for the worst of Gutierrez’s terms, knowing he always saved the best for last. “And your final condition?”
Gutierrez narrowed his eyes.
Great. Here’s the kicker.
“I want you to call me Ramon.”
“That’s not an appropriate way to address a business associate,” Killian deadpanned.
Gutierrez’s lips thinned to a line. Was he hiding a smile? “You’re not paying me for setting up this meeting and I refuse to accept payment for having a few of my men present as a visual aid for your…chitchat. It’s a…friendly gesture,” he said, waving a hand in the air.
Killian sighed. “After everything is finished, fine. I’ll call you by your name.”
“No. Now. Then I’ll make the call.”
Ten years of pestering Killian to call him by his name coupled with ten years of his refusal to do so. It just became their thing. He never used first names in business transactions, as a sign of respect and to ensure a clear line always remained, but he wouldn’t deny their relationship skirted outside the bounds of business after all this time. He had seen Gutierrez at his worst after his sister had been taken years ago, a sight Killian knew few would ever witness. Friendship might be a stretch, but Killian presumed Gutierrez’s list of friends was far shorter than his own.
“Ramon,” he said slowly, enunciating every consonant and vowel of the name, “please make the call.”
A huge smile split the man’s face.
Less than thirty minutes later, Killian walked out of the small restaurant-slash-office with a scheduled meeting for that night and a promise of two dozen armed men at his disposal. All courtesy of his self-proclaimed best friend, Ramon.
Luckily, the man hadn’t expected a hug to seal the deal. He’d have been shit out of luck.