It was some kind of poetic justice that Carter White met me at one of his chop shops. It was a warehouse on the outskirts of Detroit, in one of the many industrial parks that were only semi-occupied. It was five o’clock in the morning, and except for a restless hour of semi-sleep plagued by nightmares, I’d been awake for nearly twenty-four hours. I was simultaneously exhausted and floating, my head as light as if it were detached from my body, my eyes stinging, my feelings numb.

I got out of Emily’s Tercel in the empty parking lot and walked to the back door, as I’d been instructed. I knocked twice and the door opened, revealing a big heavy guy in a suit. He carried a Glock in one hand as easily as if it were tissue paper. “Get in,” he said.

Inside were two other guys, equally big and equally armed. They patted me down, looking for weapons or wires, and found nothing. They took my phone, saw that it was powered off, and one of them put it in his pocket. Then they took me to the main warehouse, sat me on a chair in front of a table, and stood behind each shoulder. Neither of them spoke.

It was a huge space, dimly lit. This was one of White’s workshops, where stolen cars were brought to be made over and resold. It was as familiar to me as my own hands. I could smell metal and motor oil, that tangy smell I knew so well. I’d always thought I’d like to die smelling that smell, and I realized now that I might get my wish. I kept my face a blank and waited.

He made me wait, of course. Men as important as Carter White didn’t just show up to any old meeting, even the ones that they’d called. Maybe someone was checking me out through a camera somewhere; I had no idea. It was tempting to fidget, but I’d done a lot of waiting in my life, and a little more wasn’t going to kill me. I sat still with a silent man behind each of my shoulders and thought about nothing.

Eventually, a slim man in a well-cut suit came around the corner. He, too, carried a Glock. He did so elegantly, easily, as if he carried one all the time. He pulled out a chair and sat across from me, still holding the gun.

“Jace Riggs,” he said.

“Yes,” I replied.

He wasn’t a bad-looking guy. He was white, his face a little narrow, his nose a little big. He looked at me with eyes like dark stones, flat and hard.

“I’m surprised you showed up,” he said. “You know I called you here to kill you.”

I did know that. I knew the minute my phone rang with an unknown number and a disguised voice on the other end told me where to go. I’d informed on men like Carter White long enough to know they didn’t fuck around. “Was there any point in running?” I asked.

He smiled briefly, humorlessly. “No. Of course not. Still, most people don’t walk into their own death.”

I glanced at the Glock he held in his lap, gleaming and silent. I had no doubt it was loaded, the safety off. Carter White was known for making people disappear, never to be seen again. It would take a split second to kill me, and then what? Did he have somewhere to put my body? He must have a concrete pit or something. If I knew where that pit was, I’d have told the authorities about it. Now I was likely going to end up in it.

“You could have had one of your guys do it,” I said to Carter. “When you called me to a meeting, I figured you want to talk. Maybe there’s something that will get me out of this.”

“There isn’t,” Carter said, and when his eyes gleamed I realized that beneath those flat stones he was angry. Very, very angry. “You’ve cost me a great deal, Riggs. I’ve had operations shut down and moved. I’ve had associates arrested. I’ve had to pay a fortune to lawyers and to make certain people stay quiet. You’ve wasted my money and my time, and today I learned that you were just a low-level car thief. Just some idiot, the son of the idiot who ran the Westlake operation.” He shook his head. “I thought someone had it out for you, but the fact that you came here tonight proves it’s true.”

“I wasn’t going to convince you otherwise,” I said. “I got nailed by a cop because I fell for his ex-girlfriend.”

“I hope she was worth it.”

“She was. What do you want to know?”

“The truth,” Carter said. “I want to know who hired you to do what you did.”

“No one hired me,” I said, which was true.

“Bullshit,” Carter said. “You have nothing to lose anymore, Riggs. If Alfonso hired you, tell me now.”

“I don’t know who that is,” I said. Also true—I had no fucking idea what he was talking about.

But Carter leaned forward, never taking his hand from the gun lying on his lap. “Listen to me, you piece of shit,” he said in a low, furious voice. “Alfonso isn’t going to cover for you. He isn’t going to save you. He’s going to let you go to the dogs. You have no reason to be loyal. Tell me the truth, and I might make this quick.”

Cold sweat started on the back of my neck. I didn’t know any Alfonso, had never heard of him. This wasn’t how I’d thought this would go. I’d thought that Carter would ask me questions I could actually answer so I could buy time. I had to buy time.

“I’ve been inside for twenty months,” I said. “I’m not in the game anymore. I don’t know who Alfonso is, and he sure as shit didn’t hire me. I did what I did because I hate my father. For free.”

For a second—just a second—I thought I’d convinced him. Then Carter lifted a finger, and one of his goons grabbed each of my arms. Before I could move, they’d handcuffed each of my wrists to metal rings that were sunk into the table. I jerked my arms, looked down, and saw that the table was cemented to the floor.

No, this was definitely not how this was supposed to go.

Carter gave another signal, and I heard a rustling behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see that one of the goons was laying down plastic sheeting on the floor.

“Jesus, Carter,” I said. “You don’t have to do this. I don’t know who Alfonso is.”

“Yes, you do,” Carter said, standing up. He came around the table, the gun in his hand. “Do you want to know something interesting? A percentage of those who try to blow their brains out don’t succeed. They blow part of their skull off instead.” He touched the gun to my jaw. “Some of them just blow off a section of their jawbone and the bullet doesn’t hit the brain at all. Others rip out the backs of their throats. It’s an extraordinarily painful experience. And in the end, they don’t even die.” He paused. “I think I’ll experiment.”

I went very still. I didn’t have much choice, but from the angle of my head I also had a view of Carter’s wrist. He was wearing a watch.

It was 5:17. I let my breath saw in and out of my lungs as I watched the tiny gold second hand sweep around the watch’s face. This hadn’t gone according to plan, but I just needed five more seconds in which Carter White didn’t pull the trigger. Five more seconds in which he didn’t blow half of my face off in the most painful way possible.

What do you want, Riggs?

I just want five more seconds. To save my life.

Four. Three, two…

Carter aimed the gun.

Tara, I thought.

Then I threw myself forward as the first shots started and the SWAT team broke in.