he held Layne there, against the wall, one fist bunched in the man’s T-shirt to keep him exactly where he wanted him. He stared down at the man with all the menace he felt. “You will not touch what is mine,” Jaime threatened, making his intent clear.
“You’ve already stepped all over what’s mine,” Layne returned, but Jaime noted he didn’t fight back against Jaime’s hold—intelligence or strategy, Jaime wasn’t sure.
“I ran this show before he brought you in,” Layne growled.
“Well, now you answer to me. So, I’d watch your step, amigo. I know things about you I don’t think The Stallion would particularly care to hear about. A hooker in El Paso, for starters.”
Layne blustered, but underneath it the man had paled. This was why Jaime preferred everyone think of him as muscle who could barely understand English. They underestimated him. But Jaime hadn’t walked in here blindly. He knew The Stallion’s previous head honchos wouldn’t take the power share easily. So he’d collected leverage.
Thank God.
“Now, are you ready to keep your disgusting tongue and hands to yourself?” Jaime asked with an almost pleasant smile. “Or do I have to make your life difficult?”
Layne ground his teeth together, a sneer marring his features, but he gave a sharp nod.
“Muy bueno,” Jaime said, pretending it was great news as he released the piece of garbage. “Let’s proceed, then.” He gestured grandly down the hall to the back door.
Layne grumbled something, but Jaime was relieved to see concern and fear on the man’s face. He could only hope it would keep the man in line.
They exited the house and Jaime waited while Layne chained everything up. The late summer sun shimmered in the green of the trees, and if Jaime didn’t know what lurked in the shed across the grass, he might have relaxed.
As it was, relaxing wasn’t happening any time soon.
Jaime let Layne lead the way to the shed. He preferred to touch as little as possible in that little house of horrors.
Both men stepped in to find The Stallion pacing, hands clutched behind his back, and Wallace looking wary in the far corner.
The Stallion looked up distractedly. “Good. Good. We’ve gotten news of Herman before Wallace even got anywhere.” The man’s hands shook as he brought them in front of him in fists, fury stamped across his face. The usual calm calculation in his eyes something darker and more frenzied. “With the Texas Rangers and a hypnotist.” The Stallion slammed a fist to the desk that made the creepy-ass dolls on the shelf above shake, their dead lifeless eyes fluttering at the vibration.
Jaime forced himself to look away and stare flatly at his boss. Fake boss, he amended.
“Luckily, Mr. Herman doesn’t know enough to give them much of a lead, but he certainly represents a loose end.” The Stallion took a deep breath, plucking one of the brunette dolls from the shelf. He cradled it like a child.
It took every ounce of Jaime’s control and training to keep the horror off his face. Grown men capable of murder cradling a doll was not...comforting in the least.
“I’ve sent a team to get rid of Herman. Scare the hypnotist. I don’t think I want to extinguish her yet. She might be valuable. But I want her scared.” He squeezed the doll so tight it was a wonder one of its plastic limbs didn’t break off.
“There we are, pretty girl,” The Stallion cooed, resettling the doll on the shelf and brushing a hand over its fake hair.
Jaime shuddered and looked away.
“Until this mess is taken care of, you are all on lockdown. No one is leaving the premises until Herman is taken care of.”
“Then, boss?” Layne asked a little too hopefully.
The Stallion smiled pleasantly. “And then we’ll decide what to do about the hypnotist.”
Lockdown and death threats. Jaime tried to breathe through the urgency, the failure, the impossibility of saving this man’s life.
He’d try. Somehow, he’d try. But he had the sinking suspicion Herman was already gone.
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