Page 73 of Intent to Kill
“We need that white book,” Adam said, lips twitching up.
“Not this fucking badly!” Dan said.
“Yeah. That fucking badly.” It was a struggle for Adam to remain steadfast. This would be a heist, dangerous and stupid and fun, all the things Adam lived for. He had to convince his friends it was the best plan, not just Adam running off for the sake of stupidity. Which, admittedly, he did often do.
“I’m serious,” Adam said. “Three months to go. This is an advantage and an opportunity we can’t ignore.”
To his surprise, Dan and Paul stared him down. It wasn’t often that his team disagreed with him, and it definitely wasn’t often that Paul felt strongly enough about something to drop his always-reliable support.
“No way, it’s ridiculous and it’s dangerous. Find another way to get your shit done,” Paul scoffed, storming out of the bar and leaving Adam and Dan in the dust. Adam raised a brow to Dan, turning down his mouth as if to prod him further. This time, Dan cracked a smile, but still walked away before Adam could get to him. But that smile said more than his words could.
That he’d wear them down eventually.
* * *
JUNE 1986
Mercedes was wrapped tightly in his arms as they laid on the couch in Adam’s trailer. So close that he could hear the soft contented beats of her heart, smiling when she sighed happily into his shoulder.
He slipped one hand into the back of her jeans, and with the other brushed the hair away from her jaw, lifting her chin to his ever so slightly as he reached in to taste her.
The doors to his trailer burst open with a crack, and their faces snapped apart, eyeing the door.
Paul raged inside with clenched fists, followed closely by Carlos and Dan.
“Dude, knock much?” Adam scoffed as he stood up.
Paul, looking violently enraged, snatched the TV remote and turned to the local news.
Mercedes sat up from the couch, and looked to Adam nervously. They all turned their heads to watch the screen while Paul’s eyes fixated solely on Adam.
On the screen, footage played from the view of a helicopter. The grass below blew against the blades, and a newswoman narrated the devastation. A prison van had crashed in the middle of the highway, guards near dead, and the high-value, most-wanted prisoner no longer alive on the side of the road. The news obscured the view of the body, but she described it in such gory detail that it sounded worse than it looked.
Great for tourism. Adam chuckled.
She finished her story with the obvious, as if she had to explain it to the people of Ridge City. “Police say they are investigating links to organized crime as the prisoner was due to face court on gang-related charges later this month.”
The TV played out the reactions in the studio as mere background noise. Mercedes, Adam, Dan, and Carlos all turned toward Paul, who was still glaring at Adam like he could bore holes into his skull.
“Fuckkk,” Dan sighed. “Blake has been trying to free that guy for years.”
Adam returned Paul’s deadly sharp stare.
“What the fuck did you do?” Paul spat.
“Chill out, I sent Dorian Blake a little message,” Adam said, sliding his crossed arms against his chest.
“That’s—God—what? A message?”
Adam laughed before shutting down and turning to anger. He placed his hands firmly in his pockets and looked up from his lowered head. “He threatened me. In my club.”
“Goddammit, don’t make this personal!”
Adam narrowed his eyes. How could this be anything but personal?
“Alright, that’s enough.” Mercedes rose to stand in between Paul and Adam. But Adam knew he was being a bit of a shit, so he would’ve let Paul get in one good punch before he clobbered him.
“Don’t,” Paul warned her, all sense of reason gone from his voice. “I know you helped him. He could not have chased a prison van down and outrun T.B. without your help.”
