Page 57 of Run

“More than okay. The only reason I haven’t done it before now is that Tommy has powerful allies—both inside and outside the syndicate.” He glanced at Abasi. “We’ve slowly been dealing with them while we work on our own exit strategy. I had thought to keep hold of the organization and slowly bring it out of the murkier waters. Maybe even go completely legit one day. Now I see that was a pipe dream. There’s nothing in the syndicate that can be salvaged. The only thing to do is burn it all to the ground.”

“Then we’re in agreement,” Joe pressed.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow.” Marcus inclined his head. “I need to deal with syndicate business, or Tommy will become suspicious. I’m leaving Abasi with you as extra insurance.”

“Not happening,” Abasi said. “I’m coming with you.”

“Aye, take him,” Callum added. “We don’t need extra insurance.”

“Humor me.” Marcus was implacable. “I’d stay myself, but there has to be a high-level presence in the street tonight. We’ve got some business issues that need to be dealt with quickly.”

David bet they did. The team’s latest intel suggested that their efforts to start a war between the James Syndicate and the other two crime organizations had been a roaring success. The situation between them had already been precarious, and it hadn’t taken much to tip it over the edge. However, the team wasn’t taking any chances that the tension would fizzle out. They had more targets planned for that night.

“Use the house,” Marcus said. “Only Abasi and I know about it. You’ll be safe here.”

“We’ll stay in our own safe house for now, thanks.” Callum crossed his arms. “And he isn’t coming with us. It would compromise our security. You might talk a good game, but I’m no’ sure we can trust you yet.”

“He’s right,” Abasi said. “I don’t trust him either. It’s best all-round if I just come with you.”

Marcus stared him down. “I want you with Elle until I feel secure with this arrangement.”

Abasi gestured around the room. “She’s got an army at her back.”

“Abasi,” Marcus said, his voice lowering, turning to flint.

For the first time since David met him, he sounded like a man who’d earned his reputation. Marcus James might not have wanted to go into the family business, but he’d taken to it like the proverbial duck.

Abasi let his head fall back with a sigh. “Get your arse out of here; I’ll stay with Elle.” He grimaced at Callum. “We’ll work something out.”

Callum’s grim expression made it clear he thought that unlikely.

Marcus, meanwhile, went to his sister. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He clasped the back of her head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Elle lit up under her brother’s affection, leaning into his touch. “Stay out of trouble until then, okay?”

“I make no promises.” She beamed up at him.

With a shake of his head, Marcus strode out the front door and down the path to where a parked car waited for him.

Once the door had closed behind him, Callum turned to Abasi. “You’re not coming to our safe house, and we’re not staying here.”

Abasi sighed again. “Hotel it is then. Got any preference?”

“Who’s paying?” Elle bounced eagerly.

“Oh, definitely your brother,” Abasi drawled.

“Then I vote the Savoy!” she sang cheerfully.

* * *

To Elle’s great disappointment,there was no fancy hotel. Abasi didn’t pay because, as Callum told her, Benson Security wasn’t funded by criminals. In the end, David’s credit cards furnished them with a room, and he didn’t stretch to the Savoy. Instead, they ended up in a mid-range tourist hotel on Glasshouse Street, off Piccadilly Circus.

The next time she was on the run, Elle would make sure she had her own untraceable credit card and a suite booked at the Savoy.

Elle had been around military men long enough to recognize the reasons for their choice of hotel—all of them being security related. Shaped like a pie wedge, the hotel had several exits onto different streets. There was an Underground station a few feet away, and thanks to the masses of tourists, the area was well-lit, regularly patrolled, and unclaimed by any gang.

They asked for a three-bedroom suite to accommodate all seven of them—Joe and Harvard had returned to the safe house and their wives—but the hotel didn’t do suites. The best they could offer was what they called their “family room.”

This turned out to be one long, narrow room, divided by a tiny bathroom and a flimsy sliding door that separated it into two bedrooms—or, more accurately, closets with beds. One room had a queen-size bed squeezed into it, and the other had three single beds lined up in a row along the wall—with barely enough space to walk between them.