In the aftermath of the chaos, August paced around his wrecked living room with a pale but furious look.
Two of Damon's goons lay tied up on the floor, bruised and utterly immobilized. Their wrists were bound behind their backs with cords he had found around the house, while one of them groaned from a bloody nose, half-awake and dazed.
August clutched his phone with trembling fingers as he dialed yet again. The line rang on the other end for the umpteenth time.
He needed this call to go through. He needed the money now if he had any hope of getting Sophia back.
Finally, the ringing stopped, and a familiar voice answered. "Aleman," Mr. Floozk's voice drawled with its usual cool, calculated calm. "I wasn't expecting you. Our meeting's not until this afternoon, you know."
"I know, I know," August responded quickly, his voice tight. "But I need to ask you a favor, and it can't wait."
