His stoic demeanor remains the same. It makes me want to junk punch him to see if I’ll get a different response.
“Sheriff Ward and Emo.”
He inclines his head—expression still bland. “If you’ll wait here—”
“Let them in, Smalls,” a voice says from behind Hulk. He steps to the side, revealing a balding, portly man in an expensive suit.
Emiliano Tomas.
Emo and I walk past Hulk and Emiliano walks our way, holding his hand out to shake. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Gripping his hand, I give a firm squeeze and raise a brow. “Have you?”
When he offers his hand to Emo and Emo looks at it with disgust, he lets it drop to his side. “Come. We’ll talk more in my office. Smalls, Maria needs help in the kitchen.”
“But, sir—”
Emiliano cuts him off, slicing his hand through the air. “Now, Smalls.”
“Yes, sir.” He spins on his heel and stalks across the checkered tiled floor. I expect to feel the booms of his steps and see cracks form on the walls, but the huge man is surprisingly graceful as he walks away.
“Smalls? What an unusual name for a man of his size.”
He grunts. “His size is the only intimidating thing about him. When God made him, he forgot to add a brain.”
He leads us to a set of closed double doors. Pushing them open, we step inside a modern-looking office. Massive desk dominating one wall, bookshelves adorned with hundreds of books, a fireplace—who needs a fucking fireplace in Texas? —a sofa, and two recliners with a small table between them.
Unbuttoning his blazer, Emiliano walks behind his desk and takes a seat. He gestures to the chairs across from him. “Sit.”
Declining the offer, Emo and I stand behind the chairs. “We won’t be staying.”
He laces his fingers and places his hands on the wood surface. “My son tells me you’re hiding something of his.”
My hands grip the back of the chair, the humor of moments ago gone, and anger taking its place. “Did your son also tell you he beat the shit out of that something and threatened her life?”
Emiliano sighs and reclines back in his chair, frustration marking his face.
“Just tell the girl to give him the microchip. I’ll take care of him from there.”
“She doesn’t have it. Doesn’t even know what chip he’s asking for,” I grit out between clenched teeth.
His eyes turn cold and the cutthroat man I know Emiliano to be, finally makes an appearance.
“She’s lying. She was seen on video going into his office and rushing back out the day she took off from his house.”
I lean over the chair and hiss, “Tell Diego to back off.” I stand back up. “She doesn’t have the fucking chip.” Or at least I hope like fuck she doesn’t. I know hardly anything about Eden Delmont, but I’ve never gotten the vibe she was hiding anything. Of course, she could just be a damn good actress. I don’t think so though.
Emiliano gets up from his chair and walks around to the front of his desk, re-buttoning his blazer, like some kind of uptight rich businessman. He leans back against the desk and crosses his ankle, appearing relaxed, but the rigid set of his jaw tells another story. It’s also laughable, really. Emiliano is far from intimidating in stature. He’s fat, short, and out of shape. But I’m no fool. He may not be able to handle his own dirty work, so he hires muscle like Hulk to do it for him.
I feel Emo stiffen at my side, and I hope like hell he keeps his cool. He feels the threatening vibes in the room and doesn’t like it any more than I do.
“Your man,” He juts his chin to Emo, “is bleeding on my carpet.”
“Send me the fuckin’ cleaning bill,” I growl, growing impatient for this to be over with so we can get back to Malus. And Eden.
He opens a box at his hip and pulls out a cigar. Bringing it to his nose, he sniffs it before putting it between his teeth. I’ve always hated the smell of cigars. After he lights it and releases a plume of smoke, he pinches it between two stubby fingers.
“You know, I’ve heard about you and your brothers and the infamous town of Sweet Haven. It’s truly a shame what the children there went through.”