Deliverer Read Online Free PDF Page B

million," Truman protested.
    "But we're here, aren't we?" McAllister growled. "I had to search for my men. I had to contact you. Then I had to drag you out here, wasting my time and yours, so we could come to an agreement. My time is valuable." His hand twitched. "Wouldn't you agree?"
    Truman's eyes strayed to the man behind McAllister's left shoulder. He gave a nod.
    McAllister struck him in the side of the head again. “Answer me!” He screamed.
    “Yes!” Truman screamed back. His vision swam again and he could hardly focus on the man in front of him.
    McAllister seated himself. "Glad we are in agreement. Therefore I added on another two million. Call it inflation, call it service charge, call it manual labor." He put his hands on his knees and leaned close enough to Truman for their noses to touch. " Or call it revenge. But that is my price. Your life is included there. Take it or leave it."
    Truman couldn't make that money. But the other option wasn’t really viable. Literally. Somehow he had to come up with it. "How long?"
    "I'll give you one month."
    One month was hardly enough time, but Truman knew better than to reason with a madman. McAllister had set the bar high so Truman would fail. The man would like nothing better than to see him fall. "All right. I'll do it."
    "So glad we could come to an arrangement." He stood and stretched, motioning his thug to untie Truman.
    Truman relaxed his fists, trying not to show how he trembled.
    The man untied Kessler next, then moved on to Sanchez. Truman met Sanchez's eyes, gave him a small nod.
    "Oh, one more thing, Truman," McAllister said, his tone conversational. "I forgot to mention what will happen if you fail."
    Truman didn't even want to know. He rubbed his wrists. "What?"
    "I will hunt you, Truman." He pulled out his gun and leveled it at Sanchez, who had barely stood up. "I will take you down." He shot Sanchez's right foot. Sanchez shrieked around his gag and grabbed it, stumbling on the left one.
    "One man," McAllister continued, shooting Sanchez in the left thigh.
    "Stop!" Truman shouted, making a move toward Sanchez even as the man collapsed on the concrete, moaning and writhing in agony.
    "At a time," McAllister finished, shooting Sanchez in the head.
    The last gunshot echoed in the room, made more poignant by the silence that followed. Sanchez lay still, his bloody remains speckling the gray floor. Truman stared, a nameless horror building in the pit of his stomach and spreading to his pounding head.
    This wasn't an arrangement. It was a threat. It wasn't a debt, it was a ransom.
    "There was no need for that," Truman said, finally finding his voice. The words came out calm, surprising himself.
    "Consider it an object lesson," McAllister replied evenly. "Just in case you thought about running, or cheating, or anything less than fulfilling our bargain."
    "Of course," Truman said, as if killing his man were nothing out of the ordinary. "Now let us go, before I have no one left to help me collect your money."
    McAllister chuckled and gestured to his thug. "Blindfold Truman and get him out of here."
    Truman stiffened. "Just me?" He cursed himself for not seeing through McAllister's plan. This was why he hadn't made Truman come alone.
    "We'll keep your friend here." McAllister stepped up to Kessler and put a hand on his shoulder. "As collateral."
    Truman met Kessler's eyes and then dropped his gaze. He had no intention of losing this man's life to McAllister as well. But he wasn’t certain he could succeed.
    No more words were exchanged while Truman was blindfolded, but none were needed. The consequence of failing sat heavily in the air, ringing in Truman's ears as they marched out to the car.
     

 
    Chapter 6
     
    Claber gathered the men into the study the moment Truman got back to the mansion. Truman knew he looked like a wreck, but he had to explain the situation to them, and it had to be now.
    He thrust a small dagger into the surface of his wooden desk while