Tony made a clicking sound with his tongue. Will looked at him. Tony winked, like they were in this together. Like he hadn’t delivered Will to these men for slaughter.

What had turned Tony against him? It had to be the dinner. The only way that Tony could know about the date was if Cayla told him. She must’ve known Tony would show up. Will could see she liked playing them off each other. Stepbrother or not, she’d obviously been stringing Tony along for years.

Or maybe it was something more dangerous. Maybe Tony still thought Will was a cop. Running into Lena’s house last night hadn’t been Will’s smartest move. No con in his right mind ran toward gunfire, even if he had a hundred pregnant girlfriends threatening to sue him.

“All right,” the redneck finally said. He handed Will the phone.

Will didn’t know what to do but take it. The case was warm. His hands were so sweaty that he nearly dropped it before he could get it back into his pocket.

The redneck leaned across the desk and pressed a button on the phone. There was a buzz, then he pressed the button again. It was some kind of signal. They all waited. And waited. Will counted off the seconds in his head, but then he lost track and had to start all over again.

A cell phone rang. The redneck took his time. The Droid was buried under a stack of papers on the desk. He answered on the sixth ring. He listened, nodding occasionally. His eyes slid Will’s way. He said, “Yeah, I think you’re right,” then ended the call.

“That Big Whitey?” Tony asked. He was as eager as a kid. “He tell you we’re cool?” He slapped Will on the back. “I told you I’d make this right, man.”

The redneck took a stack of hundreds out of his pocket. He glanced at the Baggie of pills Tony had thrown on the desk and counted out ten bills. He held out the cash to Tony. “That’s more than you deserve, bringing this ass-wipe into our business. Get rid of him.”

Will felt panic rise, but then he realized the redneck meant the man tied to the chair. Will looked at the guy. He’d forgotten all about him. At some level, Will realized he already thought of him as dead.

The redneck said, “Leave him somewhere he’ll be found.”

“No problem.” Tony walked over to the chair. He slapped the man’s head. “Let’s go, dude.”

The man groaned. Spit slid out of his open mouth.

“Come on.” Tony slapped him harder. “Stand up, cocksucker. Time to go.”

The man struggled against the rope. Even if he wanted to, there was no way to get up.

“You believe this asshole?” Tony’s eyes looked as if they were on fire. He obviously enjoyed hurting people. He kicked the chair again. There was none of the gnat about him now, just a wiry tough guy who had no problem punching above his weight.

The redneck had had enough. “Stop fucking around and get him out of here.”

Tony pulled a knife out of his boot. This wasn’t a folding knife, but a ten-inch hunting knife with a nasty-looking serrated edge. He cut the rope around the chair. The man pitched forward, moaning from the release. Tony caught him before he hit the floor. He flipped the knife in the air and pointed the handle toward Will. “Get his feet.”

Will sawed through the rope that tied the man’s legs to the chair. He glanced up as he sliced through the last few strands. The man’s eyes were swollen slits in his face, but Will could see the bloody whites at the edges. Blood had trickled down his forehead, clotted in his eyelashes. His front teeth were broken. The bridge of his nose was smashed. Still, he looked familiar, but Will didn’t have time to figure out why.

“Wake up, asshole.” This time, Tony’s fist came from below. The man’s head arced back. Blood went flying. “I ain’t playin’, dude. Stand the fuck up.”

The man tried to obey. His bare feet stuck to the rug. His legs shook. His knees wouldn’t straighten.

Will stepped in. He couldn’t watch this. He shouldered the man to standing, practically carrying all of his weight.

“Please …,” the man begged, his voice barely audible.

Will glanced around the room, but no one seemed moved by the plea. If anything, they were annoyed.

“Get him outta here,” the redneck ordered. He went back to the couch, sat down in front of the open pizza box.

Will tried to drag the man to the door. If he could leave this room, if he could manage to get out of this club, then there might be a way to save him.

The redneck picked up a slice of pizza. “I’ll be in touch, Bud. We have a job that Mr. Whitey thinks will suit your special skills.”

Will grunted, but only from the effort of carrying the man. There was no helping him walk. Will lifted his full weight onto his back. Five feet to the door. Maybe three feet to the exit. Around the building, then to the parking lot. Will would take Tony’s truck. He’d sucker punch him from behind, take away his keys. He would drive the man to the hospital. He would get Faith to put him into protective custody. And then Will would find Sara and fall down at her feet and pray for her to make everything better.

Will told Tony, “Get the door.”

“What about the rug?” Junior asked. “Ain’t no way that can be steamed out.”

“Shit,” Tony complained. “I ain’t no damn rug cleaner.”

“Take it and burn it.” The redneck finished his slice of pizza. “Dump the body on his front lawn. That oughta be public enough.”

Tony made it clear he thought he was doing them a favor. He hitched up his pants. He got down on his knees. He started rolling the edge of the rug. Will turned because there was nothing to do but watch him and wait.

This was when the man decided to make his move.

Without warning, he pushed away from Will.

The man grabbed at the doorknob. His coordination was shot. His hands were slick with blood. Instead of opening the door, he fell against it. He started screaming, pounding at the door like there might be help on the other side.

Will’s instincts took over. Of all the guys in the room, he was the least lethal. He grabbed the man around the waist. He tried to cover his mouth. The man kicked him, bit him, punched him, until Will couldn’t hold on anymore.

There was nowhere to go—no windows, no doors but the one they’d come through. The man was so crazed with terror he was practically spinning in circles. The rug bunched up under his feet. He careened off the coffee table, the desk. Tony tackled him from behind, throwing him face-down on the floor.

Tony straddled him. The hunting knife was in his hands. He pounded the blade into the man’s back, his shoulders, his neck. Again and again the knife went up and down like a piston. The blade made a pop-slap noise as it pierced skin. Spaghetti strings of blood flew around him like he was inside some kind of horror-house snowglobe.

Junior jammed a gun into Will’s chest, making it clear he should stay out of it. The muzzle felt like it was touching bare bone. Junior was eerily calm as Tony wailed away with the knife. He caught the redneck’s eye, gave him a single shake of the head as if to ask, What got into that guy? His counterpart sat passively on the couch, watching the murder unfold the way he might watch a card game.

The stabbing continued long after the man was dead. Tony only stopped when he ran out of steam. He sat back on his heels. He was panting. Sweating. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Forehead, mouth, cheeks. Blood smeared everywhere.