Chapter 234
Wesley
Both heads snapped toward the doorway. Felix's expression froze mid-sentence, his mouth still shaped around whatever lie he'd been spinning. Thomas's eyes went wide, scanning the faces of the men fanned out behind me—Miles, Dante, Carlo, Jax—all armed, all silent, all blocking the only exit.
For a long moment, nobody moved.
Then Thomas took a step back. Another. His knees buckled slightly, and he caught himself against the edge of the desk, one hand pressed to his chest as if his heart had just remembered it was supposed to be failing. His lips moved, forming words that didn't quite make it out, and then he coughed—sharp, wet, theatrical.
"Wesley," he rasped, his voice cracking with what I assumed was supposed to be shock. "What—what are you doing here?"
The coughing fit that followed was almost impressive. He doubled over, wheezing, one hand clutching the desk while the other waved weakly in the air like he was trying to summon help from an invisible nurse.
Carlo snorted. "Boss, you sure we need to bother with this guy? He looks like he's about to keel over on his own."
Miles didn't laugh. His expression had gone hard, his hand resting casually on the grip of the Glock tucked into his waistband. "Don't be stupid," he said quietly. "That's Thomas Lawson. Used to run half the black-market networks in Europe before he 'retired.' Guy's got more connections than the fucking mafia. Don't let the act fool you."
I smiled. Not because it was funny—because it wasn't—but because watching Thomas play the dying old man while his brain was clearly racing through every possible angle to stall us was almost insulting.
"My guys already see through you," I said, taking a slow step into the room. "So drop the act, Thomas. You're coming with us. Now. You can walk out on your own, or we can drag you. Either way, you're leaving this room in the next sixty seconds."
I let the silence stretch just long enough to make sure he understood I wasn't bluffing.
"And don't even think about making noise," I added, my tone dropping to something colder. "You wake Arthur, and this gets a lot messier for everyone. Especially you."
The coughing stopped.
Just like that.
Thomas straightened slowly, his hand falling away from his chest, and when he looked at me again, the watery-eyed fragility was gone. In its place was something sharp and calculating—the kind of look that had probably put fear into men twice my size back when he was still running things.
"You've grown up," he said softly, almost thoughtfully. His gaze flicked over me, assessing, measuring. "If I'd known you had this much potential, Wesley, I would've kept you on our side. I would've made sure Felix never turned you into an enemy."
He paused, his lips curling into something that might've been a smile if it weren't so bitter.
"Such a waste."
I felt my jaw tighten. He was stalling. I knew it. He knew I knew it. And still, he kept talking, his voice smooth and unhurried, like we had all the time in the world.
We didn't.
The night was slipping away. Every second we stayed in this room was another chance for something to go wrong—for a guard to walk past, for Arthur to wake up, for Felix to do something stupid. I couldn't afford to stand here listening to Thomas's bullshit.
"Move," I snapped, jerking my head toward the door. "Now."
Miles and Dante stepped forward, grabbing Thomas by the arms. He didn't resist, but he didn't make it easy either, letting his weight sag just enough to be annoying. Carlo moved toward Felix, reaching for his shoulder—
"Wait."
Felix's voice cut through the room, cold and sharp.
I turned, already halfway to the door, and found him staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Not fear. Not anger. Something else. Something worse.
"What?" I said flatly.
"We'll go with you," Felix said. His tone was eerily calm now, like he'd flipped a switch somewhere inside himself. "But there's one thing I need to understand first."
I felt my patience snap. "There's nothing to understand. You're coming with us. End of story."
"No," Felix said, and there was an edge to his voice now, something brittle and sharp. "I need to know why."
"Why what?"
"Why you're doing this." He took a step forward, ignoring the way Jax's hand moved instinctively toward his weapon. His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, I saw something almost human flicker across his face. "For Serena. You're doing all of this for her, aren't you?"
I didn't answer.