Sharks by Matt Rogers (The King & Slater Series Book 6)
English | 2020 | Mystery & Thriller | ePUB |2.8 MB
Matt Rogers lives in Melbourne, Australia. He has a penchant for adrenaline — whether it be skydiving or MMA — which aids his ability to produce white-knuckle thrill rides.
WHERE THERE’S BLOOD, THERE’S SHARKS…
Hunting the leftover scum from a corrupt judge’s human trafficking operation, King and Slater dig up the name of a bank used to wash all the dirty money leaving Vegas in duffel bags. It brings them to an offshore tax haven — the city of Freeport on Grand Bahama. There, a narcissistic psychopath named Dylan Walcott runs an airtight financial empire, with a smorgasbord of companies under his belt.
Soon enough King and Slater’s vigilante acts lead them, inevitably, to the downtrodden. They befriend an elderly couple in Freeport, victims of loan sharking in the aftermath of Hurricane Dorian. All roads lead to Walcott, who’s cast his predatory gaze over every survivor in need of quick cash across the archipelago. His greed knows no bounds, ruining lives both offshore and in his own backyard.
Walcott won’t ever back down, and King and Slater must reconsider what they’re getting themselves into.
When titans clash, the loser falls hard…
Vince slapped him across the cheek, hard enough to blind him. Teddy let out a little cry as he stumbled, dropping the cloth and the spray bottle. With blurry vision he reached down for them, intent on finishing his job, interfering circumstances be damned. Vince grabbed him by the collar and shoved him into the table, knocking it over, spilling the chairs back.
Teddy screwed up his face as he came to rest in the pile of furniture. A whimper escaped his lips, and he scolded himself for it. He didn’t like to show weakness, but, God, he was scared…
Vince rolled him over, ignoring his protests, and shoved a hand into his back pocket. He came out with the note.
‘These British pounds?’ Vince scoffed.
‘Yes,’ Teddy mumbled into the floor.
Another scoff. ‘I’m counting it as half. So that’s twenty-five Bahamian dollars taken off the vig.’
Bahamian dollars were pegged to the U.S. dollar. Teddy spluttered, ‘It’s pounds. It’s closer to seventy dollars.’
‘That’s not my problem,’ Vince said. ‘Should have given it to me as soon as you got it.’
‘Why are you here, Vince?’ Teddy said, his voice meek. ‘I have until the end of the week.’
‘We keep giving you more time,’ Vince said. ‘So now I follow you around until you pay. But I have enough for today. I’ll see you tomorrow, Teddy.’
He walked out, but he went the long way around, taking a loop across the hut’s floorspace. On the way he overturned four tables and kicked five chairs across the room. Then he stepped down to the sand and set off along the beach. He didn’t look back.
There was no one around to hear Teddy’s sobs.
The chef and the bartender were nowhere to be found, busying themselves with tasks out back. The owner wasn’t here, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he was. He would have found something that needed doing out back, too.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Teddy worked his way tentatively to his feet. His hip ached, and he thought maybe he’d pulled a hamstring. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes, but he wiped them away before they could run down his face. He didn’t have time to cry.
He started straightening the room, lifting tables back into place, righting chairs. Each heave hurt his back, and his hamstring groaned in protest. He couldn’t take bumps and bruises anymore. He was getting old, getting frail. But the pain was nothing in comparison to the humiliation.
The third table wobbled and fell when he tried to lift it, and for some reason that set him off.
He cried the rest of the way through the process.
He didn’t care anymore.
He could remain stoic, he could sob, he could scream … it’d fall on deaf ears all the same.