The Banker (Banker 1)

I started the car. “Your fifty men aren’t going to follow us, right?”

He looked out the window. “They always accompany me.”

“I know, but I’m not sure if that’s appropriate. We’re going to a cemetery…” Hearing myself talk just made me hate myself more. Was it as obvious to him as it was to me?

Cato didn’t seem suspicious at all. “Alright.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and made the call. “Wait for me here. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.” He returned the phone to his pocket and stared at my house. “Done.”

I didn’t expect that to be so easy. I expected a further argument, at least a few questions.

But Cato trusted me implicitly.

After a short drive, we were about two miles from the cemetery. The radio was off, and we sat in comfortable silence while my flowers lay in the back seat. Both of my hands gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white, and the air didn’t seem cool enough to combat the sweat that formed on the back of my neck.

Cato was quiet, looking out the window without making conversation. His knees were apart, and his hands rested on his thighs. My car was far too small for a man his size, but he never insulted my piece-of-shit ride.

My pulse was so powerful in my neck, I could actually hear it.

I wondered if he could hear it too.

The closer I got to the gates, the worse I felt. My gut told me this was wrong—and my heart was in agreement. I wanted to save my father, but I didn’t want someone else to take his place.

Especially Cato.

Cato had been good to me, even when he behaved like an asshole. He respected me, treated me well, and he had a good heart. Sometimes his true selflessness was lost in his work, but I knew he wore his heart on his sleeve. He took care of his mother when other men would be too greedy to share their wealth. He would take a bullet for his brother. And sometimes I wondered if he would take a bullet for me.

I knew he didn’t love me. But he cared about me.

And I cared about him.

I’m sorry, Father. I slowed the car down until it came to a stop in the middle of the street. There were fields around us and homes in the distance. The sky was too beautiful for a tragedy to happen today. Both of my hands were still on the wheel as the self-loathing hit me. I hated myself for turning my back on my father, but it was his fault he was there. I’d told him to walk away from the business—but he didn’t listen.

“What is it?” His voice was particularly cold, a direct contrast to the summer heat.

I turned the wheel and turned the car around. “Cato, there’s something I need to tell you.”

From the left came a squadron of black cars, along with a tank in the front. An actual tank. They turned the corner in the road, hidden from my view just a moment ago when I drove in the opposite direction. “Oh my god.” I slammed on the brakes, and my eyes went to the rearview mirror. A brigade exited the cemetery and came this way, a string of equally armored cars.

We were in the middle of a war.

Cato turned to me, giving me a look so cold there were shards of ice in his gaze. His jaw was clenched with the same tightness as his fists, and he looked so livid, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He couldn’t decide how he wanted to kill me—if he wanted to strangle me or shoot me. “You aren’t as clever as you think you are.” He stepped out of the car.

The pulse in my neck exploded into a raging panic. My chest couldn’t keep up with my need for air, and the adrenaline was so strong, I thought I might pass out then and there. Cato knew about this the entire time. I thought I’d played him—but he played me.

He opened my door and unclicked my safety belt. “Out.”

“Cato—”

He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me out of the car.

I screamed as the hair was yanked from my scalp and I was pulled from the car like an animal. My body hit the hot asphalt, and my knees scraped against the rough surface.

He grabbed me by the neck and pulled me to my feet before he guided me past the militia and to his private car. The back door was already open, and he pushed me inside, making me fall across the leather seats as he slammed the door behind me.

“Shit.”

When he opened the door on the other side, that’s when the gunshots went off.

The war had begun.