Frozen: Heart of Dread, Book One by Melissa de la Cruz, Michael Johnston Page A

there—with blue skies, fresh water,
food—
they’re going to take it. They wouldn’t even let Texas leave the union, and there’s nothing there but frozen cow dung.”
    “Let’s take the map,” Shakes said. “Could solve all our problems. Keep the crew happy, keep the military off our backs.”
    “I thought we weren’t thieves,” Wes said with a crafty smile.
    Shakes returned it with one of his own.
    “So we play the long game,” said Wes, nodding. He saw the truth in it. If he took the map, handed it to Bradley, they would have work, credits; he’d be able to run an even bigger crew, maybe set themselves up as a private security force, have a real future in Vegas. Enough begging for scraps, enough humiliation, enough of the food lines forever.
    But he wasn’t a thief. If he took the map, and if the Blue was real . . . it was Santonio all over again.
    Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe he was damned either way already.
    And even if this blackjack dealer did have the map, Wes didn’t think she would simply hand it over. She was too smart for that . . .
    The team looked to their leader.
    Wes clasped his hands. Map or not, she was still asking a lot of his men. When they joined his team, he’d promised to keep them alive as best as he could. “All right. Let’s put it to a vote. We get in and take her out, collect the bounty, or we do what she wants, do the work, and get paid.”
    “Heard they’ve upped it to eight hundred a head for a jumper these days,” Daran sniffed.
    Zedric nodded. That made two votes for bounty.
    “How d’you plan on getting across the ocean anyway?” Daran asked.
    “I’ll figure it out when we get there.” Wes shrugged. He’d never been one to plan ahead. “Shakes?”
    “You know what I think.”
    “Two for blood, one for life. ’Rouk?” Wes asked.
    “Screw it. I wanna see the black water, why not.” Farouk shrugged.
    Kaboom!
This was it. Sparks flew from the Acropolis stage. The sound was deafening; even the air vibrated from the force of the explosion.
    “Your orders, sir,” Farouk yelled.
    “We do the deal,” he said finally. “We take her where she wants to go and we all come back rich and alive.” When it came down to it, Shakes was right, trading her in for bounty money was a coward’s move. The trip would be dangerous, sure, but in the end, they needed to work, and she had the credits. And if she had the map . . . well . . . he would keep his cards close to the vest for now.
    He stared Daran in the eye. “You in? Get out now if you’re not.”
    Daran held his gaze, then looked away, shrugging.
    Wes nodded. Daran would follow orders like a soldier. Wes had taken the brothers on his team when no one else would—he’d heard of their reputations as burnouts but he thought he could rehabilitate them into better stuff—and so far, as surly as they were, they hadn’t failed him.
    The team exhaled. Shakes smiled. Farouk began dismantling the bombs.
    Wes took a comb from his back pocket and smoothed his hair. “Let’s go knock on her door.”

10
    N AT DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO MAKE OF RYAN Wesson—whether she wanted to slap him or kiss him. Slap him, definitely. He looked so smug, standing at her doorway, with his hair slicked back and his collar turned up, a gun belt strapped low on his hips, his beat-up vest shrugged off his shoulders like some kind of snow cowboy, grinning as if he’d won the fireball lottery.
    She’d just left the casino that evening, only a few hours after closing the deal with Shakes, and while she had impressed upon him her need to leave immediately, she was still surprised at how quickly Wes had appeared.
    “Hey there, remember me?” His voice was low and pleasantly hoarse,
sexy,
she thought,
just like all the rest of him.
Nat shoved the thought out of her mind.
He’s a runner and a con man,
she reminded herself.
A liar.
    “How could I forget?” she asked.
    “Ryan Wesson,” he said, offering a hand.
    “Like the gun