Max woke to the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. Awareness came instantly, and he shot up in bed. “Running away again?”

Clad in her bra and panties, Samantha glanced back at him. “I can’t stay the night.”

Can’t. Won’t. Right. Just sex.

When would he get a fucking clue? And why did it even matter? If he wanted a woman to stay the night, he had a drawer full of numbers he could call. Maybe he would. His jaw clenched and he said, “You know the way out. Just go and—”

The phone on the nightstand rang. Who the hell was calling him this late? Shit, if there was a problem at one of his sites… Swearing, Max grabbed the phone. “Ridgeway—”

Samantha backed out of the door. He wasn’t going after her. Wouldn’t stop her. Maybe it was time for the sexual madness to end. This was going nowhere; it was—

“I have something of yours…” A gruff whisper.

“What?” He blinked and then ran a hand down his face. “Who the hell is this?”

“If you want him back, you’ll make sure I get my payment.”

“Listen, buddy, I don’t know who you are, but this conversation is over.” Too late for this shit.

Samantha stilled in the hallway. He caught the flash of her hip, the curve of her sweet ass.

“Don’t fucking call again, got me?” Max started to drop the phone.

“How much is your brother’s life worth?” That same damn whisper taunted.

It took a moment for understanding to sink in. Brother. His spine snapped straight. “What are you talking about?” he barked.

Laughter. Mocking. Chilling his blood. “I have your brother, and if his old man doesn’t pay, I’ll send him back to you in pieces.”

No, no, this wasn’t happening. This was bullshit. Some sick joke. “You’ve got Quinlan?”

The door squeaked. Not closing this time, opening. Samantha crept back inside. His gaze flew to her, and Max saw that she was watching him with wide eyes and a pale face.

“If you want Quinlan to keep the blood inside his body, you’ll do what I say.”

Hell. “Let me talk to him, now!”

“You don’t give the orders…”

The drumming in his ears nearly drowned out the bastard’s words—was that his heart? “You don’t have him,” he said with sudden certainty. Sick fuck. “You don’t even know—”

“If you hadn’t been so busy trying to screw the pretty whore on the street, you might have even seen me take him from The Core. You were right there. You could have saved him.”

Max’s fingers nearly smashed the phone. “Put my brother on the damn line!”

“No.” Again that twisted laughter. “Just be a good fucking errand boy and do what you’re told. I’ll be sending the old man a message—and you’re going to damn well make sure he pays.”

Joke, had to be a joke—

“You go to the cops, you try to mark the bills, and the M.E. will be piecing your brother back together for weeks. Got me? Weeks.”

Then the fucking phone went dead.