The Gulfstream G650 felt like a pressurized coffin. The pilot was banking us so hard the floor sat at a thirty-degree angle, but Marcus didn't even stumble. He stood in the center of the cabin, his legs braced against the tilt, checking the action on his custom sidearm with a cold, rhythmic click-slide.
Asher sat across from me, his face a mask of pale fury. He was the head of the Reed family, the man who owned this city, and right now, he was a wounded lion trapped in the sky.
"Chicago," Asher growled, his eyes locked onto mine. Vane's voice was still echoing in the cabin from the speakerphone. 'You're coming to Chicago to kill a dead man.' "What happened between you and Vane, Chloe? He said you were 'too smart' for him. He said he wanted to get back at me, but you stopped him. What was he talking about?"
