Free The Inheritance (Volume Three) by Zelda Reed

glasses of water and the woman leaves us in our booth, the cheap pleather sticking to my legs in the heat of the room.
    I lean over the table. “What do we do now?”
    “Now,” Alanis says, flipping open the menu. “We wait.”
    We don’t wait for long.
    The door to the back room cracks open, voices, laughter and smoke spilling out. A few foreign words are exchanged – a man and a woman arguing behind the walls that weave through the restaurant like a maze. The door closes and my stomach leaps into my throat. I can use that glass of water.
    At the far side of our portion of the restaurant, an Asian man rounds the corner. His hair’s slicked neatly back, black like the color of his fitted suit. His jacket’s open, pushed behind his hip, revealing the gun settled there.
    Alanis throws a glance over her shoulder. Her hand slides beneath the table. I don’t need to duck my head to know she’s fingering her gun, ready in case he waltzes over and shoots me.
    “Ladies,” he says, English rolling perfectly off his tongue. “If you two are looking for good Chinese food, you should try Ming’s Palace, it’s just three streets over.”
    Alanis raises an eyebrow. “Thanks but we want to eat here.”
    A false chuckle floats from his throat. “This place is good,” he says. “But I’m sorry to tell you, we’re closed.”
    “No you’re not,” Alanis says, looking up at him.
    His mouth straightens in a serious line.
    Alanis closes her menu and sits back in the booth, comfortable and intimidating. “We’re here to see Lee.”
    The man stands a bit taller. “Lee who?”
    “Lee Geon,” she says. “Tell him Caitlin Wheeler wants to make a deal.”
    His eyes flicker towards me. “Very well,” he says.
    My stomach settles in my gut, knotting nervously at the base.
    “Stop shaking,” Alanis says. “We have nothing to worry about.”
    The waitress prattles over with our water. She removes our menus from the table and turns away without taking our orders. The jig is up. She knows why we’re really here.
    Lee Geon rounds the corner and brings with him a group of well-dressed men. Six of them form two lines of three, marching on his heels, their eyes fixed on mine. There are no gun in holsters but pistols in each hand, the shiny black weapons glinting beneath the shitty restaurant light. Two of his guards stuff themselves in the booth across from us. Two sit in the booth behind me, two in the booth behind Alanis. The remaining pair stand on either side of Lee, their fingers inches away from the trigger.
    Lee’s older than my mental image of him, a wealth of wrinkles etched into the corners of his mouth and eyes, though his hair contains its youthful color. His eyes are slightly sunken into his face, black like his suit and hazy with faux-kindness.
    “Alanis, is it?” he says. “I never thought we would run into each other again.”
    “Neither did I,” she says, sitting up straight. “But I can’t sit this one out.”
    Lee nods, his hands crossed gently in front of his lap. “I understand. This is all very personal for you, isn’t it? But I don’t appreciate you bringing a weapon to a conversation.” His eyes travel down to her lap.
    Alanis looks around. “I could say the same thing about you.”
    “Put your gun on the table,” he says.
    Alanis complies, placing her gun on the table next to her drink. The man to the right of Lee snatches and dismantles it, throwing the pieces to the man behind me.
    Lee releases a long sigh. “I feel safer now, don’t you?”
    Alanis plasters on a tight smile.
    The waitress bustles over with a chair, setting it at the head of our booth. Lee takes a seat. He smells of spicy, expensive cologne with a hint of bourbon on his tongue.
    He holds his hand out to me. “We haven’t had the pleasure of formally meeting,” he says. There are three rings on his fingers – a wedding band and two gold bands covered in diamonds and colored jewels.
    I shake his hand. “Caitlin