Markham caught Ethan's expression and grinned even wider.
"Ethan, my man, this price is golden—guaranteed top fifty, maybe even top ten."
"Deal." Ethan gritted his teeth. "Two million it is. Just get me into the top fifty."
Markham choked. "T-two million? Uh—cough—yeah! On my honor as a Whitmore man, consider it done!"
His eyes nearly bulged out of his skull as he yanked back his outstretched fingers—originally meant to signal two hundred thousand—and thumped his chest like a drum.
Ethan blinked. Wait…
His thoughts spun. Two million. That wasn't pocket change, not even by Renegade standards. Had he really let desperation override basic common sense?
The number echoed in his head like a bad reverb. But then again, what was money compared to what he was chasing? Lyla's face shimmered in his memory. If this gamble brought him even one step closer to her, it would be worth every credit.
