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Logan’s been with Mav a few years now. A good fifteen years older than us, he’s former military and oversees all the security operations of Mav’s clubs. He’s a truly decent human. That doesn’t change the fact that I will play home run derby with his face if he tries to stop me right now.
“How may I assist you this evening, sir?”
“Little birdy told me Lucian Devoreaux’s on the premises.”
He glances down, taking note of my hand clutching the bat before returning his pointed stare to me. “Mr. Conners, why do I get the impression you’re about to make an incredibly poor decision?”
“Poor decision?” My brow arches. “No. It is, however, going to be one hell of a scene.” I step over the ropes, moving to brush past him when Logan’s hand plants in the center of my chest. Two additional guards begin to approach from the right, only to pause when Logan gestures for them to halt.
“I like you, Mr. Conners. Please do not put me in a position in which I am forced to hurt you. Whatever it is, it’s not worth it.”
My hand slips into my pocket, withdrawing my cell while navigating to the photo I snapped of Daph sleeping in my bed before I left. Turning the screen toward him, I thrust my phone in his face.
“That’s Devoreaux’s fiancée. Look at her face.”
Logan’s surly expression falters, the stern lines of his hardened exterior softening as his eyes shift from the photo to me.
“Look at her!” I demand, repositioning the phone so it’s centered in his line of sight. “Let me in or toss his ass out, but one way or another he will answer for this.”
His gaze lingers on the image a moment longer before he glances to the side, this time waving his men off entirely before pulling his earpiece from his ear. Logan steps to me, speaking low so only I can hear. “From the time you swing, I can guarantee you thirty seconds on my end. That’s not to say Mr. Bishop won’t get to you first.”
“Mav’s on site?” I glance into the club, realizing this complicates things a bit.
“He is. However, he’s currently behind closed doors with Mr. Galloway and Mr. Michaelson.” Finn and T—Mav’s second-in-command and lead enforcer. Looks like we got a full house tonight. I’m gonna have one shot at this before all hell breaks loose. “Which means,” Logan continues, “in the event of a disturbance, should they not be interrupted, I would expect their response time to be delayed.”
My gaze travels back to his, a silent understanding passing between us.
“You’re a good man, Logan.”
He shifts to the side, giving me room to pass. “Back bar. VIP seating. And Mr. Conners?” Logan begins to step away, slipping his earpiece back into place. “Swing for the fences.”
I clap him on the back, the corner of my mouth tipping up into a smile as I push into the club.
Torque is different than Mav’s other clubs, boasting more of an industrial grunge look. It’s still high end as fuck but appeals to the wealthy’s ridiculous notion that drinking $22 martinis in a warehouse with Edison lighting somehow equates to slumming it. How incredibly edgy they all must be.
I navigate my way through the club, eyes zeroing in on the back wall when the sea of bodies momentarily parts and I’m granted a glimpse of my intended target. The music shifts, fueling the raging swell of adrenaline surging through my veins.
X Gon' Give It to Ya by DMX (Spotify)
X Gon’ Give It to Ya by DMX (Apple Music)
I stride across the dance floor, shouldering people out of the way as I close the remaining distance between us. He’s smiling, his body turned toward the woman he’s currently engaging in conversation. She laughs in response to whatever he’s said, all the while assessing the caliber of his watch he continues to not-so-subtly flash. It’s gonna work to his favor that she’s a gold-digger, because after what I’m about to do to his face, he certainly won’t have his looks to fall back on.
My swift approach draws her attention, her eyes sweeping over my form as she seductively nips at her bottom lip. She continues to scan me up and down appreciatively. That is, until she notices the bat in my hand.
Her eyes widen, startling as she scrambles away, sparking Luc to cast an investigatory glance over his shoulder. He barely registers my presence before the barrel of the bat is driving into his face. Several screams ring out around us as Luc stumbles backward, colliding with the bar.
“You like putting hands on women?!” I shout over the music, drawing the bat up over my shoulder. “Ask the last asshole who hurt her what I did to him!” I swing, the full force of my momentum cracking him upside the head and sending him crashing to the floor. Luc looks up at me from the flat of his back, lids fluttering as he fights to keep them open.
“Oh, wait. You can’t.” Lifting the bat up over my head, I swing down, striking him twice in the stomach. His body buckles with the impact of each blow before going limp against the concrete. Leaning forward, I grip hold of his shirt, pulling him up to meet me. “Because I fucking killed him.”
My head slams into his, the blunt force shattering his nose as the resulting rivulets of blood paint his skin crimson. People around us flee, their fear palpable in the presence of their screams, which are now easily discernable even above the heavy bass of the music. Their horrified stares should serve as a deterrent to my actions. Yet even in the presence of dozens of eyewitnesses, I can’t bring myself to care. Every time I look at him, all I see are the bruises that stain her skin, the quiver of her worried lip, the shine of her tear-slickened eyes. The images paint a picture in my mind, a scene playing out before me as though I’m witnessing the attack in real time.
The thought of him striking her unleashes something animalistic within me, and I realize I’m not going to be able to stop. Not while he’s still breathing, at least. My foot kicks out, connecting with his ribs before pulling the bat back once more. I’m just about to cave this motherfucker’s skull in when I’m tackled from the side, sending my and my assailant’s bodies crashing into the bar.
Mav rips the weapon from my grasp before shoving off me to stand. “What in the actual fuck, Conners?!” he roars, gripping the bat with both hands and breaking it over his knee. The wood splinters, various fragments flying about as the barrel separates in two, and he discards the pieces off to the side. Mav’s eyes narrow as he advances unto me once more, his chest bumping with mine as we come nose to nose. “Walking in my house to start shit?” he seethes, the music masking this portion of our conversation. “That is an act of fucking war. How the fuck am I supposed to let this slide? T’s ready to use you for target practice.”
A quick glance over his shoulder confirms as much. Tristan and Finn stand about a dozen feet away, bodies postured like they’re just itching for the go-ahead to pull their pieces. The only reason I’m not dead already is because neither of them have the authority to take a shot at a boss without Mav’s approval. Given our men know nothing of our alliance, I recognize the precarious situation this puts us in. My actions will demand a response, one involving blood. Unless the context I provide is deemed a worthy enough cause to settle for reparations instead.
