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Pulling the phone from my pocket once more, I opt for the explanation that requires no words. I press the device into Mav’s palm, his fingers curling around it and ripping it from my hand as he retreats a step. He glares at me, his scowl deepening before glancing down, only to go lax as he takes in the image on display before him.
Mav touches his thumb and index finger to the screen, spreading them apart as he enlarges the image. The glow of the device illuminates his features, allowing me to take note of the way his jaw clenches in anger the longer he stares.
Mav knows Daph from when he was dating my sister. For a brief time, they may have even considered one another friends. And though they never kept in contact after the breakup, my suspicions on Mav’s feelings regarding woman-beaters is confirmed to reflect my own when he tosses the phone back to me while eyeing Lucian with disgust.
His chest heaves, the fingers of his right hand swiftly popping the button of his suit jacket as he swipes his hair back with his left. The music suddenly cuts out, prompting me to take in the sight of the now empty club.
“Is everyone out?” Mav asks, eyes still trained on Lucian’s crumpled form, whose whimpers can now be heard in the silence.
“Yes, sir.” Logan approaches, dragging a chair behind him, which he places at the center of our huddle. “The guests were evacuated, and all employees were dismissed with the instruction to report to work two hours early tomorrow for prep and cleanup.”
Mav nods, reaching inside his jacket and pulling his gun from its holster. “How long have you worked for me, Logan?”
“Three years, sir.”
“And in three years, I can’t recall a single time anyone’s been able to slip so much as a sewing needle inside one of my clubs when you’re on site. Wanna explain how Nicky C. strolled in with a damn baseball bat?”
“Did he show you the picture?”
Mav’s face hardens, a subtle nod serving as his response.
“I believe that answers your question, then.”
“We’re gonna talk about this later,” Mav states, though his matter-of-fact tone doesn’t hold any malice or anger.
“I look forward to it, Mr. Bishop.” Logan nods, crossing to flank him on his left.
Mav shakes his head, scrubbing a hand over his face before offering up an exasperated sigh. “Put him in the chair.”
T and Finn move swiftly in my direction, eager arms outstretched.
“Not him!” Mav calls out, halting their advance. They turn to him, confusion sweeping across their features. “Him.” Mav gestures to Lucian with his gun.
T and Finn share a questioning look, their eyes briefly flickering between me and the bloodied heap on the floor.
“Devoreaux.” Mav speaks calmly. “It seems we need to have a little chat, because I don’t allow woman-beaters in my clubs.”
Apparently, that’s all the explanation Finn and T require. They snap into action, nostrils flaring as they rip him up from the puddle of blood he’s been lying in and slam him into the chair as instructed. They remain alongside him, their aggressive holds forcing him to sit upright despite his unsteady sways.
“That the kind of man you are, Luc? The kind who has to knock around his woman in order to feel big and strong?” Mav releases an eerie chuckle as the coward before him stutters out his reply.
“It was a misunderstanding.” Finn’s grip on his shoulder tightens, causing Luc to wince in response. “I was—”
Luc’s words are suddenly cut off when the barrel of Mav’s Glock is thrust inside his mouth. Mav grips hold of the base of Luc’s chin, forcing his head back as the gun is pushed deeper, muffling his screams.
“Since you’re so prone to misunderstandings, let me be crystal clear. Moving forward, if I am made aware that Daphne Burke has so much of a shadow of a bruise, you are dead. I don’t give a fuck if she trips over the shoes you carelessly left out in the living room. If her body holds a mark that is in any way attributed to a fault of your own, I will cut your legs off and beat you to death with them. Am I clear?”
Luc’s head frantically bobs, nodding his agreement.
“Good boy.” Mav slaps his bloodied cheek, withdrawing the gun and wiping his palm clean against the fabric of Luc’s shirt. “Nick? You got anything you’d like to add before Finn and T take out the trash?”
Luc glances over at me, his blood-soaked skin and swollen eyes masked in a mixture of fear and regret. I’m slow in my approach, using each purposeful step to wrangle any remaining ounce of control I possess. Reaching his side, I grip hold of his hair, ripping his head back to look at me.
“You’ve got to be the dumbest motherfucker on the planet to lay a hand on her. I cannot wait for the day your brains are splattered across my wall. Stay away from what’s mine.”
My grip loosens, tossing his head to the side as I take a step back. Planting my foot against the side of the chair, I give a hard shove, sending him toppling back to the floor. I move to step around him, spitting on the waste of space as I pass.
“Conners!” Mav shouts at my back. “There’s still the matter of reparations to be discussed.”
