Page 28 of Dirty Pool

Still, he learned.

And fast.

If something felt wrong, then chances were, it was. He didn’t ignore his gut—nothing good came from him suppressing his instincts. Bad shit always happened then, and he wasn’t willing to risk that this was one of those times.

“Someone over there where you’re looking?” Michel asked the man.

Instantly, the guy’s gaze came back to him. His eyes were a little too wide. There was something staring back—worry, maybe?

The man blinked, and it was gone. A smile quickly replaced his concern, but none of that mattered to Michel. He’d seen what he needed to the first time around, and that was enough to tell him that he needed to get the fuck out of there.

Someone was over in the crowd.

Someone was watching.

Cops.

Someone wanting to jump him.

Junkies thinking he’d be an easy victim.

Who knew?

Michel wasn’t about to find out.

He was quick to push off the stool, not even bothering to give the guy a second look as he grabbed his messenger bag from the bar. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Michel nodded at the bartender who, clearly having heard the conversation, was already reaching for a phone to call for someone to meet Michel in the back.

Because yeah, they’d planned for this.

That’s why he liked this club.

“Another time, man,” Michel told the guy who’d approached him as he started walking away. “I’m all out tonight.”

“Hey, wait—”

Michel tossed a hand up over his shoulder, but kept walking toward the back of the club. There should have been an enforcer or two in the back alley behind the club. That’s where they were usually located, anyway. He didn’t feel at all nervous as he headed for the hallway that would lead to the bathrooms, and two exits. He couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, though, just to check …

Sure enough, three figures cut through the crowd.

Coming right for him.

Fuck.

Michel picked up his steps as he slipped into the shadows of the hallway. He didn’t bother to check behind his shoulder again as he came up to the exit. Another few steps, and he’d be fine because the enforcers would be waiting out back.

Or they should have been.

Michel found an empty alleyway when he stepped out of the exit. The door shut behind him far too quickly—it was only an exit, there was no way to get back in. He didn’t really have time to question why the enforcers weren’t back here, not when someone was already following him and he just had to get away.

Panic welled in his chest fast and swift, like a current within the ocean ready to drag him under and drown him. He had what, maybe thirty seconds?

Or less.

Those three people coming after him had been pretty close. Maybe twenty seconds, then. He thought about the knife in his bag, and the small switchblade he kept in his pocket. A gun would have been better, but he’d never been one to carry a weapon like that. His mother liked to say guns were heavy, loud, and hard to hide.

She wasn’t wrong.

Michel darted down the alleyway, already pulling the switchblade out of his pocket and flicking the button on the side. The blade popped out as he heard the door open behind him, and footsteps echoed down the alley as his walk turned into a jog.