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The tension swirls between us, crackling anger radiating off Lorcan.
“He doesn’t know I have any loyalty to you.”
Lorcan nods, thinking. “Good. We can use that to our advantage.” He straightens up suddenly and says, “Go to the meeting. Hear what he has to say.”
“You got it.”
“I’ll tell Qari Chavez to stop their next coke shipment to Philly in the meantime.” He mutters something raspy and cruel under his breath, balling his hands into fists. “Me and Poppy are trying again.”
I raise an eyebrow. “For another baby?”
“Yeah,” he smolders. “So a war is the last fucking thing I need.”
“Well,” I say, rapping the table with my knuckles and heading to the door. “I’ll call you.”
“All right, kid. Oh, and Cill?”
I turn in the doorway.
“Thank you. We appreciate your loyalty.”
I shrug and say, “Don’t. If he offers me the right price, I’d consider popping you off.”
He half laughs, half grunts, and I narrowly dodge the shard of porcelain he lobs at my head.
Cillian
The chick with the big tits and the black eye pours me a Moscow Mule and slides it across the bar with a napkin and a forced smile.
I don’t meet her eye and I don’t touch the drink.
Room 101.
God, this place makes me fucking sick.
The muscle in my jaw is working overtime as I scan the club. It’s busy for a Wednesday, full of sick fuckers leering at naked girls writhing around on podiums, and even sicker fuckers behind the steel doors, beating their meat while they watch women be tortured by their biggest fear. Despite the house music vibrating over the speakers, I can hear the screams.
Why the fuck would Luca Abruzzo want to meet here? Is he into this sadistic shit? Does he thinkI’minto this sadistic shit? I mutter a curse under my breath, pushing the ice cubes around the liquor. The thought of Dahlia being so desperate that she was considering getting a job here makes me want to burn the entire building to the ground.
There’s someone behind me and I stiffen. A hand on my shoulder. A small one. It trembles as it squeezes my muscles. Hot breath, liquor fueled, and the scent of cheap perfume linger by my ear.
“Hey, handsome.” I jerk around and meet the eyes of a woman. A girl. She’s barely eighteen, painted with makeup an inch thick to make her look years older. “Wanna know what scares me?”
“Your future prospects?” I mutter back.
Confusion flashes over her features, then she reapplies the sultry smile on her lips. Leaning in closer, she says, “Drowning. Come see me in my tank…”
I twist away from her, curling my fists on the bar. My lighter burns a hole in my pocket. If I was a better man, I’d send this place up in flames, then torture the sick fuck that owns it.
But I’m not a better man. These women aren’t mine to save, so when I see Abruzzo walk in, I turn my attention back to the task at hand.
Abruzzo strides past me, sinking into a booth in the back corner of the club. I wait a few moments, then take my drink and join him in the shadows.
The same big-titted server that poured me the Moscow Mule comes over with a whiskey for Abruzzo. White heat courses through my veins. She knows his order. This mother fucker is a regular here.
“I appreciate your time,” he eventually says over the rim of his drink. “I hear you’re the best.”
“You hear right.”
