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Harrison
“How do you like it?” Sawyer drawls over the video call.
I tap the controls behind the bar to watch the thing skim along a ceiling track and descend down a column on the other side.
“The photographer bots are even bigger, sales-wise,” he goes on.
I scan the club, empty except for a skeleton crew preparing for tonight’s show.
Since Rae walked out on me last night, I’ve needed to prove I’m not coming unhinged. Which is why I’m at Debajo, running my business.
I hang up with Sawyer, and the robot comes down the track across the ceiling, bringing a Post-it note.
Apologize, it says.
“Don’t tell me I hurt your feelings last night,” I toss at my second-in-command as Leni rises from behind the bar.
“Hardly. Your brother and girlfriend on the other hand…” With a cloth, she wipes down the surface. “What’s between you and your family is your business. But you can’t afford to cut your own clubs off at the knees indefinitely.”
The steel edge under Leni’s voice makes me blink. She’s always been a friend and an advisor. But right now, she doesn’t get how close we are to blowing this all up.
The door opens, letting in heated conversation exchanged between security and someone outside.
“What is it?” Leni demands.
“Some guys out back in the parking lot thinking they can sell,” security replies.
I stomp for the door, but the security guard clears his throat. “He’s gone, Mr. King.”
Lucky for him. God knows what I would’ve done in my current mood.
“Ivanov doesn’t sell at Debajo again,” I tell Leni. “If one of our patrons buys so much as a pill on my property, I swear to God I will fire everyone in that establishment. Do whatever it takes to stop it from happening.”
She hesitates before nodding. “On it.”
* * *
Two hours later, I’m back at the villa, cursing my brother and wondering whether Raegan’s lying in bed without me, when the call comes in from Debajo security.
“Señor King, it’s about Leni,” the man says. “They were waiting for her. She tried to stop them...”
I’m in my Ferrari and tearing down the driveway. I don’t look back to see if my personal security is following in their car.
The person who’s stood by me for the last decade is bleeding on a table in the emergency room.
When I arrive at the hospital, I barge in the doors and demand to see her.
“She sustained multiple wounds. She’s in surgery,” a doctor informs me.
The blood drains from my head. “Call me the fucking second she’s out,” I command.
I head out the front doors, kicking a garbage bin on the way.
It’s my fault Leni felt she needed to defend Debajo with the same fierceness I’d defend it with. To stop a deal in progress in the alley, not noticing she was outnumbered or thinking it might be a trap. But she’s not me. And Debajo isn’t hers.
An ambulance pulls up, so I round the corner of the building, more to avoid their eyes than to give them space. There’s a garden, and I grab a tall plant with red flowers by the stalk. I tear it out of the soil.
Another.
