Before that, I pull out my phone again and call Riley back.
“Hayley, thank god! Are you still at the airport? Did you leave yet?” he asks me, sounding panicked.
“Not yet. Why?” I tell him. “I just checked in.”
“I messed up, Hay, like really bad,” he says.
I groan. Of course he messed up. It’s what he does best. “Riley, what did you do?”
Chapter Two
December is the busiest time of the year for me. My nightclub, Pulse, is the hottest spot on the Miami strip. Our December event space is booked out three years inadvance. Not to mention all the tourists and locals wanting to get together and let loose for the holidays.
Tonight is no different. The place is fucking packed from wall to wall. I look down at the crowd from where I’m standing on the third-floor balcony.
“Good night?”
My head turns and I smile when I see Colton, my second in command, who also happens to be my best friend.
“It is.” I nod. “Everything set for the meetup?”
Pulse is my baby, my legitimate baby that I use to launder the dirty money we bring in from other… less-legitimate ventures. Tonight, I’m meeting with a cartel boss to secure a coke deal that will increase our profit margins by a quarter. And when you’re already working in the millions, a quarter increase is a fucking lot of money. I need this deal to go through without any hiccups.
“Everything’s in place,” Colton says. “You look like you need a drinkorsome pussy. You’re wound far too fucking tight.” He slaps a hand down on my shoulder.
Right now, I’d take either. I try to remember the last time I got laid, and when I realize I have to think about it, I know it’s been way too fucking long. I don’t do dry spells. I do busy spells. I’ve been working day and night and haven’t had time to indulge.
“Let’s get a drink,” I tell Colton, knowing if I were to choose option number two, it’d be an all-night event. I am not some two-pump chump.
As we make our way down to the lower floor, where most of the patrons hang out, the crowds disperse, mostly because the two security guards I have walking in front of us are shoving everyone out of our way. And partly because when they do bother to look up, they see me stalking towards them.
It would be easier to have a drink in my office or on the VIP floor. I like coming down here, though. I like being seen. It deters the fuckers who are stupid enough to try to do anythingin my club. It works for the most part. But every now and then, I have to make an example.
I don’t let my own drugs come into this club—no fucking way will I let others bring that shit in here. Like I said, this is a legitimate business. I keep it clean. Besides the dirty money I already mentioned.
When Colton and I reach the bar, two glasses of whiskey are waiting for us and two barstools are empty. Being the owner has perks.
I sit at the end of the bar, pick up the glass, and bring it to my lips. Colton’s gaze is stuck on a leggy blonde a few spots over, and I know I’ve lost him.
Shaking my head, I lean in and stand. “See you in a few minutes.”
“Fuck off. It’ll be at least half an hour.” He smirks.
“Sure it will.”
I laugh before making my way through the crowd to head back up to my office. Until something catches my eye. Not something,someone. Some fucking kid passes a clear plastic baggy to one of my patrons.
“Grab the fucker and bring him upstairs,” I tell my head of security. He’s never far from my back. He nods and makes a beeline for the kid.
Looks like I’ve just found a way to release some of this built-up tension.
By the time I’ve reached my office, my rage has simmered to a nice boiling point. I sit behind my desk, draw the pistol from my top drawer, and place it right in front of me. I want this little fucker to see just how much shit he’s in.
Andre comes in with a skinny-ass kid struggling in his hands. His feet dragging across the carpet. I wait for Andre to place him in the seat directly opposite mine, his hand firmly placed on the kid’s shoulder.
“How old are you?” is my first question, because the boy looks fucking prepubescent to me.
“E-eighteen,” the kid stutters out.
