“Gentlemen.”Nic widened his stance.“You want to tell me who sent you here?”
The dark-haired one tried to skirt around Nic to the door.“Your father give you the money for this place?”
Nic blocked him.“Not a single goddamn dime.”
“If he did”—Goon One talked over him—“we’d have to take our cut.Your father’s debts are growing by the day.”
Nic schooled his features, more to hide his anger than any sort of surprise.He’d heard the rumors floating around.His father, Curtis Price, was selling off his real estate holdings.Most speculated he was cashing out, old age and a booming real estate market hastening the sell-off.Nic knew better.One, cashing out for what?Curtis sure as shit wasn’t putting the money away for him.And two, his father never gave up control of anything unless he was forced to.So now, whatever upside-down deal he’d made was blowing back on Nic.
“Wonder what this property would sell for?”Goon Two said.“I suspect the value might decline if something unfortunate were to happen.Alcohol burns fast, I hear.”
“Bet the insurance proceeds would be significant,” Goon One added.
Red-hot rage surged through Nic.He kept a lid on it, barely, taking a measured breath and keeping his aim steady, an idle tune flitting through his head.“I asked who sent you here.”
Goon One reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a card.He held it out to Nic.“Our employer wants to be sure you’re aware of the issue.”
A mind-boggling dollar amount was scribbled on the back of the heavy ecru cardstock.Nic turned it over and bit back a curse as he read the printed block letters.
VAUGHN INVESTMENTS.
He should have fucking known.Duncan Vaughn, the man Nic’s father was apparently indebted millions to, was a prominent “real estate investor,” among other things.Crook was more accurate.
“That what those shots at me earlier today were about?”Nic asked.
Silence from the Goon Squad.
“I haven’t spoken a word to my father in twenty-seven years,” Nic carried on, “and I don’t want a fucking cent of his money.Never did.He sells his properties, Vaughn can take the money.Leave me and my brewery the fuck out of it.”
“Your last namePrice?”Goon One said.
Nic gritted his teeth.
“We’re just here to remind you.”
“Take your reminders and shove them up your ass.”
Goon Two smirked.“I hear you’re fond of shoving things in asses.”
Nic snapped.He shot out a leg, sweeping the thug’s out from under him, dropping him to the ground, and shoved the pistol in his face, all the while keeping the other weapon trained on Goon One.“I don’t want to see either of you here again.If you set one foot on these premises or inside the brewery, or harass any of my staff, I’ve got weapons deadlier than these.And I know how to use them.”
He stepped back, far enough for Goon Two to scramble to his feet.He could take these two into custody right now.Cuff them and call the cops or Cam to come get them.But in the past, he’d seen Vaughn’s goons get off with barely a slap on the wrist.Nic would get more out of this encounter by letting them go, tracing the weapons, and fishing for more information, without letting on that he was going to cause trouble.
“Give those back to us,” Goon Two said, jutting his chin at the pistols.
“No way in hell.”Nic’s aim didn’t waver.He’d held weapons aloft for much longer than this before.“Now get the fuck out of here.”
The dark-haired one moved, preparing to attack, but Blondie had had enough.He put a hand out, holding him back.“Another time, Mr.Price.”
Nic sure as fuck hoped not.
They disappeared out the back lot, a car roaring to life and peeling away seconds later.Clicking on the pistols’ safeties, Nic shoved them in his back waistband and picked up the phone he’d dropped in the scuffle.
TheUnknowncaller had hung up.No way to call back either.“Shit!”
Hurrying inside, he slammed the door closed behind him, the plate glass rattling, and forced his keyed-up self to wait for the lock to reengage.Once it glowed red, he headed for the tasting bar, laid the handguns and phone out on a bar towel, then poured himself another pint of Pils.He quenched his dry mouth and waited for his pulse to slow.For his mind to move past worry—for his brewery, his business, his future—and on to formulating a plan to save it.
He needed information.And backup.
