Even if he is my only lead.
Across the room, the observant little waitress watches me watch Benny. Her forehead furrows. Clearly she worries about my motives. She’s right to worry.
I tear my attention away from her.
Do I want to toss her over my shoulder, carry her to a private room, rip that ridiculous maid outfit off her sweet body, and fuck her six ways to Sunday?
Only an idiot wouldn’t.
Still, she’s a complication I don’t need when I have my brother’s untimely demise to investigate. Though the coroner ruled Mikhail Kozlov Jr.’s death a suicide, I knew my brother better than that.
Someone killed him.
And once I find thatsukin syn, he’ll regret the day he was born.
Benny throws back the drink in one swallow. Hidden by the crowd, I count the seconds between each of his nervous glances at the door.
Eight.
Six.
Four.
He’s waiting for someone and growing more anxious by the minute. Good. Nervous men mess up.
When he heads for the bathroom, I close the distance, timing my approach to intersect him in the narrow hallway that reeks of bleach. Back here, no one lingers nearby to witness our interaction. It’s just us and the muffled bass.
I block his path. “Bathroom’s occupied.”
His unfocused, bloodshot eyes widen with awareness when they drift to my face. “Do I know you?”
“Not yet. But you will.” I casually prop one hand on the wall beside his shaggy brown head like we’re old friends having a chat.
He attempts to dart around me. “Listen, man, I gotta take a leak.”
My other hand seizes his shoulder, my fingers digging into the flesh where the trapezius muscle meets the neck.
I apply just enough pressure to cause his knees to dip. “No, you don’t.”
“Come on. I haven’t done anything. I’m just letting off some steam and minding my own business.”
His entire body tenses, and sweat glistens on his forehead.
So the bastard does know me, probably from one of the times I visited Mikhail in prison. Maybe MJ told him about me. Or maybe one of the other residents did.
An overwhelming wave of regret slams into me.
Fuck, I miss my brother. But now isn’t the time for grief.
I shut down those emotions, clearing my mind and focusing on Benny.
He cranes his neck this way and that, but no one shows up to rescue him. “I don’t want no trouble.”
“Good. Neither do I.” I ease off on the pressure. “I just want you to answer a few questions.”
His throat works on a swallow. One of the sweat beads rolls down his nose. “Here? Now? I need to?—”
I slap the wall near his head and delight in his flinch. “You need to cooperate.” Leaning close to his face, I ignore the cheap whiskey on his breath and lower my voice to a vicious whisper. “And I don’t give a single fuck about your timetable.”
