We pound fists and I join Angel as Ritchie’s driven out of sight.
“What did he want?”
“We’re on babysitting duty until the Mayor wins his election.”
Angels’ frown matches my own.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll be paid handsomely,” I mimic Ritchie.
He snorts. “Well, that makes it alright then.”
Straddling my bike, I tell him, “She’s at the club now. We’ll deal with her then we’ll look into who was shooting at us.”
“I text Darius while you were with Ritchie. He’s gonna get his crew listening out.”
I mull over the last hour, and it starts to give me a headache. First the shit with Ford and Warren. Then we’re shot at. Now we’re babysitters for a guy I’d rather put a bullet in. I think of the cash it will bring in. One of my targets is to not only make the club financially stable, but financially flush. I want us to be prepared for anything, and money is always the answer to problems. That or a bullet, but even then, it takes money to pay for those bullets.
It occurs to me I didn’t get a name for the Mayor’s daughter. I take her in as I walk into the bar, with Angel on my flank.
Besides the appearance of wealth in her expensive clothes and porcelain skin, she looks to be in pain. Her weary gaze tracks my every step until I reach the table she’s sat at with the guy who turned up with her.
“Are you hurt?” I ask her.
“No, I need to use the bathroom.”
Angel snorts. “Then fuckin’ use it.” As if the simplest solution is impossible to her.
“He…” she points at the prospect. “Wouldn’t let me.”
All eyes hit the prospect, and he shrugs. “What? Luca said she wasn’t to leave the bar. It’s not my fault she didn’t piss before she left wherever the fuck she came from.”
I keep my grin on lockdown. Between cutting Effie’s finger off and now this, his loyalty to me is shining through.
“Escort her to the bathroom and bring her straight back,” I instruct him.
The guy she came with watches me, but I turn my back on him and quietly ask King, “Tor? Has she been down?”
He shakes his head. “Haven’t seen her and I’ve been here since you left.”
She hasn’t text me back either so she must still be asleep.
I pull out a chair and I’m caught off guard when I go to light a cigarette. It’s been a while since I quit and it’s still my go-to move to relieve stress.
The Mayor’s daughter returns and sits closer to the guy she came with.
“What’s your name?”
“Annabel Green.”
The guy opens his mouth, no doubt to tell me his, but I hold my hand up.
“You’re irrelevant. I don’t need to know your name. I’m back now, you can fuck off.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I stay as long as she does,” he informs me.
“I’d say there’s a long list of reasons why that’s not gonna be happening but there isn’t. I say you’re not, so you won’t.”
Over my shoulder, I jerk my chin at the prospect. “Escort him out.”
