Now
Last Call is at capacity. From the private balcony above the main floor of the club my brothers and I own, I stand, arms crossed, scanning the crowd, the way I always do—practiced, methodical.
The bar maxed out over an hour ago and the line to get in now circles the block.
It’s a good weekend for us. The colleges are back in session, and hockey season is starting up again.
My eyes catch on a tiny dark-haired girl squeezing her way through the dance floor, but just as soon as I give her a second glance, I already know… it’s nother. I’m meant to be keeping an eye on the crowd, but somehow it always ends up with me looking for her.
They’re neverher.
The fact that I can’t help it pisses me the fuck off. I hate the way my eyes catch on every five-foot-something, dark-haired girl,just in case.
For what reason,I don’t fucking know.It doesn’t matter. My little ballerina, forever dancing fucking circles around my head.If I had known that almost five years later I’d still be thinking abouther, I never would have gone after her that night.
Sheruinedme.
My little Rose was a brand of drug all her own. One I’ve never been able to find anything close to. No one else compares. She crawled under my skin, injected herself into my bloodstream with a single kiss—the taste of her potent, like the sweetest of drugs, and after just one hit, I was hers.
But I couldn’t have her, and I fucking hated her for it.
“What’s Aidan doing?” Mac asks and that grabs my attention. He leans forward over the railing, signaling to both Jerrad and Garrett who are down on the floor tonight, backing up the bouncers.
I look down, easily spotting my brother stalking through the packed crowd. It parts easily for the growling six-foot-three hockey god as he prowls closer to the dance floor.
Both of my brothers are here tonight, and we have them to thank for this packed crowd, and the line curving around the block outside.
They’re here celebrating the Boston Breakers, their pro hockey team’s first pre-season win tonight. And they’ve brought most of their team and cheerleaders with them.
And where the team goes, sport fanatics and puck bunnies tend to follow, and I’m happy to reap the benefits. The better our legit businesses do, the less shady shit we have to run in the background.
I keep my eyes on my brother. He never leaves VIP when he’s here with the team; he comes out of obligation only, typically bowing out at the first opportunity. Unlike our man-whore of a little brother who I can see over by the back bar. Liam’s got a girl draped on each arm, neck-deep in shots of Jack, oblivious to everything going on around him as he takes his time making out with each girl, not an ounce of shame in sight.
Aidan’s eyes are fixed on something up ahead, his fists curled at his side. It could be trouble, and instinctively, my hand trails over to the gun at my waist. Pushing through the crowded dance floor, he makes it to his destination, both Garrett and Jerrad not far behind, and now I can see just what has caught my younger brother’s attention.
His little Russian obsession.
Aurora Kostalova, aka Rory, the Bratva princess, is talking to none other than Cam Reeves—or well,was talking to him,as Aidan sees to that immediate problem.
I shake my head, my hand leaving the handle of my gun to run down my face.
Mac sits back too, taking a sip from his beer and laughing, enjoying the show. “Your brother is down bad for that girl.”
He laughs again when I growl into my cup, watching the situation play out below.
He’s not wrong.
And Mac would know, he’s known Aidan almost as long as I have.
While my brothers still do work for the Devils, neither of them wanted this life and chose to pursue hockey instead. However, our father’s recent death has pulled them back into the trenches, and, despite my repeated attempts to throw them back out, they insist on sticking around until we’ve gotten revenge on whoever it was that murdered him in cold blood.
My jaw tightens and I grind my teeth. Aidan’s obsession with the Bratva’s angel will undoubtedly be the match strike that lights the powder keg that is the Boston underworld right now. In the weeks following my father’s murder, tension between the ruling families has just about reached a breaking point.
Rory storms out of the club, my brother trailing behind her, and I shake my head. I told him to stay away from her, to leave the Russians to their business, but he never fucking listens.
“What about you?” Mac asks.
“What about me?” I respond without looking at him. My eyes still scan the crowd, ignoring the girl lingering around the door to VIP, the one who’s noticed us standing above her and keeps batting her fake eyelashes our way.
