“How do we know you’re good for it?” Cherie asks, yanking me out of my head.
I barely resist an eye roll. “You know who my boyfriend is. Of course, I’m good for it.”
“I want five thousand.” Cherie smirks. “Five K a head, and we’ll keep our mouths shut.”
I punch her in the nose, enjoying the sound of bone breaking. “Listen up, bitch. You will accept one thousand, or I’ll hand your ass over to Kent’s FBI-agent brother. Last I checked, prostitution was still illegal in Boston. And let’s not mention your little drug side action.”
She cries, holding her nose, as blood drips down her face. Bugger is restraining her, because she’s primed to retaliate and just stupid enough to try it.
Ignoring Cherie, I level the rest of the customers with a deathly look. “I know all of you, and you all have your secrets. Unless you want me to talk with the FBI, youwillaccept my offer and shut your mouths.” I cast one final glance at them as the sirens wail louder. “Are we clear?” I shout.
They nod, and I look to Bugger.
“We’re good.”
“Get out of here,” I shout. “Now.”
Bugger opens the door, and they flee literally two minutes before the EMTs arrive. The medics ask me a few questions, and I confirm Clay’s identity, fudging the truth about what happened to him. I tell them it was a bar fight and he was hit with a bat and the other guy’s fists, but that’s as much as I’m telling them. They aren’t cops, so they don’t care.
“You need to leave,” Bugger says as soon as the EMTs have removed Clay and put him in the ambulance. “I’m sure one of those bitches had already sent something to The Vipers. They’ll be sniffing around here soon. I don’t want you girls anywhere near here when they come around.”
“I can’t leave,” I say, looking at the mess on the ground. “We need to get rid of the bat and clean the blood and trash the flowers.”
“We’ll handle it,” Bugger says as Digger steps through the door, quickly followed by Ford and Rafe. My eyes pop wide. “I called them.” Bugger answers my unspoken question.
“Go,” Rafe repeats, urging me with his eyes.
“I’ll get our bags.” Mo runs behind the bar to the staff room.
“Why didn’t you intervene?” I ask Bugger.
“Because Clay’s had that coming for a long time,” he says, folding his arms across his broad chest.
“You should have stopped him,” Ford snaps, looking angry. “You’ve just put a target on Kent’s back. Probably Presley’s too.”
“He had already hit him.” Bugger shrugs like it’s no big deal when we both know this is a shitstorm in the making. “Doesn’t matter whether he got one hit or ten hits in. Clay would still want revenge.”
“You can’t come back here, Presley,” Rafe says as Mo emerges from the back with our things.
“I’m sorry.”
“This isn’t your fault,” Ford says, stepping in to hug me.
“And no apology is necessary,” Rafe adds.
“Why would you help Kent?” I ask because Kent isn’t from around here and he’s caused untold issues for Rafe now.
“Because we love you and you love him,” Ford says.
“And Clay isn’t a good man, Presley.” Compassion is etched across Rafe’s face. “I know he protected you as a kid, but there is a lot you don’t know about him.”
I’ve already reached that same conclusion. “If you knew stuff about him, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he would’ve killed us for telling you the truth,” Rafe says, looking apologetic.
“You are close to meeting your goal, Pres,” Ford adds. “We knew that would put distance between you, and we hoped eventually all contact would cease.”
“What about now? Won’t he come after you too?” I’m afraid for my friends.
