It might be my birthday, but I still have to go to work that night.
Scott’s face is healed enough that he no longer looks like someone used him as a punching bag, so at least I don’t have to do his jobandmine tonight.
When we arrive, there is already a long line out the door. I glance up at the office, looking to see if any lights are on. It’s unusual for Flynn to be away for such a long period of time, and I’m starting to worry that things at the new venue aren’t going so well.
He has a substantial list of investors to secure before we can start renovating, and I can only hope that he’ll get the money we need and be back soon.
I glance at Scott’s face as he makes his way through the side entrance. It still has a ways to go.
Actually, maybe it’s best if Flynn doesn’t come back right now after all. It’ll give Scott a little longer to heal.
As soon as I walk in, I know that Nick and his boys are in the club. Tyrel flanks me the second I hang up my coat.
“When did they arrive?” I ask as we fall into step down the stairs together.
“He was here as soon as we opened. He’s already helped himself to three bottles of vodka from behind the bar. I didn’t know if you’d want me to stop him, but I didn’t.”
“No. That’s fine.”
“What does this guy have on you?” Tyrel asks, his fingers flexing. “Because I can put him in the trunk of my car and drive him over some speedbumps for a couple of hours if it’ll help.”
I stop at the bottom of the stairs, turning to him as he gives me a smug smile.
“Don’t do anything. We don’t want to piss him off, okay?”
“He’s an arrogant son of a bitch.”
“I know, but Monroe is not someone you want to fuck with. He wouldn’t think twice about hurting you. Look what he did to Scott.”
“I’m a lot bigger than your brother.”
“There were three of them.”
Tyrel’s face hardens in a way I’ve rarely seen as he makes a visible effort to tamp down his anger.
“Alright,” he says tightly. “Just don’t deal with him on your own, okay?”
I look into the main club where the music is blasting as the floor begins to fill up. It’s busy, but not too packed yet. Nick and his boys have commandeered the best booth, one that I know for a fact we’ve got booked out all night to paying patrons. Fuck…
I step beneath the psychedelic lights above my head as we move onto the main dancefloor. Tyrel is a huge, reassuring presence behind me, but I would rather be alone. I don’t want him to hear Nick’s posturing or any of the details of the debt we owe. The last thing I need is for the staff to find out that Scott has a gambling problem.
We make our way around the dance floor slowly, as I assess Nick from a distance. He and his boys seem to be having a good time already; one of the vodka bottles is half empty.
“Well, well, good evening, Jax,” Monroe says immediately as I approach. “It’s so lovely to see you again,” he croons, leaning forward in his seat, and flashing me a yellow stained-tooth smile.
He’s in a ridiculous outfit tonight, with a black cape draped over his shoulders like he’s in a 1920’s mafia movie.
The lights flicker across his face, burying into the scars and pockmarks on his skin. There’s a sliminess about him that makes my skin crawl.
“You have everything you need?” I ask, through gritted teeth.
“I will,” he says evenly. “When I get my money tomorrow.”
His eyes are twinkling, as if this is all fun and games to him, and I have to clasp my hands behind my back to stop myself from grabbing him by his cape and slamming his head into the table.
With the money I’ve made this week, we’re almost up to twenty grand again. But this payment situation isn’t sustainable; it’s only a matter of time before it all falls apart.
Nick isn’t even bothering to come in person tomorrow; his man of business is meeting Scott behind the club to collect the money.
