A motorcycle drives by, and I can’t ignore the lurch I feel in my chest.
My gaze follows the bike down the street, even though it’s not the Basin Kings… and it’s not him.
Still, something hums under my skin. Something buzzing and tingling. It’s not quite warmth, but it’s not far off. Just a flicker of the same something I felt last week, when I was on my knees in the back office of the bar.
I keep my gaze on the window as the bike fades into the distance, and I’m left with nothing but the silence it leaves behind.
Maybe what I’m looking for isn’t in the bottle… and I’ve been chasing the wrong burn.
SIX
The rumbleof my Harley Davidson echoes off stone pillars as I pull up near the front steps ofBayridge Country Cluband kill the engine.
“Sir, you can’t park here,” a valet says, stepping out from behind his fuckingpodiumwith a slick suit, too much hair gel, and not enough authority.
For a brief moment, I consider telling him where he can stick his clipboard. But I head up the stairs as his voice trails off behind me, and I haul open the massive front door. I’m already pissed about the hour-and-a-half drive to Rothesay to nail this fuckwit down, and just being here is getting me even more riled up.
This place is all stone columns and glass, polished brass door handles that probably get wiped down between handshakes, and manicured shrubs in matching planters. It’s the kind of place where old money goes to pretend they don’t launder theirs too, and where new money slaps each other on the back and makes jokes about ethics between bites of seared tuna.
I push through the glass doors and walk into a lobby that smells like money and lemons, with soft, smug backgroundmusic playing. The murmur of overpriced lunch and scotch comes from the dining room to the left, so I head that way.
And I’m met with another fucking podium. Jesus. This one is manned by a young-looking girl in a navy blazer, who stands up straighter when she sees me.
“Hi… welcome to?—”
I walk right past her, not in the mood to be asked for a membership card I obviously don’t have, and head straight into the dining room. Tables full of pastel polos and Rolexes go quiet as I walk through, and people glance up from their overpriced salmon salads before quickly looking away.
Victor Thorne’s at a table near the windows with a few other men, all middle-aged and self-approving with their sport coats draped over the backs of their chairs.
But Victor is one of the wealthiest assholes in this room. He’s a repeat customer of the Basin Kings, and until now, he was one of the few who paid on time and didn’t ask questions. He used to throw money down like it didn’t matter—for Ferraris, Bentleys, even a fucking boat once.
And this time, it’s a Porsche 911.
Herequested it. He said he wanted in on our auction so he could outbid everyone. And now he’s trying to back out and fuck us over.
Not today, Vic.
I walk up to his table and pull out the empty chair across from him. He goes pale as I take a seat and lock my eyes on his, and the other men still.
Victor clears his throat and sets his scotch down gently. “If you could give us a moment, gentlemen.”
They hesitate, but I don’t look at them. I keep my eyes on Victor as they eventually stand and slip away. Victor then makes a motion to wave someone off, which is likely security, and cautiously brings his attention back to me.
But I continue to sit in silence and let him make the first move.
He shifts in his seat. “Look, you have to understand?—”
“Oh, that’s where you’re very wrong,” I say. “I do understand. You asked for something, and we delivered. You specifically wanted a Porsche 911 so you could show up to the auction, toss your money around and outbid every asshole in the room. You wanted to beat them all. But you didn’t just want the car… You wanted the status. The attention. The fucking applause. You wanted to look like the most sophisticated, most successful prick in the room, and make damn sure everyone saw it.”
I lean in, and he leans back.
“We used to do this quietly. You ask, we deliver. Butyouwanted to make a show of it this time, andyouwanted to use our auction to make yourself look good.”
His gaze darts around the room to check if anyone’s watching. And I don’t have to take my eyes off him to know they are.
“Eyes on me, fucker. I’m talking to you.”
They immediately snap back to mine.
