Payment.
“Okay, okay. I’ll stop asking questions,” I say, and he laughs.
I throw the envelope into the safe beneath the counter then shove the clipboard at him before stalking through the Dungeon towards the poker tables in the back corner.
Harley wasn’t for this side of the business but Caspian and Maverick talked him into it, and the minute he gave them the green light they made this part of the building their own little gambling corner.
The crowd parts slightly when they notice me coming. Funny how fast reputations spread underground. Three months ago nobody knew who the fuck Hayden Marks was… now?
Now drunk idiots lower their voices when I walk by.
As they fucking should.
The Deluca twins sit at the far poker table pretending they don’t see me approaching.
Nico and Matteo.
Mid-twenties, trust-fund coke dealers with rich parents and inflated egos. The kind of guys who think wearing expensive watches make them dangerous.
Spoiler alert… it doesn’t.
Nico spots me first and mutters, “Aw, hell.”
Matteo immediately throws his cards down. “We already told your guy we’ll have the money next week,” he says with annoyance dripping in his tone.
So I drag out the empty chair across from them and sit down calmly. That usually scares people more.
They share a look.
A frantic one at that.
Good. I want them to be scared.
“See,” I say conversationally, “the thing about the Dungeon is we’re not really a layaway program.”
“Relax, Ghost. It’s eight grand. You’ll get it,” Nico says, forcing a laugh.
I tilt my head slightly. “You got eighty seconds before I break something expensive.”
Matteo scoffs loudly. “You think because you won a few fights around here you’re suddenly tough?”
Wrong fucking answer.
I grab the poker table hard enough to flip the entire thing sideways. Chips and cards explode everywhere while people jump back shouting. Nico barely managed to stumble away before the heavy wood slams into the wall behind me.
The music keeps playing.
Nobody intervenes, not even Caspian, who just walked through the front doors.
This is normal here.
I stand slowly while Matteo shoots to his feet. “You fucking psycho!” he yells as Nico steps forward, puffing out his chest.
“You don’t scare u—”
I hit him before he finishes the sentence.
My fist cracks across his nose hard enough to spray blood over the cards scattered on the floor. The crowd nearby instantly erupts into drunk cheers.
