Eight nights to go.
After a twenty-four-hourlong display of gut-crushing tension, the Ring is coming to a close.
Cass hasn’t slept but he still manages to look like a damnMen’s Healthcover model with his dark hair falling over one brow and clear green eyes watching the players like a hawk. He beckons me over and leans into my ear, lowering his voice.
“Remo needs to talk to you outside.”
“What about?”
“He wouldn’t say.” He floats an eye over the room. “We’re almost done here anyway. I’ll let you know if anything exciting happens.”
By exciting he means a party of bullets. It has been known to occur at the end of a Ring game, hence the sound-proof walls, though we do try to keep such antics to a minimum. It’s not worth the cost of a deep clean.
Not one pair of eyes follows as I leave again. The pressure is so swollen it could split the room open.
Remo is standing outside, his back leaning up against the wall. His head turns when I close the door, and we walk side-by-side down the corridor.
“The Irish want to meet. Tonight,” he says, matching me stride for stride, until I pause.
“Why?”
He pushes open a door to the back of the club, and we step out into an area not a hundred yards from where I just buried my cock in Pfeiffer. A wave of heat rolls up my body, taking me by surprise.
“They’re being cagey.”
That doesn’t sound comforting. “You talked to them about the Cuban shipment?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. They seemed fine about it. Appeased. Didn’t think we’d hear from them again to be honest.”
We walk out to the parking lot, a soft drizzle coating our skin. “And they haven’t given you any clue about why they want to meet?”
“Nope.”
I unlock my car with the key fob and it lights up in the distance. “Where are they?”
“I’ve been there before. I’ll show you.”
I stop and face him. “No need. I don’t think they pose a threat, and you have shit to deal with in Jersey. I’ll call you after and let you know what’s going on.”
“Okay,” he squints, communicating his reluctance to let me go alone. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
I have a feeling I need to do this on my own.
Remo slides his phone out his jacket and types something out, then my phone pings.
“Just sent you the address.”
“Thanks.”
I turn to walk away but something gives me pause.
“Pfeiffer just arrived. Don’t let her back in the basement.”
Remo shoves his hands into his pockets, his thick hair growing damp in the rain.
“The Ring?”
