“Now, Gus wants to meet,” Roman finishes. With a flick of his wrist, the click-click of the blinker echoes through the quiet cab of his car as he pulls into the strip club’s parking lot. He finds an empty spot seconds later, then turns off the engine.
Resigned, Ford asks, “What do you want us to do, Jag?”
Hell if I know. I’m still trying to wrap my head around why Gus wants to meet in the first place. What about tonight would’ve been different than our regular Harden events? Nothing, except…tonight there was a predicted outcome. The question is, was Gus aware of it?
“Follow my lead,” I mutter. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I promise I’ll fix this.”
With a low exhale, Ford shoves open the door and steps outside. Not acknowledging me. But not fighting me on it, either.
“He’ll be all right,” Roman says. He climbs out and leaves me alone in the car.
Sure, he will.
The place is emptier than normal. Probably because it’s two in the morning and most were at the fight. Or maybe not. I’ve only been here a handful of times. I look around the establishment.Like the last time, a girl is on stage as a sexy beat plays through the speakers. In nothing but pasties and a thong, she spins around the pole, and I glance toward the bar in search of a game plan.
“We’re here to meet with Gus,” Roman announces.
A man in a black T-shirt and dark jeans takes us toward a booth in the back. Even with a possible concussion, I don’t miss the strain radiating off him. Yeah…shit’s about to get real. Then I spot him. Gus. He’s facing us, talking to someone across from him. Brown hair cropped close to the head is all I can see. Until…
“Shit,” Ford mumbles under his breath. It’s so quiet, I’m surprised I hear him at all. He looks up at me, and I shake my head, silently telling him to keep moving and not show our hand while keeping my expression under wraps, no matter how pissed I am.
Ethan fucking Morgan.
His face is even more mangled than I remember. A nasty bruise and some solid swelling make it almost impossible to even see his right eye. Tape covers the bridge of his nose, confirming I broke it earlier tonight. Good. The asshole had it coming.
Why is he here?
Despite feeling like I’m running on empty, my heart pounds in my chest. It spreads adrenaline and frustration through my veins at speeds that leave me laser focused until the rest of the world fades around me, just like when I’m in the ring. I welcome the familiarity with a deep, cleansing breath.
I’ll get us through this. I have to.
When Gus notices us coming, he motions for us to sit on the opposite side. Instead, Roman grabs a nearby table. The screech of its legs against the linoleum floor is like nails on a chalkboard as he drags it closer. Adding three seats around the edges, he offers me the nearest one, and I sit down. Ford does the same onmy right. We keep the left one empty in case Hawke decides to show up, though I doubt he will.
“Still holding a grudge, I see,” Gus murmurs.
Untucking an envelope from his leather jacket, Roman offers it to the guy from the front. He takes a quick glance inside before handing it to Gus.
“Tonight’s cut,” Roman clarifies.
Gus doesn’t bother looking inside. He simply sets it on the table and rests his hand on top of it.
Dragging my attention from the stack of cash to Gus, I ask, “Want to tell us why we’re here?”
“You and I have a problem,” Gus says.
Yeah, no shit.
I sit back in the chair, feigning boredom. “What kind of problem?”
“You see, my nephew here,”—Gus’s glare cuts to Morgan—“he says you cheated.”
No fucking way.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from losing my shit, but it doesn’t stop Ford.
“This guy wants to talk about cheating?” Ford laughs. “Did he tell you about last?—”
I knock Ford’s foot beneath the table, and he shuts up quick, though he doesn’t appear too happy about it. Ignoring him, I offer, “If you’d like to challenge the refs’ calls, you’re more than welcome to.”
