“My nephew insists you had an agreement.” Gus steeples his fingers in front of him. “One on which you failed to deliver.”
So Gus did know. Interesting. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe I should’ve expected it. Intel like this could’ve earned Gus a pretty penny. There’s only one problem. Instead of it paying out, it screwed him over.
Regardless, it shouldn’t be my problem, but Morgan’s turning this entire shit show on me. Like it’s my fault I couldn’t betray my brothers in exchange for my girlfriend’s house, which should’ve never been on the docket in the first place.
I breathe in deep through my nose but don’t shift in the seat no matter how hard it feels to sit still. “I’m aware of what I lost,” I answer.
“Yes, but you see, what you are not aware of, is whatIlost,” Gus continues. The same, unnerving glare cuts to Morgan, and Gus drops his voice low. “And I hate losing.”
Morgan slams his palms against the table. “I swear it was a sure thing?—”
Gus lifts his hand, silencing him. Morgan shakes his head but manages to swallow the rest of his words, though he doesn’t look too happy about it.
With a bark of amusement, Ford leans back in his chair, spreading his legs beneath the table. “Let me guess. Your nephew told you an easy way to make some money. So you loaned him some cash to place a bet on tonight’s fight because he swore it was a”—Ford lifts his hands and does air quotes—“sure thing. Then, when he lost, he came here bitching to you.”
Gus turns to Ford, his eyes thinning. “You find this funny, Mr. Harden?”
“Nah, what’s funny is how much shit my brothers and I get for being a Harden and getting hand outs for every little thing, but this guy”—Ford motions to Morgan—“gets his ass handed to him, and instead of dealing with the repercussions like a man, he comes whining to Uncle Gus. Talk about nepotism at its finest.” He scoffs. “Am I right, Gus?”
Damn you and mouth, Ford, I want to grit out, but the die has been cast, and all I can do is sit and watch and wait. My attention shifts from my brother to Gus. The ball’s in his court. Is he going to take our side? Is he going to see reason? Oris he going to lean into the nepotism my brother referred to and bail out his nephew while screwing us over in the process? Statistically speaking, the man’s a wild card. I’ve known it from the beginning. It’s why doing business with him is risky. It’s why my uncle and father were so scared for us. And yes, they had good reason to be, but I never thought we’d get here. That we’d potentially land on Gus’s bad side despite our best attempts to stay in the clear. Keeping my hands on the table, I force them to stay relaxed, refusing to give even the smallest hint of what I’m internally battling.
Finally, Gus breaks the silence. “Gambling is not for the faint of heart. My nephew lost, and there will be repercussions.”
“Thank fuck,” Ford says in a way that’s both relieved and cocky all at once.
“However,” Gus continues as if my baby brother hadn’t spoken at all, “now that I know I cannot trust your organization, my nephew will be allowed to take bets for the foreseeable future.”
Ford’s chair clatters against the ground as he shoves himself to his feet. “What?”
“We had an agreement,” I seethe.
“You promised to play fair with people from The Drift. Instead, you coordinated a faulty bet. And that, I cannot tolerate.”
“Bullshit!” Ford seethes, oblivious to the bouncer behind him reaching for the gun on his belt. “If you’d won like you thought you would tonight, we wouldn’t be?—”
“Roman,” I snap.
On his feet in a flash, Roman shoves Ford away from the table and grabs the back of his neck. ”We’ll be outside.”
As they both disappear toward the front, the bouncer settles down, appearing bored.
That was close. Too close. I’ve always known dealing with Gus could be dangerous. Even though we took the Ford approach and looked at the guy like he was nothing but a landlord and we were renting space from him, it’s never been difficult to recognize how much power the man actually possesses. To be fair, I’m pretty sure it’s why my father’s scared of him, even if he’d never admit it out loud. Gus Toro is not a guy you want to piss off, and we’ve never even come close to crossing the line. Not until tonight. Time to tread very carefully.
Turning back to Gus, I say, “I apologize for my brother’s…outburst.”
His chin dips. “It’s understandable.”
“But he does make a good point,” I add.
A muscle beneath Gus’s eye jumps, but he doesn’t say anything else.
“When we first approached you, we agreed to give you a cut of all winnings in exchange for access to The Drift as well as the opportunity to take a few minor bets here and there. Have we ever not fulfilled our end of the bargain?”
“You’ve always come through as agreed,” he admits, albeit grudgingly.
“Then, I fail to understand why our agreement needs to change.”
“It doesn’t.”
