I run my tongue along the inside of my cheek and follow the rest of the guys deeper into the club.
Along the back wall is a large booth.Gus sits in the center, his eyes on the stage as one of his strippers spins around and around the pole.
“Boss, these gentlemen are here to see you,” Ray tells him.
Slowly, his attention shifts from the stage to my big brother, and he drops his chin to the booth.“Take a seat.”
Jagger sits first, I follow after, and Roman stays standing, his posture mirroring Ray at the edge of the booth.I’m not sure why.No one ever asked him to play bodyguard.We’ve only ever seen him as an equal, but if this is the role he wants to play when we’re in Drift territory, there’s a reason for it.My focus slips back to the man in front of us.Funny.His eyes are as dark and soulless as the last time we sat across from him.Gus tugs at the edge of the white button-up shirt tucked beneath the sport coat, then reaches for the glass in front of him filled with amber liquid.Twenty bucks says it’s bourbon.Taking a sip, he sets it back down and toys with the massive gold ring on his right hand, watching us the same way someone would watch paint drying.
Joke’s on you, asshole.You brought us here, remember?
I bite my tongue to keep from stating the obvious.Besides, he looks like a damn mob boss in this light.Okay, he looks like a mob boss in any light, but especially when he’s in his element.His strip club.His side of town.His agenda.
The question is, why are we here?Why did Gus ask for a meeting?It’d be a hell of a lot easier if he started talking instead of looking at us like we’re lambs about to be led to the slaughter.
I’ve never understood the whole, don’t be the first to talk or it shows weakness bullshit.And clearly, it’s the game we’re playing right now.
Better start talking, Jag,I silently warn.Because if you don’t, I will.
With a bored expression, I shift in the booth.Seriously.Someone.Start.Talking.
Glancing at Ray, I say, “I’ll take a beer.Anything you got.Thanks.”
He doesn’t move a muscle.
“What?No drink this time?Where’s the hospitality?”I joke.
Ignoring me, Gus demands, “Want to tell me why you were on my property last night?”
Wait.What?
My brows raise.“I’m sorry, are we not invited to The Body Shop?”
A muscle twitches beneath my brother’s eye.“Our girls wanted to support their friend who was working last night,” Jagger explains.
Gus taps his ring against the outside of his glass.“I understand their reasoning.Yours is yet to be justified.”
“Since when do we need to justify our presence in The Body Shop?”I question.
The same twitch hits Jagger’s eye.
Oh.Right.No talking.My bad.
I shift closer, resting my elbows on the table.“Honestly, this is quite the establishment, Gus.I mean,” I whistle and look around.“Ten out of ten, am I right?The things these walls have seen, I have no doubt.Can you blame us for wanting to spend an evening in this place?”
“I cannot,” Gus returns.“That is the reason I invested in The Body Shop.”
“Great minds,” I quip.
“However.”He looks at Jagger again.“I believe your brother is the one to set a strong precedent that invitations are now necessary to enter establishments.Where is Hawke?”
“Busy,” Jagger says, covering for him.
“Too busy to meet with a friend?”Gus pushes.
“Are you a friend?”The words slip out of me before I can stop them.
Shit.
