With a subtle nod, and the smallest of curtsies, Lexie says, “Gentlemen.” Then, she turns and leaves, disappearing around the back of the stage instead of striding toward the bar like last time.
“Gotta hand it to you, Mr. Harden.” Gus’s low voice cuts through the lingering tension. “You’re either foolish or brave, flirting with my niece right in front of me.”
Yeah, no shit. Then again, Gus lets his niece work at a strip club. She’s already almost naked and likely will be fully nude by the time her turn on stage is finished. He can’t be too overprotective, can he? Or maybe she works here for a different reason. Maybe she’s here to keep an eye on things and report back to him. It’s smart. If the roles were reversed, it’s what I would do.
My focus shifts back to the precarious situation unfolding in front of me. What are you going to say Hawke? Are you going to defuse the situation or make it worse?
“You were right before,” Hawke returns. “Sheishell on wheels.”
Gus doesn’t break his stare, hell, it’s unwavering. Lucian’s massive body grows tense behind me as if he’s waiting for a cue. A nod. A frown. A fucking blink. While the rest of us hold our breath. Don’t get me wrong. We know where we are. We know shit can turn south fast. We know Gus is not to be trifled with. But it doesn’t matter how many bodies he’s buried, three Hardens do not go missing without repercussions. And our best friend does not go missing without us doling out said repercussions with our own two hands. A harmless bout of flirting isn’t enough to trigger a few missing bodies, but it doesn’t mean the possibility doesn’t cross our minds anytime we’re in Drift territory, let alone sitting across from the uncrowned king himself.
Apparently, we do have a sense of self-preservation. Uncle Judge and Titas would be so proud.
“Glad we agree,” Gus finally says. He settles back in the booth, satisfied with Hawke’s response. And just like that, the hostility dissipates. The awkwardness lifts. The underlyingpressure eases, and my lungs expand in relief. We’re not out of the woods yet, but it’s a step in the right direction.
“And so is my nephew,” Gus adds, addressing the real reason we’re here.
Leaning forward, Ford rests his elbows on the table and cradles the beer in his hands. “Look at us.” He smiles. “Commiserating over your brother’s offspring. Pains in the ass, am I right?”
“Wouldn’t go that far,” Gus warns. “They are family.”
Ford shrugs. “Family can still be a pain in the ass. Right, Jag Off?” he challenges with a dryness that almost instantly puts everyone at ease. I have to hand it to my baby brother. He’s getting better at guiding a conversation where it needs to go while somehow getting his point across and not pissing anyone off in the process. Honestly, it’s an art.
“So, what did Ethan do this time?” Gus questions.
Ford takes a sip of his beer, then sets it back down. “Word on the street is he was taking bets on an NBA game yesterday.”
“And?”
“And considering the check Roman dropped off last weekend, I’d say it’s a big fuckin’ problem,” Ford quips. I don’t miss the venomous bite simmering beneath his indifference. Yeah, he’s pissed. Sports betting is his thing. It’s always been his thing. Finding out Morgan’s been stepping on his toes isn’t only an inconvenience, it’s a blow to my brother’s ego, and he won’t take it lying down.
“Sports gambling isn’t illegal,” Gus reminds us. His lack of brevity grinds on me. Hell, I’m insulted. Not only for my brother, but personally, too. We’ve been working with Gus for what? Six months, now? And this is what he has to say? It isn’t illegal?
What game are you playing?
“We were under the impression we have an exclusive agreement with you,” I point out, feeling like I’m explaining thesky is blue to a damn toddler. “If that isn’t the case anymore, we’d appreciate you being up front.”
Leaning back in the booth, Gus steeples his fingers in front of him. “You’re worried my nephew’s encroaching on your territory.”
“No shit,” Ford mumbles under his breath. I kick him beneath the table.
“Yes,” I answer Gus.
“Was he in Drift territory when he was seen accepting wagers?”
My eyes thin, but I nod again.
“Then I don’t see the problem.”
Part of me wants to reach across the booth and throttle the bastard, but I know better than to let him see it. Not here. Not now. If I don’t play this carefully, everything we’ve worked for—our entire operation—could go up in flames. However, if he sees us as weak or easy to manipulate, we’ll lose even more. Shifting forward, I hold Gus’s stare over the rim of my glass while taking a long drink and setting it back on the table. “We pay you a decent percentage to rent Drift property for our activities?—”
“And you may continue to do so,” Gus interrupts. “At my discretion.”
“And your nephew?” I prod.
“Will not interfere with your…Harden Nights, as my niece so eloquently put it.”
That’s it? That’s all he has to offer? A flimsy promise? Okay, flimsy’s a bit of a stretch. The man tells most of the people in town how to wipe their ass, let alone where to shit. If he says Morgan won’t interfere with our Harden Nights, then he won’t. Most likely. Then again, I’ve seen the way his niece walks all over him. Is Gus’s relationship with Morgan the same? If it is, we have a massive problem.
