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Most of them barely spare us a glance, although a few pause to take us in. The guys get as many looks as I do, though no one really lingers to talk to them. If the guys checking me out want to talk to me, they don’t, probably because of the way the four of my guys are flanked around me. It just doesn’t seem smart.
But one idiot doesn’t seem to get the message, and he manages to insert himself between me and Priest, leaning on the bar with a grin.
“I’ve never seen you here before,” he says. I can smell the alcohol on his breath, and the way he’s looking at me makes my skin crawl. Aside from the fact that he smells like he’s been drinking his way through the night, he’s nothing special. Black hair, blue eyes, and a rumpled t-shirt with a faded slogan on the front. He’s someone I wouldn’t give the time of day if I met him on my own, and he doesn’t seem like a threat aside from the fact that he can’t tell when someone doesn’t want to talk to him.
“Let’s pretend you didn’t see me now,” I tell him, putting as much disgust in my words as I can, hoping he’ll get the message and fuck off.
Of course, he doesn’t. I don’t know if it’s the booze giving him confidence and stupidity in equal measure, or if he’s just naturally a fucking dumbass.
Either way, he reaches out and puts a hand on my arm. “Don’t be like that,” he says. “We could get to know each other better. You know they have these rooms in the back of the club—”
His hand travels while he talks, going from my arm and heading toward my chest. He doesn’t get there, and his proposition is cut off by Knox grabbing his wrist and yanking his hand off me.
He twists the guy’s wrist hard enough that it makes him groan in pain, and gives him a death glare, daring him with his eyes to start some shit.
“Sorry,” the guy says, and when Knox releases him, he slinks away, disappearing into the crowd.
“Fucking asshole,” Knox snarls. “If we weren’t here on a job, I would’ve fucked that guy up way worse.”
“I know,” I tell Knox, patting his shoulder with a smile.
Gage gives him a look that says if we weren’t here on a job, he might have let Knox fuck that guy up the way he wanted to, and that seems to be good enough for him for the moment.
We sip our drinks, waiting and keeping an eye on Cyrus.
The longer we wait, the more the tension and nerves climb in me. We had it all planned out, lined up and plotted down to the last detail. But nothing’s happening.
Fuck.
Did we miscalculate? Did our chess pieces not line up right?
Something should have happened by now, and I feel the anxious restlessness like tingles under my skin as I stand there.
Next to me, Knox is tapping his foot and cracking his knuckles. A sure sign that he’s getting antsy too. We can’t let Cyrus leave the club tonight. For this plan to work, he needs to die, and we all know that.
Knox’s hand twitches, and I can imagine he’s thinking about doing it himself. Would Gage let him? His point about us needing to be clean on this still stands, but we can’t let Cyrus get away.
It’s not an ideal situation, and the longer we sit there with nothing happening, the more the tension ratchets up.
Over by the door of the club, there’s a small commotion, and that catches my attention for a second. People start to part like the Red Sea, getting out of the way of a group of men who come striding into the club on a mission.
I recognize the one at the front as Apollo, and a feeling of relief washes over me. Thank fuck.
They move fast through the throngs of people, making a beeline for the VIP area and Cyrus.
Cyrus’s guard is way the hell down. He’s got his head tipped back against the booth, and his dick in a woman’s mouth. He doesn’t see it coming, and even his bodyguards are too slow.
They got too complacent, and it’s all Apollo needs.
He walks right up to the roped off area, pulls out his gun, and shoots Cyrus right in the head.
