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I watch as the other bouncer removes the gun Rocky was carry and places it in a similar container before placing both in a small cubby hole to the right.
The beefcake patting me down continues his body search, only when his fingers brush the holster at my ankle, he passes right over it without a word.
Interesting.
These are Mickey’s men, and whilst Mickey himself can’t be bought, believe me many have tried, that doesn’t mean the men he employees aren’t so easily swayed for a nice bump to their wage packet at the end of the night.
Once they’ve finished frisking us, I’m handed a small ticket with a number on it that matches that of the box where our guns are.
“Collect your weapons as you leave, Mr Lawler. Have a good evening.”
Without another word, the bouncer steps forward to open the doors, permitting us entry.
From the outside, The Watchtower looks like any other modern city bar but inside tells a completely different story. Period oak panelling covers the back walls behind the bar area while the rest of the room is decorated in a deep, rich forest green paint and highlighted with half-moon wall sconce lighting. The effect is a cross between a 60s working man’s club and a room straight from some stately manor house.
Rocky follows me through, and as the doors close behind us, he whispers, “Somethin’ ain’t right, boss.”
“No fucking kidding,” I reply, roaming my eyes over the area and seeking out Bonner among the crowd.
There’s a buzz in the air, but it’s not a lively, pleasant one. It’s the kind that makes the hairs on your neck stand to attention. It’s like an electrical current that has no outlet, no earth. This room is full of people that out on the street would kill one another in an instant. But not here.
Rocky nudges me, and I look to where his attention is focused. In a booth over on the left is Bonner, whose piercing gaze is already on me. There’s a cruel smirk tilting the corner of his mouth.
Ignoring the glares and razor-sharp daggers coming at me, I stride across the room to Bonner.
“Maddox,” he greets, gesturing to the seat across from him. I slide in as Rocky takes up position standing beside our table. Bonner eyes him, then looks to me. “No Zak this evening? What a disappointment.” His words seem sincere, but the spark that lights in his eyes gives him away. He’s happy it’s just me, and suddenly I question whether Zak’s absence was a play.
“He sends his apologies, but he had a better offer,” I counter, watching as his eyes narrow at my words. “I have places to be, so how about you get to the fucking point.”
He chuckles. “Patience, Maddox. It’s a virtue you could do with having a lesson in.” He picks up his bottle of beer from the table, taking a long drink before continuing, “This meeting is for your benefit more than mine. Maybe you’ll even thank me.”
“And maybe you’ll drop dead right here, right now,” I say with a derisive laugh.
“That’s hardly polite—” I cut him off with adon’t fuck with melook and a palm slammed to the table that draws attention from the next table. It also garners me some not so amused scowls from Bonner’s two meathead muscle standing to the side. “Very well.” He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling a piece of paper free. Laying it down on the table, he slides it over to rest in front of me. “I believe this is one of your men?”
Slowly pulling my hardened gaze from Bonner, I look down. Only it’s not a piece of paper at all but a photo of Axel. My blood boils as what I’m seeing registers. Keeping my face neutral, I look up to Bonner with a nonchalant shrug.
“Your point?” I ask.
Bonner’s brows raise at my blasé response. You don’t need to be a genius to work out that Bonner was hoping for a little more from me.
“You don’t seem surprised or even bothered by the fact one of your men is meeting with Rogers. And it looks like they’re pretty cosy. If that was my man…” He trails off, leaving the rest of his sentence hanging.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “You got one of those photos in that pocket of yours of you kissing Rogers’ arse too?” His eyes widen a fraction as his face pales a little before he covers it.
“How fucking dare you! I called you here in good faith, and you have the audacity to accuse me—”
My hand flies out, snatching hold of Bonner’s shirt, curling it in my tightened fist and pulling him forward. There’s a flurry of movement as Rocky and Bonner’s meatheads step forward. Bonner raises a hand, halting them.
“Don’t fucking bullshit me, Bonner. You told me I needed a lesson in patience, but you have no idea how patient I can be. You, however, are about to learn your own lesson in patience.” I shove him away, rising from my seat and snatching up the photo from the table. As I go to walk away, one of Bonner’s meatheads grabs my arm, pulling me back. I use the momentum, spinning on my heels, and slam my fist in his face. He stumbles back a few steps, cupping his nose as blood seeps through his fingers.
“Touch me again and I’ll kill you.” His friend laughs, and I can already see he thinks I’m joking. Turning to Bonner, I say, “Seriously?” He looks pleased with himself, and the reason becomes apparent as Mickey steps through the crowd that’s gathered around our little corner.
“Lawler, you know the rules.” A hand lands on my shoulder as Mickey steps up beside me. “If you insist on killing my guests, at least have the decency to take them outside first. This is expensive flooring,” he sniggers, but he’s not joking in the slightest.
The Watchtower has a strict no kill policy, and even shedding blood is likely to earn you a black mark against your name. Get too many of those little black marks and you’ll be on a life ban.
“Mickey,” I greet. “It’s all good, just a little disagreement among friends. Ain’t that right, Bonner?”
