AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I drop the rucksack by the door and start a slow circuit, eyeing every table, every patron, the staff, the people on the dance floor. There’s not one camera in the place. It speaks volumes. I come to a slow stop when I see a VIP area in the corner, a crowd of young women swarming the edge. Desperate young women. Desperate young women wanting attention, money, drugs, a sugar daddy. All disingenuous, but all blameless.
I wander over, a head and shoulders above them, and see him. A bottle of champagne in one hand, a woman in the other. An innocent woman. He has the same shades on as he does in the photograph Higham handed us. Who fucking hires these imbeciles? Jesus Christ, his nose is powered with white stuff, his body visibly buzzing, and I bet if I could see his eyes, they’d be like fucking saucers.
I feel my guns against my back, begging me to put an end to one more obstacle. Except...
I can’t.
Not only because he’s surrounded by ignorant idiots who don’t deserve to die. We need information.
I push my way through the crowd of youngsters crowding the VIP space and step over the red rope holding them back. My presence gets the other guy in the area, who also has a woman on his lap and cocaine dressing his nose.
And suddenly, the woman isn’t on his lap, being shoved aside for something else. His gun. I pull both of mine at lightning speed, before he’s even figured out where the fuck his trousers are, and have one aimed at each of their heads. Two pairs of hands rise into the air, and screams overpower the music. “Pleasure,” I say, gesturing with my guns. The music stops, so very conveniently. “And if anyone moves a muscle, that bag by the door will take this club and everyone in it into the next galaxy.” All eyes fall to the rucksack by the door. “Let’s go.”
“Feck, you’re The Enigma,” he breathes, lifting his glasses, confirming what I thought. Pupils the size of fucking Mars. Fuck me, they’re really scraping the barrel to build this fucking web again.
“And guess who I’m taking you to see?” I whisper, cocking my head.
“The Brit and The Enigma?” his mate says, full of dread. “Fuck ’dat.”
I see it coming a mile away, and just as he bolts, making it approximately two feet, I turn my gun and put a bullet in his back. More screams. “Your chances of survival are stronger if you cooperate.”
The Leprechaun, hands still up, stares at his drugged-up mate now bleeding out on the floor as he edges out of the space and walks to the door. “Aye, I’ll cooperate.”
I collect my bag, give the doormen a polite nod, and lead him to my car with my gun pushed into his lower back.
“I’ve always admired ya, you know,” he says, stumbling along.
“Shut the fuck up.” I pop the boot and present him with a tennis ball.
“I’ll tell ya every-tin you wanna know, I swear it.”
I shove it in his gob and hold up a cable tie on a tilt of my head, and his wrists are held out in a second. I bind them and shove him back, taking care of his ankles before putting some tape around his mouth and a bag over his head.
I close the trunk, get in the driver’s seat, and head back to Hiatus.
I’m still tense after my meeting at the hotel bar, and I’m fucking pissed I can’t shake it off. That Irish fucker’s lucky I need information more than I need his blood.
I get the biggest fucking scowl from Danny when I find him at the bar. “Where the fuck have you been?” he yells over the music, turning to face me.
I ignore him and order a vodka, perching on a stool. The music is so loud, I can’t hear myself fucking think. It might be a good thing.
“And who the fuck is Beth?”
My vodka lands on the bar and I neck it, slamming my empty down. The bartender, Mason, a younger version of Otto but with extra piercings and added tattoos, immediately pours another. I take the glass, looking over to the DJ booth, seeing the resident DJ, his name escapes me, holding one side of his headphones while working the decks with the other. David Guetta gets the crowd pumped withLove is Gone, the bass brutal, the endless speakers pulsing.
Beau.
I should go home to Beau. Try and coax her back to the land of the living. My face screws up, my hand reaching for my temple. Why so fucking loud? I look at Danny seeing his mouth moving, but not hearing a fucking word. Necking my second, I slam the glass down, growl, and stand, marching to the booth and taking the six steps up to it in two strides. I don’t bother speaking, he won’t fucking hear me, so I shove him aside, my ears ringing, and start turning all the dials I can see, until the volume comes down to a more bearable level and my mind no longer feels so chaotic. I exhale and turn, finding the DJ behind me looking absolutely petrified. “That’s your max,” I grunt, passing him and going back to the bar, Danny’s eyes following me the whole way until I’m sitting back on the stool.
“Better?” he asks, as Brad pulls a stool over and joins us.
I don’t answer. At least we can talk without yelling. “Where have you been?” Brad asks, waving to Mason for a drink.
“Why is everyone so concerned by where I’ve been?” I snap. “I had something to deal with. It’s dealt with.”
Danny’s eyebrows arch dramatically, and he peeks out the corner of his eye to Brad, who peeks out the corner of his eye to Danny. “Someone’s touchy,” Brad says.
“Standard,” Danny grunts.
