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Dealing with the problems of our members, their card games, the strippers, and everybody else drains me. I am a goddamn babysitter.
Given the choice, we’d abandon the club without much thought or regret. My brothers have been willing to let it go for some time. I’m just not ready yet. Someday I will be.
But today is not that day.
We invite Charleigh down to have breakfast with us, but she declines. In fact, she’s downright abrupt, not that that sort of thing fazes me, but it’s out of character for her. She’s usually pretty upbeat, especially considering what she’s facing, and has never once been snippy. Until today. Maybe it’s that time of the month or something.
It’s no wonder Uncle Mikey almost ran the club into the ground and absconded with whatever money he could grab. He didn’t see it as a big priority, either. In fact, he probably found it a pain in the ass that my father left it to him at all. He stuck around for two years, which I suppose in his mind completed his duty, and left the country before the authorities could nab him.
We have no idea where he’s gone, although I figure we’ll hear from him at some point. He’ll want money or have a stupid reason to return to the US, like to get a cavity filled or something, and he’ll want our help with a fake passport, disguise, transportation, and all that.
And those steps still won’t guarantee the Feds won’t be on his ass. If I were him, I’d never come back. The chances of getting caught are too high. But that’s me.
No one ever said Uncle Mikey was all that bright.
Imagine. Getting busted when you’ve come into the country just to get some dental work done.
The thought makes me laugh out loud. Kir and Niko look up at me from their poached eggs. They say nothing. We all have a lot on our minds, and I’m grateful to have entertained myself for a moment. I’ll share my funny scenario with my brothers another time, when they are more receptive to it.
I know what they are thinking. I can read people. I don’t know how I do it or why. But others’ thoughts seem to come to me.
I’d rather they didn’t. I don’t want to know what people are thinking. I have enough of my own shit going on. But it does come in handy. Like right now.
The guys have trepidation about the auction.
I get it. Charleigh is lovely, and we’d like to see her stick around. To be honest, I have uneasiness around it too. This is new to me. After all, I’m not much more than a heartless bastard.
I can’t count the number of men I’ve killed, people I’ve forced out of business, and the number of fingers, arms, and legs I’ve broken.
There are a few necks in there too.
I am not a good man.
Neither are my brothers, but on the scale from good to bad, I’m closer to the bad end of the spectrum than most anyone I know.
Even Dimitri is not like me. Sure, he’s a pain in the ass, but he’s too stupid to really do much harm. With the way he wears his emotions on his sleeve, he has no hope of ever outmaneuvering anyone. He just doesn’t have it in him, and the only reason he’s stuck around for so long, rather than going off and finding a new profession altogether, is that he has his dad’s money, which enables him to spend his days any way he wants.
Even when they are as unproductive as a life can get.
If you have enough money, people will tell you anything you want to hear. Dimitri is so out of his league, and so completely unaware he’s out of his league due to people blowing smoke up his ass, it’s almost funny.
Thus, the biggest benefit of having my brothers. Whenever I start acting like a dick, they don’t hesitate to cut me down to size. Thank God.
I’d otherwise be insufferable. Or more insufferable than I already am.
* * *
CHAPTERSIXTY-SEVEN
Vadik
“What’s that?”
I enter Charleigh’s room with a dress for her, a sexy number, even sexier than the get-up she wears when cocktail waitressing.
It’s long and shimmery gold, with a slit that’s meant to expose the entire leg all the way up to the hip. The front has narrow swathes of fabric to cover the breasts, and it ties behind the neck. It’s all held together with a strip of fabric that wraps around the waist, sort of like a cummerbund for a tux, not that anyone wears them anymore.
“It’s a dress, Charleigh. And since I’ve brought it up to your room, it’s a safe bet to say it’s for you.”
