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Monroe ignored Samson looming over him and fixed his gaze on Nick. “I think your partner’s making a rash decision by not seeing the big picture or the potential amount of profit.”
Nick slowly pushed out of his chair and leveled Monroe with a look that made the toughest thugs shake. “No, I think we both see the big picture. You wanna poach what we already got, attach it to your brand, and suck up most of the money.”
“That’s a very harsh outlook and entirely untrue.”
“Okay, I’ll bite,” Nick said. “How would the money work?”
Monroe stood also, flashed a look to Edward, then drew a deep breath as if he needed extra patience when speaking with a child. “The money, as you so bluntly stated, would work on percentages.”
“And what the fuck does that mean?” Samson didn’t bother keeping the edge off his voice.
“It simply means you’ll be paid a salary from the percentage Club Wicked makes with our organization.”
“Let me get this straight,” Nick said. “You’re gonna take over our club, then dole out our money to us?”
“In its simplest terms, yes, but I can assure you the percentages and profits will be outstanding. When Wicked joins our portfolio, stocks will rise, and the sheer promotion alone will—”
“That ain’t happening.” Samson’s fists balled at his side.
Monroe turned to Nick, giving Samson his back. “You realize you’re making a colossal mistake.”
Samson had to restrain himself from jerking this fucker around and laying his ass out on the thick carpeting.
“I think we’re gonna pass,” Nick said.
“That’s your final decision?”
“Yup.” Nick scooped his cigs off the coffee table and shoved them in his pocket, signifying the meeting was over.
Monroe clucked his tongue. “If we’re not working together as allies, then we’ll have to co-exist as competitors.”
“I think Vegas is big enough for all of us.”
Monroe hit them both with a long look. “In this business, knowing who to trust is important because any confusion can lead to … bad things happening.”
Nick locked eyes with Monroe. “That sounds like a threat.”
“I don’t make threats.” Monroe grinned. “Only promises.” Then he turned and headed toward the door with his lackey son, Edward, at his heels.
Nick and Samson stayed stock still until the office door closed behind him.
“Do you believe that fuckin’ guy?” Samson raged. “Coming in here spitting out percentages and expecting us to sign everything over to him.”
“And what was with bringing the son?”
“Fuckin’ kid didn’t say two words, and he expects us to report to him?”
Monroe’s son looked like a carbon copy of the father—a privileged, entitled bastard.
“Whole thing was ridiculous.”
“And a fuckin’ waste of time.” Nick silently moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows. “He remind you of anybody?”
“An asshole with way too much money and a big fuckin’ attitude.”
Nick spun away from the windows. “Frank.”
“Nah, no way. This guy is a pussy. If we turned Frank down back in the day, he would’ve had his muscle lay us out or fuckin’ do it himself.”
