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And if they wanted to play these games, I was about to prove why I was a hell of a lot fucking better at it than them.
“The deadline to pay what you owe is Monday. Tomorrow,” I announced, slapping the contract down on the table before turning to my furious-looking step monster. “You might have to think a little smaller for your holiday home. Maybe instead of buying a home in Newport, you could rent one. I’ll give you ten minutes to decide.”
Anyone else probably would have thought that was a reasonable offer.
Not this woman.
I didn’t look back as I walked away from the table, ignoring the angry whispers as they discussed exactly what the hell they were going to do now they hadn’t gotten their way. I made a beeline for the bar, slipping in behind and grabbing a bottle of tequila from the shelf. “I’ll pay for the bottle when I’m done,” I told Aspen, one of my bar staff.
She hit me with a concerned look.
Aspen didn’t only work here.
Her best friend was married to one of my best friends, so she knew me a little better than most of my staff.
“I’m fine,” I added, answering the silent question in her eyes as I cracked the cap. “I just need to take a minute before someone else ends up paying for my personal problems.”
Understanding dawned on her, and she nodded. “If you’re not out in five minutes…”
“Yeah, yeah.”
I didn’t make a habit of drinking the profits, but with the way my hands were shaking in anger, a shot or two would be the best option to bring me back down to earth. It was hard to see my dad so broken down and dejected. He and I may not have seen eye to eye for a long time, but growing up, I’d been able to at least look at him and see a fighter. There were times when I was younger when our family was in tatters, and he’d been the backbone, he’d stood strong and held us up when everything was crumbling around us.
Crumbling because of me.
He and I were always going head-to-head, yelling, screaming with shit turning physical on more occasions than I would like to admit. But at least when we’d clashed during those years, I’d been able to respect what he was doing and fighting for.
That man out there who had cowered behind these two—I didnotknow him.
Stepping out from behind the bar, I made my way down a short hallway to the left, which had the public bathrooms on either side and a pair of large double doors at the end, which took deliveries from the alleyway out back. My office was just off to the right, and I stepped inside, slamming the door shut behind me, the glass panel in the center rattling dangerously.
The Kings Line was a bar I fell in love with years ago, well before I built the empire I had now. The atmosphere was different than other places I’d been within the city. The people who came in often sought something more relaxed. A place that felt less like a night out and more like having a drink at home with your buddies.
I ended up buying The Kings Line with a friend of mine, Drake Shaw, a little over a year ago, not because either of us was looking at adding bars and restaurants to the list of businesses we put our names to, but because with the way the city was growing and changing, we wanted to ensure no one could come in and tear it down. And given that was exactly the kind of business we were both in, we knew at some point someone would try.
The office was rundown, not flashy like the ones I had uptown. In a way, I think it brought me back to earth to be hiding out in some dark corner at the back of the pub, the walls decorated with 1960s beer advertisements and body-shaped dents that I imagined were courtesy of the odd bar brawl or two.
I sat in the squeaky desk chair, fishing inside the drawer for a shot glass. The one I pulled out read…
SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL DEFIANCE MOTORCYCLE CLUB
I filled the glass, the liquid pillowing at the edges when I topped it a little too much.
Fuck it.
I moved quickly, lifting it carefully to my mouth and throwing it back, the sharp hit of liquor like a slap in the face, which stunned me momentarily. Maybe that’s why it took me a few seconds to realize the buzzing sound in the room was coming from my jacket pocket. I shoved my hand inside and pulled out my phone, barely taking note of Bronson’s name before pressing it to my ear. “Yeah?”
I’m not sure what it was about that single word.
Maybe it was the way I said it.
Or just the single-word answer.
But it must have been bad.
“I’m suddenly regretting this phone call,” Bronson said with a heavy sigh. “What’s up your ass, you grumpy bastard.”
I could have hung up.
