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I sigh because this is childish. We’re fucking 36 years old, and he acts like we’re still 20 sometimes. I get it. I really do. He loves his sister, and I know she was broken after us. Fuck. I was broken, too. I still am. But I had to do what I had to do. And he knows it. Damn, he was there.
“Why does this bawbag have his hands on my sister?” His voice increases, resonating through the room. I guess he didn’t see it at first. Welcome to the fucking club. As our eyes meet, I can tell that he recognises the determination in my gaze and won’t stop me.
“And you’re doing nothing?” he asks, knowing oh so well that something is stirring in me.
I look at him blankly, and he understands I’m trying not to lose my shit and put a bullet between the prick’s eyes. He is as torn as me. He doesn’t want Blake to be exposed in this world, but besides that, he is conscious that I’m biding my time. And once it’s up. There’s not a single person in this world that will stop me from taking back what is mine.
“I’m heading downstairs. Don’t do any shit. We have enough to deal with without you killing any guys that would put a hand on my sister.”
I smirk as I see him leave my office.
The music is loud as I make my entrance into the main room. My security guy gives me a slight nod of acknowledgement. It’s subtle. You wouldn’t notice it if you don’t look closely. The club is full of my guys. Nobody would know they’re here. They’re all dressed casually, and their headpieces are designed to blend in unnoticed. I see Scott a few steps away, talking to Shaan. Spotting me, he makes his way over, ready to join the girls.
“Ready?” he asks me. I nod in agreement and walk silently until we reach the girls. They are drunk. Or at least they look like it. Their eyes go wide when they spot us, followed by a gasp.
“Hello, beautiful sis of mine,” says Scott with a smile. He turns towards their friend. “Emilie.” Acknowledging her dryly. Interesting.
“What are you doing here?” Blakely interrupts my thoughts, her eyes locked into mine.
“What do you mean ‘what are we doing here’?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Exactly what I meant. What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” she repeats slowly. She is angry. I like that. Bring it on, baby. I like it when you’re feisty. I look at her with a smirk on my face.
“Oh, you mean here, as in here? You don’t know?”
The others look at us back and forth.
“Know what?” She demands. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a fleeting glimpse of Scott fidgeting, constantly shifting his weight. And for good reason.
“The question is, Miss Reed,” accentuating Miss Reed as she asked me to in court when she got me released, “what are you doing in my nightclub?” She gasps and looks straight at her sister. I know what she’s thinking. She thinks Bailey brought her here, knowing that we own the place.
“Did you know?” she asks accusingly to Bailey.
“I didn’t, I swear.” Bailey’s eyes, clouded with alcohol, gaze at her brother. “Do you? Are you? Scott?” He sighs, nodding his head. Nobody understands their conversation, but it’s clear to me she just asked him if he also owns this club. And he has no choice but to spill it.
“Aye, I own this club as well.” Blakely looks like she’s been betrayed but says nothing.
“Why didn’t you tell me you owned a nightclub?” Blake asks.
Scott shrugs, “I… hmm… wanted to tell you but…” She nods in understanding, not needing to add more.
“I…” Blake starts. “I didn’t check more than necessary for the trial.”
The way she avoids learning more about us, about me, is like a closed door, shutting out any chance of connection.
“Okayyy, well, now that everyone is here, what do you say about shots?” The legal assistant asks.
“Don’t you think you had enough to drink for tonight?” spits Scott.
“Aww, Scottyyy,” she coos. “Who are you? The police of shots?” He opens his mouth to fire back, but she shushes him with her hand in the air. “That was a rhetorical question.”
I chuckle because not many people would talk to Scott that way.
He might look soft when it comes to his sisters, but I’ve seen the man kill with his bare hands. I lean on my chair and take a closer look at Blakely. She looks dishevelled after spending so much time on the dance floor. Her eyes are shiny and glassy from the effects of the alcohol. Her lips. The same lips I’ve been dreaming about for years.
“SHOTS,” Emilie yells over the music when she comes back over to us. Bailey takes a sip of her drink and spits it out.
“What are you doing?” asks Scott with wide eyes. “It’s a shot. It’s not supposed to be sipped like you just did.”
