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He kept walking until they got to another door, this time a big, bulky man standing in front of it. The same one who had pinned him against a wall earlier today.
“Got his money.”
The guy looked behind him at Ricky, then nodded and opened the door. They walked inside. Jones sat behind a massive desk. He wore a pin-striped suit, slicked-back hair, and the air of a guy that said he always got his way.
“Welcome back, Corey. Long time, no see.”
Corey wasn’t about to indulge him with anything else. Get in and get out. Leave this where it belonged. In his past.
He took the envelope out of his leather jacket pocket and set it on the table. “Five thousand.”
Jones eyed the envelope. “With interest.”
He swallowed. Shit. It was always something. One roadblock or another, making his life so damn difficult. Why did everything always have to be so hard?
“How much interest?” Corey damn near choked out, yet managed to say it without flinching or groaning in despair.
“Well, you took too long to pay me back. Dodged me too many times. I don’t like waiting for my money.” Jones eyed Ricky beside him, who remained silent. “And your brother threatened my best friend with a baseball bat. I don’t like that either.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the big guy grab a baseball bat from behind a couch and slap it in his hands. Oh, shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought Ricky with him. The last thing he wanted to do was bring him home busted up for Jezebelle to see. This was his problem and he should’ve handled it on his own.
“I’m sorry it took me so long. But it’s all there.” Corey knew he wouldn’t be able to talk his way out of this, but he had to try.
And Jones wasn’t wrong. He’d evaded him way too many times. But only because he never had the money to pay him back. He deserved whatever beating they doled out. His brother didn’t.
Jones picked up the envelope and handed it to a man standing next to him, who started counting the bills.
“You own a bar, I hear.”
His heart, already pounding, increased its pace.
“I’ve always wanted to own a bar.”
No way in hell. He might’ve made some terrible mistakes in life—bad, bad choices that led him to owing too much money to the devil himself—but he’d never give up the bar for anything. Ricky would never allow it either.
“My bar’s off-limits to you.”
Jones’ lips thinned. “Watch how you talk to me.”
“Here’s your damn interest,” Ricky said, throwing another wad of money on the desk. “You leave my brother alone. He’s paid you and your debt is settled. Got it.”
Jones eyed his brother again. “I say it’s settled when it’s settled.”
“So do I. And I said it’s settled.”
Jones stood up and leaned over his desk. “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”
“Ditto, asshole. You don’t scare me. You’re small fish. If I wasn’t friends with a bigger fish than you, I might consider being frightened by you. But I am friends with him. One call and you’re going to be the one shaking in his boots.”
Jones’ eyes narrowed, then he laughed. “You’re a funny guy. Acting all tough and macho. Walking into my place talking like that to me. I’m going to enjoy Jimbo knocking your kneecaps off.”
Ricky smiled and pulled out his phone. “Okay, we’ll play it your way. Let me call my friend Travis.” Ricky paused. “Travis Chilani. You know him, right?”
The wily smirk Jones had been sporting, wiped clear in an instant. “You’re bluffing.”
“Am I? You seem like a gambling man,” Ricky pointed out, considering that’s what the room behind the door entailed. “You wanna take that gamble? Or accept the interest I laid on the table.”
Jones eyed the money, then snatched it and handed it to the guy behind him. “I see you two again, and you’re dead. Get the hell out of here.”
