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“Do I sound like any form of law enforcement?” Between the accent and the deliberately ambiguous word choices, the answer should have been obvious.
“Then what do you want?”
“I told you. Your supplier.”
He shook his head vehemently. “No way, man. I’m not a narc.”
“I will not ask you a third time.” I couldn’t remember the last time Ihadto ask a third time. Normally, I didn’t even have to ask a second time. He and whomever he worked for had clearly never crossed paths with anyone in Sergei’s world, which meant they were in for a painful lesson in how we conducted business. If I had to make a second appearance, Valery would get to do whatever he wanted, which wouldn’t bode well for the man in front of me.
“Then I guess we’re both fucked,” Marek said with a smirk, licking his lips before adding, “and not in the way you’d like.”
Darting across the distance, I caught him beneath the jaw with one hand. I shoved him against the wall again, pinning him by his throat, which had the added benefit of keeping my ribs at a distance this time. I still expected him to fight, but he didn’t. His pulse barely rose even though he was in what most people would find to be a stressful situation. In fact, it all seemed to amuse him.
Despite the roughness of my movements, I kept my voice soft. “Do you think I’m here to play games with you, boy?”
“Yeah, I do. I don’t think you give a shit about the drugs at all. Though I have to say, it’s one of the more inventive pickup lines I’ve heard.” He gave me a cocky smile, gazing up at me with a deceptively innocent expression. I didn’t tower over him but I had at least thirteen centimeters to my advantage plus a sizable difference in our builds. Rather than be intimidated, Marek adopted a coy persona that might have been charming if it were any other situation. Instead, it made me realize I was dealing with someone used to manipulating their way out of tricky situations. Unfortunately for him, I knew all about chameleons. I used to be one—and in a lot of ways, I still was.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Sommers. Who’s to say I won’t snap your neck right now? Consider the problem solved?” To emphasize my point, I squeezed his throat harder. His pulse beat steadily against the pad of my thumb and his smile never faltered.
“You’ve been here every Saturday for the past three weeks. I’ve seen you watching me even when I’m not dealing. But I told you, I don’t do that other shit. I serve drinks and sling pills. So kill me or get the fuck off of me. Either way, you’re wasting your time and costing me money.”
As much as I wanted to wipe that self-assured smirk off his face, he was right—Iwaswasting my time. I was here for one thing and one thing only. Giving young rivals an attitude adjustment was not on the agenda, no matter how much they may have needed one.
Releasing his throat, my hand drifted to his smooth cheek, patting it. “See you around, Marek.”
He stayed pressed against the wall, watching me warily as I tugged open the door and stepped out. I didn’t bother looking back; I’d see him soon enough.
2
MAREK
And by “See you around,”what the mysterious hot guy meant was, “I’ll stalk you at work every day for the foreseeable future, not just Saturdays anymore, so fuck you, kid.” Seriously. Did the guy not have a fucking job or a family to get back to? He’d be there promptly at four for the start of every shift and then close the place down. Somehow healwaysknew when I was working—even if I traded shifts with someone, but he never approached me or made any other form of contact. So what the fuck? Some kind of psychological warfare, if I had to guess.
“I think you have a new admirer,” Jude, another one of the bartenders, said one night. Shaking a cocktail a couple of times before pouring it into the waiting glasses, he slid a pointed glance toward my stalker as if I was somehow unaware of the giant, hot-as-hell Eastern European guy watching my every move.
“Oh, trust me. I’ve noticed.” I tried not to huff but Mystery Man was putting a fucking damper on my business.Bothof them.
Ever since he caught me dealing, I hadn’t moved any more product for fear he’d follow through and either beat my ass or call the police. A beating I could handle but the last thing I needed was to get pinched on possession with intent. The only way out of a mess like that would be to roll on my supplier and cut a deal, and as I told Mystery Man,thatwasn’t happening. I guess I could have called in a favor with one of my old clients butthatwasn’t fucking happening either. I’d rather die in some rundown disease-infested prison than ask him for help.
If the lack of drug sales wasn’t enough of a problem, Mystery Man’s undivided attention was also scaring away myotherclients. Generally speaking, Ididn’thustle at the bar but it was an easy way to make connections, which led to appointments at later dates. Given how easily phones and apps could be hacked, most of my high-powered customers preferred to do things the old-fashioned way—word of mouth. They had no problem trading hookers like stocks because that’s all we were, commodities that could be bought for their amusement. So long as I got paid, I didn’t give a shit.
And I knew the sort of men who frequented Dalton’s. It’s why I applied. They were rich, like Mystery Man, and either straight-up closeted or some kind of bi-curious. They came here under the pretense of relaxing after a day of hard work in boardrooms and courtrooms and the like, when in reality all they wanted was to get high or get off with a guy half their age. Sometimes both. That’s where I came in, a dual-service provider.
I might have been nothing but white trash from the dregs of society but I wasn’t stupid. I knew what I looked like. More importantly, I knew how youthful features appealed to a select group of men and those men paid a lot of money to fuck twinks like me. It helped that I’d been in the game for nine years already and could spot a desperate dick from a mile away. It wasn’t a talent I exactly prided myself on but desperate times called for desperate measures and all that. Drug money could only go so far, especially when I had to fork over most of it to my supplier for more product. Dick money? That shit kept me fed and off the fucking streets when I needed it the most, like when I couldn’t deal becausesomeonewas giving me too much fucking attention.
That was the most frustrating thing about my new stalker, though. He didn’t give off the desperate vibes. Every move of his was calm and confident enough to exude power without being a total asshole. I’m sure he didn’t have to pay for sex because he could get it whenever he wanted it, even if it was on the DL. Hell,Iwould have given it to him if he wasn’t asking me to be a snitch, because let’s face it, he was a league above the men I typically had fawning over me. Tall, built, longer blond hair combed back, usually a day or two worth of stubble that gave him a ruggedness you didn’t typically see in guys in suits. Throw in an accent? Yeah, he hadnotrouble getting laid.
Nor did he seem like the type of guy who needed a little chemical help to make it through the day, or night, or whatever. He drank vodka tonics but not at a rate to actually get drunk. Over the course of several hours, he’d have two, maybe three. He didn’t go outside to vape or have a cigarette and I never caught sight of any pill bottles or vials. Except for the stalking and vaguely criminal threats, he seemed like a regular Boy Scout.
But night after night, he kept coming back. He’d given up the VIP room upstairs in favor of a U-shaped booth directly across from the bar where he watched me like a hawk. Even if it was occupied when he came in, the moment he showed up,poof! It was his, like some unspoken rule.
Sometimes he had his equally rich-looking friends with him, sometimes he was alone. A handful of times I saw him with a laptop, stealing glances at me over the monitor every now and again, but that didn’t mean anything. He could have been watching cat videos for all I knew, or logging every single one of my movements like a twelve-year-old with their first journal.
Dear Diary, today, Marek glared at me for ten whole seconds while grinding the hell out of some mint and sugar. I think he likes me.
“Should we have security bounce him?” Jude asked, watching Mystery Man and his dark-haired friend with a beard. Great idea—if security evencouldthrow him out. With my luck, he was protected by one of two things—or both. One, our security guys were all retired cops working for cash under the table and Mystery Man gave me the impression he could easily send them to the hospital before they got a chance to call the real police. Which led to the second issue: he looked like one of the untouchables. Someone with an “In,” someone who knew people and got things done with one phone call.
I shrugged off Jude’s concern, pretending I wasn’t simultaneously flattered and more than a little creeped out. “For what? Being a good customer?”
