Drake let his crossed arms drop to his side. He wished he was wearing one of his weapons. If the kid made a move, Drake knew he could take him in hand-to-hand combat without breaking a sweat, but he didn’t trust that the kid would play fair. And he was 99 percent certain that the kid was packing.
“What the fuck do I want?” Jacob asked, taking the few steps that were between him and Drake. He stopped with the toes of their shoes practically touching. “What I want is for you to fucking mind your own fucking business.”
Drake fought the urge to step back. As much as he liked his personal space, giving Jacob the satisfaction of seeing him back down wasn’t worth the comfort.
The kid couldn’t be serious. He wanted Drake to mind his own business? What did he think Drake was doing? This club and everything that happened in and around it was his business.
“Aw, did someone get in trouble?” Drake asked, feeling a pleased smirk contort his face.
Jacob smiled back at him, showing teeth that Drake would swear were razor-sharp. “You think you’re special because you own a building?” Jacob asked, leaning in even closer. “You aren’t special. You’re a bug. An insect. Someone like you disappears, poof.” Jacob made a puffing gesture into his hand, his fingers spreading as if blowing dust from his palm. “The cartel finds someone else to take your place. You cause too much trouble or get caught doing something you shouldn’t, you’re dead. People like you are a dime a dozen. I think it’s best you remember your place when you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Drake held his smile in place, although he could feel the cool edge of the threat tingle down his spine. He made sure to keep any unease to himself. “You think you’re in a much better position?” Drake asked, proud to hear his voice come out steady and sure.
Jacob leered at him, his eyes shining like he knew more than he let on. “I know that I am. So, I will only say this once—mind your own fucking business, and stay the fuck out of my way.” Jacob shoved past Drake and headed toward the office door in a cool, confident swagger.
“Or what, you’re going to kill me?” Drake called to Jacob’s back because, obviously, he couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut.
Turning back to face him, Jacob grinned, and it reached his eyes. “Everybody has someone they care about.” And with that final chilling comment, Jacob opened Drake’s office door and left.
Chapter 14
THE POUNDING bass of the music and the distorted confusion of hundreds of conversations going on at once was a soothing distraction from Drake’s panicked inner monologue. Ever since Jacob had walked out of his office, he hadn’t been able to shake the prickling dread crawling through the murky trenches of his consciousness. Drake knew he shouldn’t let the kid’s threat bother him, but he couldn’t help it.
If Drake was an upstanding violent criminal without an inch of worry or care for himself or anyone else, then he might have been able to walk away from that incredibly tense conversation with a shrug. But he wasn’t an upstanding violent criminal. In fact, the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to be a criminal in any capacity. Sure, he had gotten into this life with good intentions, but everyone knew where paths of good intentions led. Sure enough, he was on the right trail.
The worst part of the whole thing was that ever since Jacob had said that, as soon as Drake had heard the words “care about,” he’d finally realized that he had done the one thing he had told himself he would never do. Not only had he started to care about someone, but he had put that someone in the crosshairs of the fucking cartel that had taken everything from him in the fucking first place.
Drake tilted his glass to his lips, letting the smooth liquid warm him. He took a small sip, thought better of it, and drained the glass. After setting the tumbler down firmly on the bar, he spun it expertly so it moved across the counter, stilling only once it reached the edge, ready for a much-needed refill. Drake tapped his fingers on the speckled bar top, waiting for Julie to finish her current rounds so she could replenish his goods. She was taking her damn time, but he couldn’t begrudge her that; she was doing her job.
Patience is a virtue. The thought floated through his mind, and he closed his eyes on the intense outpouring of emotion it brought to him. He could almost hear his mother saying it as she calmly worked around him while he continued to pester her in the way children did.
How was it that he could hear her voice, but he couldn’t picture her face? Would there be a day when even the memory of her voice would disappear as well?
Dispelling the unwanted memory, he searched for the refuge of a distraction and took that moment to glance farther down the bar at the still busily working Scotty, who was fulfilling his drink orders.
One thought of misery leading straight to another.
Unable to face Scotty after the whole Jacob incident, Drake had decided to forgo sitting in his section and instead opted for Julie’s portion of the bar. The act had earned him a couple of curious glances from Scotty, who gratefully had remained too busy to come over and talk to him, but Drake had tried his damnedest to not notice. He needed to think and he needed to drink, and Julie was much more likely to continue to serve Drake drinks after he’d reached his limit—unlike Scotty, who would have probably already cut him off.
“Got a lot on your mind, Drakeybo?”
The soft sound of Natasha’s soprano voice grated through Drake’s skull, and he dropped his head into his hands. This was it. This was the proof that the world was fucking with him. He must have been a serial rapist or something in a past life because it was the only thing that explained why his life was the way it was.
“You have got to be kidding me! Are you always here?” Drake managed through clenched teeth. The music was still loud and the crowd’s ambiance overpowering, but Natasha’s raised perfectly manicured brows let him know that she could hear him. “Don’t you have a life outside of this club? Shouldn’t you be working, or something?”
Natasha pursed her moist red lips as if waiting for a kiss and cocked her hip against the bar facing Drake, too close for his comfort.
“What makes you think that I’m not working?” She tilted her chin up, her curly hair falling back from her face in seductive waves.
Slanting his eyes toward the back room, Drake sighed. Of course. Sex and drugs, the only things people cared about anymore.
Who was he to talk? He’d had sex on the brain ever since he’d hired the gorgeous bartender he was trying his damnedest not to ogle and failing miserably. He couldn’t say drugs weren’t on his mind either, considering he worked for a cartel.
Speaking of drugs, he really needed a refill on his drink. What the hell? Drake eyed the bottle of Black Label staring at him from the mirrored bar. Unfortunately, Julie was still working with some customers at the end of her station. She probably wasn’t going to come fill his glass anytime soon. Of course, Drake owned the bar. There really wasn’t a reason he couldn’t just go get the drink himself. Or a better option would be to go into his office and hide out for the rest of the evening. That way he wouldn’t need to converse with anyone, and he wouldn’t be able to publicly yearn for a guy who he had no business yearning for.
A warm body pressing against his brought Drake back to the present to find Natasha sidled up against him. Drake felt a repulsed tingle work its way through his spine as Natasha slid her hand up his arm. She leaned close, her hot breath moist against his ear.
“We could go somewhere a little more private, and I bet I could make you forget all about that drink you’re waiting for.” She paused. The air was warm and sticky against the skin on his neck. “Or that bartender you’re drooling over.”
A chill ran over Drake’s skin at Natasha’s words. Those words confirmed what Drake had thought. Not only had he let someone get close to him, but he hadn’t had the decency to keep it under lock and key.
Not wanting to bring more attention to the fact that Scotty meant anything to him, Drake rolled his eyes and pushed back fr
om the counter. “Are you fucking serious?”
Natasha maneuvered to keep her body pressed against his even as he tried to move away. One corner of her mouth tilted up in a brash smile.
“Honey, I am always serious.” She licked her lips in invitation as a warm hand landed on Drake’s inner thigh and slithered upward. “I guess this explains why you suddenly have no interest in me. I don’t have the right—” She brazenly clasped his cock in her grip. “—anatomy.”
Drake hissed in outrage, his breath hot as fire. Using one hand to stop the obtrusive grope, Drake pushed off his stool hard enough to send the metal-and-cloth contraption clanging to the floor. Although the bar was loud and was in a constant wave of change, the violent movement caused the people directly around Drake to jump out of the way. A little red-haired girl squealed in surprise as the stool slid by her high-heeled feet.
Drake straightened to his full height, Natasha’s arm grasped firmly in his hand. He could feel the bones under her skin, and he had to stop himself from squeezing hard enough to cause real damage. Natasha’s cocky smile faltered with each second of Drake’s staunch grip, but the curve never left her lips. He edged forward, towering over her smaller frame, meeting her dark daring eyes. “Get the fuck out of my bar.” The words seethed through his teeth.
Natasha’s smile, though dulled, never left her lips and she faced him head-on. Dripping in dark seduction, she said, “Aw, Drakey, you don’t mean that.”
“I mean it,” Drake growled. “I want you out. You so much as show your face in here again, I will have you thrown out.”
Natasha pulled her arm from Drake’s grasp roughly. Her confident gaze returned to Drake’s. “It’s cute that you think that you have enough control to keep me out of here.” She licked her lips. “Did you think I came here to see you? Oh, honey, you may think you’re something, but you are just a speck of dirt in the grand scheme of things.”
Drake’s voice deepened. “I’m getting tired of people threatening me.”
“I haven’t even begun to threaten you. When I do threaten you, Drakeybo,” Natasha said sweetly, tapping Drake’s cheek with her open palm like speaking condescendingly to a child, “trust me, you will know it.”
Drake jerked back, attempting to avoid her touch, but she just laughed before turning on her heel to walk back toward the dance floor. He watched her go, his face still hot with anger. Swallowing hard, he let out a deep release of breath, dispelling a modicum of the pent-up heat, and the red around the edges of his vision started to clear.
“Here, Boss, I thought you might need this,” Julie said, setting a glass down on the counter. Drake picked it up and slugged it down before sending her a smile of gratitude.
“Thanks, Jules.” Returning the empty glass back to Julie, he fought off the urge to have her pour him another. If he wanted more, which he definitely did, then he had a bottle with his name on it in his office.
“I’m going to do inventory. Find me if you need me,” Drake said, then went to find a bottle to drown his nerves.
It took longer than Drake had thought it would for Scotty to find him. He had made a bet with himself that Scotty would have followed him to his office, especially after all the questioning looks he had been receiving, but that hadn’t happened. Then he’d thought Scotty would follow him to the storage room after Drake clearly avoided him while doing a quick stock inventory of the bar. Not that Drake was complaining about not being followed around like a puppy, it was just that he had prepared himself for the confrontations in the moment. He had worked himself up to be able to push Scotty away, which obviously was something he had to do, because he wasn’t in a position to care about anyone. He wasn’t in a position to protect anyone. He couldn’t think about anyone but himself, and Scotty deserved so much more than that.
So, when Scotty did show up, Drake was fully unprepared. He’d gone into the storage room under the guise of doing inventory, but who was he kidding? He didn’t have the ability to focus on anything but his inner monologue. He had spent the hour in the storage room pacing and randomly picking up bottles. He had looked over a few, reading their labels, but if anyone asked him what they had stored, he wouldn’t have had a clue.
He was looking blankly at a bottle of white rum when Scotty’s voice, though quiet, shook his very foundation.
“What in the world are you doing in here?”
Drake jumped, almost dropping the bottle but catching it clumsily in his arms at the last minute. He also made a startled squeak, which he would go to his grave denying.
“Jesus,” he gasped, putting the bottle back in its spot on the shelf. “Don’t sneak up on me.”
Scotty’s amused expression became even more snarky as an eyebrow rose into his hairline. “Sneak up on you? Really?”
Drake caught his breath and quickly schooled his features. Looking around him for his drink, he found his empty glass sitting next to an equally empty bottle of Black Label. He huffed, then crossed his arms over his chest.
“What do you need?”
Scotty came farther into the room, the bright light illuminating his concerned features. “I’m looking for you. What’s going on?”
“What do you mean, what’s going on?” Drake shrugged. “I’m doing inventory.”
Scotty glanced around, eyeing Drake’s empty bottle with a disapproving frown. “Inventory, right.”
As Scotty moved closer, Drake moved back. “Yes, inventory. I wanted to get it done early so I don’t have to stay until close tonight.”
“You’re leaving early?” Scotty said, his voice thick with something Drake didn’t want to think about. Instead he picked up his empties and the inventory notebook he had neglected.
When he turned around to make a hasty exit, he was stopped by the crestfallen look on Scotty’s face. Closing his eyes, Drake shook his head.
“Look,” he said.
At the same time, Scotty breathed his name. “Drake.”
They both stopped. Drake looked everywhere but at Scotty. He had to do this. He had to push him away. His life wasn’t one meant for this; he wasn’t supposed to find love and happiness. He was broken, and there was no way to fix that. The only thing he could do was get his revenge, and he couldn’t do that with another innocent life on the line.
Hardening his expression, Drake finally met Scotty’s lost gaze. “Look,” he repeated. “We both knew this wasn’t a good idea. Right? We knew that it wasn’t going to be able to go anywhere, so I suggest we end it now before it can go any further and one of us gets hurt.”
“Before one of us gets hurt, right,” Scotty said, his voice flat. “Might be too late for that.”
“I told you I had a lot going on. I told you that I couldn’t do it.” Drake swallowed hard. “I was weak and I let this happen. I shouldn’t have, and now I’m correcting that. You are better off, Scotty. I promise you.”
With an annoyed grunt, Scotty said, “Why are you the one that gets to decide what’s better for me? What if I don’t want what’s better for me?”
“Just… trust me,” Drake breathed.
Scotty’s saddened expression morphed into one of anger. “Trust you. Because you tell me so much? Because you are so honest with me?” He closed the distance between them, Drake surprised enough about Scotty’s anger to delay any reaction. “The thing is, Drake, I do trust you. You don’t seem to trust me.”
“Scotty,” Drake began, but his voice broke.
Scotty’s expression softened. He put a cautious hand on Drake’s shoulder. “I know, okay?” he said, squeezing lightly. “I know that you’re involved in something. I know that the club is just a front. I know that you aren’t who you say you are.”
Drake’s blood surged at the confession, his spine snapping up. “What?”
Drake had attempted to step away from Scotty’s grasp, but Scotty traveled with him, keeping their bodies the same distance apart, although they were no longer touching. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out.” Scotty pushed hi
s hand through his hair, sweeping the light locks from his goldenrod eyes. “I’ve known that you were involved in something for quite a while. I mean, you have rooms in this building alone that me and other staff can’t go to. Frankie gives more orders than you do, not to mention he and the never-ending rotation of punkass kids are hardly ever actually working at the club.”
Drake’s mouth worked like a fish out of water. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t come up with anything to say. What Scotty said opened a floodgate of panic, relief, and various other emotions he couldn’t quite comprehend. Scotty knew. He knew, and he still wanted to be with Drake. He knew, and he still pursued him.
Scotty knew! Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, Scotty knew. How much did he know? Did anyone else know that he knew? Oh God, what if Frankie found out? Worse, what if Jacob found out and then killed him? Because not only would he be disposing of a potential risk, he would also be able to use the killing against Drake.
He had done it—exactly what he had wanted to prevent. He had done it, and now he had to fix it. He had to do something, anything to make it right. This was murder and drug smuggling. This was twenty-five-to-life-type stuff on his shoulders.
Drake rolled his head on his shoulders, feeling the tension underneath. He could already feel the alcohol starting to ebb, the inevitable headache growing. He would need another drink soon or else his muscles would continue to tighten, dragging out a migraine. But he just stood there. He didn’t have the energy to get a drink. He let his gaze meet Scotty’s again.
“How are you so calm about this?” Drake asked. He let his hands settle at his sides. “How can you walk into this room, this small, enclosed room with only me, the guy who you know is involved in a cartel, and be calm?” He gestured to the confined space where, if Drake wanted to, he could do anything to Scotty and no one would be the wiser. Surprisingly, Drake’s voice wasn’t nearly as rattled as he thought it would be. All his words came out calmly, maybe even a little unnervingly. The tone certainly frightened him, but he couldn’t let that show. Scotty had to know what he was dealing with.
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