by Meghan March
That was the secret to his success, and one I’ve always tried to employ in my own life, even before I was officially employed as an investigative journalist. Nancy Drew had nothing on me, which is why I use names from her stories as my aliases. The fact that no one has caught on yet—that Drew Carson is really just Nancy’s father’s name, Carson Drew, in reverse seemed quite clever to me.
But I’m less impressed with my cleverness when I look back down at the file and papers spread out before me. There has to be something here. I know it.
My gut says that digging into the Casso-Rossetti feud and whatever sparked the resurgence twenty-five years ago is what got my father killed, and I’m not going to stop until I have the answers he wasn’t able to find.
Don’t worry, Dad. I’m not done digging yet.
A small voice inside me says that he would prefer I burn the file, leave New York, and never come back, but I silence it with a shiver.
30
Cannon
“Why is this punk-ass piece of shit following me?” I toss my phone on the desk in front of Dom, its screen displaying a grainy photo of Giancarlo Tyrol Rossetti Jr., also known as GTR, sitting in his car across the street from my apartment. “And why the fuck does he think he can be this blatant about it?”
Dom leans back in his leather chair and clasps his hands behind his neck. Twin revolvers hang from leather shoulder holsters wrapped around his still-broad shoulders.
“What were you doing that he thought would be interesting to watch?” Dom’s raised silver eyebrow punctuates the question he already knows the answer to.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something crude, like eating my girl’s pussy on my desk while she creamed all over my face, but the words won’t come.
In this family, there’s never been much respect for women, but I refuse to drag Drew into that category. She’s better than that.
Dom’s lips form a smirk when I say nothing. “I guess I can figure that out for myself. I really didn’t think you had it in you, Canny Boy. But you manage to surprise me every once in a while. Good for you.”
“What’s going down with the Rossettis? I thought the truce was solid.”
The smirk fades and the old man’s gaze sharpens on me. “Since when do you want to know all the details of what’s happening in my business? Because last I checked, you’ve never been involved with anything that required you to get your hands dirty.”
He’s right. I’ve lived on the periphery my entire life. Never part of the family, never able to break free from it completely. It’s a line that’s razor-wire sharp and dangerous as fuck to walk, but it’s all I know.
“I’ve done every damn thing you’ve ever asked of me since I was fourteen fucking years old.” My hands tighten into fists at my sides.
Dom drops his hands to the padded leather arms of the chair and stares me down. “And you’ll keep doing every damn thing I ask you to do until the day I meet my Maker or hand over the reins. Won’t you, Cannon? Because that’s what you do. What everyone tells you to. If you showed even a hint of wanting to take over the family, I would give you a shot. But you don’t show me that. You look at everything I’ve built, with my own fucking bloody hands, with contempt.”
My teeth grind together as I force myself to stay silent, even when I want to tell him to go fuck himself, and walk out of this building and this city and never fucking come back. The idea of it—the sheer magnitude of the freedom just beyond my grasp—is seductive as hell.
Start over somewhere else. Be someone else.
Why haven’t I done it already? I have money Dom knows nothing about. I have real estate he doesn’t know I own. Why am I still living under his rule?
Because he’s the only family I have left. Despite the fact that I want to hate him . . . I can’t. He’s still my father, for good or for evil.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Nothing to say. That’s one thing you excel at—keeping your fucking mouth shut. At least until it mattered, and you had to blow shit with Creighton. Lucky for you, he’ll still talk to me. Real fucking lucky.” Dom rocks back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest.
“What do you want from me, Dom?” I bite out the question. “I’m running your club. It’s making a fuck-ton of money you don’t have to clean because I keep it on the up-and-up. Even the Feds aren’t watching closely anymore now that I’m in charge. If there’s something else you think I should be doing, you just let me know.”
I turn to walk out of his office without being dismissed because I just don’t give a fuck anymore, about him or getting an explanation about GTR, but Dom stops me as soon as I touch the door handle.
“There is one thing . . .”
I look over my shoulder at him. “What?”
The harsh lines of his face deepen further as he glares at me. “The girl. If you’re not fucking her, she’s fair game. If last night was a charade, you really won’t like the consequences.”
With my jaw at risk of cracking, I speak through clenched teeth.
“If you even think about touching her, you’ll answer to me. I may not be the son you wanted under your thumb, but I’ve learned vengeance at your knee. Don’t fucking try me, because you’ll be meeting your Maker a hell of a lot sooner than you planned.”
Instead of rising to his feet and pulling a gun from his shoulder holster, Dom smirks at me, respect glinting in his eyes.
“Finally. Only took some sweet pussy to make you into a man. Bring her to my birthday party. I want to learn more about Miss Drew Carson.”
31
Drew
“What do you mean, you left him without riding that monster dick all night long after he ate you until you screamed?”
Randi’s question comes out like a squeal, and women at the two tables next to us swivel their heads to stare at me like I’ve betrayed the sisterhood. Thankfully, the rest of the bar is packed, and the noise drowns out her shock before it carries further to elicit more awkward stares.
“Wasn’t that enough for one night? Especially the first night?” I whisper the question, hoping that the tone of my voice will influence Randi to stop shrieking, but even I know that’s a long shot.
Her eyes widen and she shakes her head like she’s overwhelmed by the degree of my failure. “No, girl. It’s never enough. You should be walking bowlegged right now, because I’ve heard that man can pound you into the pavement without even trying.” Randi leans forward, and her boobs threaten to spill free of her low-cut shirt.
I cross my arms and glare at her. “Oh, really? Because the other stuff you told me—about him fucking all of his employees—wasn’t true at all. As a matter of fact, it was the opposite of true. He said he won’t touch them.”
Instead of being offended by being called out, Randi throws her head back, and her silver-streaked black hair goes flying as she laughs.
“What is so damn funny?”
She wipes her eyes, still chuckling as she reaches for her beer. “I wasn’t wrong when it counted. He sure as hell touched you, didn’t he?”
Goddammit. She’s right, and I can’t even argue about that.
“But he didn’t touch Tanya.”
Randi rolls her eyes. “Because Tanya’s a bitch who would probably bite a man’s dick off if it got too close to her mouth. She’s been man-hating since the beginning of time. Besides, I never told you that Cannon fucked her.”
A stab of annoyance shoots through me because Randi didn’t make any exclusions from the he fucks everyone, but only one night speech she gave me before, and she didn’t tell me about knowing Tanya. But I let it slide because . . . well, it’s Randi. What am I supposed to do with her? She’s the closest thing I have to a friend as Drew Carson.
“How do you know Tanya, anyway? And why didn’t you tell me you applied there for a job? Seven times.”
Randi waves her hand at the waitress, making the universal signal for we need another round, which we really don’t. I’m already feeling the b
When she’s assured the next round is on its way, Randi turns back to me. “Would you advertise you’d been chased away from a place where you wanted a job? Don’t judge me. As for Tanya, I met her through Teal, her younger sister. She’s a favorite on the party-girl circuit. Guys will buy her anything.” Randi pulls a twenty out from beneath her bottle of beer. “I swear, she must have a gold-plated pussy, because her blood alcohol level is usually higher than her IQ.”
I can picture a younger, less hostile version of Tanya, but the last part makes me wonder if Teal’s partying is why she’s not working at the club often. It would fit with the question Tanya asked me on my first day about drinking and the warnings she gave me.
“I guess Teal still works at the club, but I haven’t met her yet,” I say, hoping Randi will keep spilling information.
“She only works there because even Cannon can’t bring himself to fire her. Teal says she fucked him, which, for the record,” she shoots me a pointed look, “that’s why I told you he fucked his employees. That was straight from the ho’s mouth, and I had no reason to think she was lying about it.”
“He says he didn’t,” I reply, leaning back in my seat.
Randi’s eye roll threatens to pop her eyeballs straight out of her head. “Like any guy ever tells the truth about that shit. That’s your first mistake, young Jedi. You believe them. You need to learn to be a little less trusting.”
I grab my glass and chug the rest of my dirty martini with one gulp, because I can’t school my expression fast enough. If Randi only knew I was the one no one should trust . . . but I can’t tell her. Not now and not ever.
When I’ve regained my composure, I set the glass down and nod. “I’ll work on that.”
The next round of drinks is delivered, but my phone buzzes incessantly in my purse. I glance inside to see which phone it is—my work phone or my personal phone. Normally, I only bring my work phone with me, but Ariel is due to have a baby at any moment, and I want to know when the screaming bundle of joy makes its arrival into the world.
It’s my personal phone. And it’s my mother calling. Great.
I stand up from the table and point to my phone. “I gotta take this. I’ll be right back.”
Randi nods, her gaze already wandering to the nearest solo guy in the bar as I walk out to the sidewalk where I’ll be able to hear my mother lecture me over God only knows what this time.
Except I’m not quite quick enough.
The ringing dies and I stand on the sidewalk, trying to decide whether I want to call her back. There’s no love lost between me and Mom. She bounces from one übertrendy health spa to the next, instead of just checking herself into rehab where she belongs.
Before I make a decision, an alert pops up on the screen indicating I have a new voice mail. Because I’m a glutton for punishment, I tap on it to listen.
“You know you could call me once in a while. I’m not dead like your father.”
That’s all I need to hear before I hit delete. I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life—real or fake.
I march back inside the bar, really ready for that next drink, and I pause when I see Randi already has a live one on the line.
Dammit.
I take two more steps toward the table when he turns to the side and I catch his profile. What the hell?
It’s GTR, the guy who was outside Cannon’s apartment this morning. Oh. My. God. That’s impossible. But there’s no mistaking that it’s him. And he’s chatting up Randi like it’s his job.
Fucking hell.
What am I supposed to do now? I back away from the direction of the table, slipping behind a tall man, and make a break for the sidewalk. In my haste, I slam into someone and mumble an apology before sprinting to the exit.
Once outside, I text Cannon.
* * *
Me: I need you.
32
Cannon
The club isn’t as entertaining without Drew here. She’s only worked here a few days, and I’m still wishing she didn’t have today off.
I’ve been thinking about Dom’s request all day, and how the hell I’m going to get us out of it, but I’m still working out a solution.
My phone vibrates in my suit jacket pocket, and I pull it out to see a text from her. Like the universe knows I can’t get her off my mind.
But as soon as I read the words, I still. Instead of texting her back, I tap her contact and call. She answers on the first ring.
“What’s going on?”
“Well . . . this is going to sound stupid, but I’m out with Randi and I left the table, and when I was going back, that guy who was outside your apartment this morning was there hitting on her.”
GTR is in the same bar as Drew?
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I should have stayed in Dom’s office until I got an answer about GTR or we had a plan to deal with him, but of course I fucking didn’t. Now he’s getting way too fucking close for comfort.
“Where are you?”
“On the sidewalk out in front of a sports bar called Lambo’s.”
Thankfully, I know where it is, and it’s not that far away. “You sure it’s him?” I ask, keeping my tone calm as I grab my keys and gun out of my desk drawer.
“Um . . . dark hair, sideburns that turn into one of those ugly chinstrap lines that’s not really a beard.”
“Fuck. Stay away from the table. And for God’s sake, don’t drink anything. I’m on my way.” I jam the gun down the back of my suit pants and head out of my office.
“Wait, why?”
“I don’t want you even breathing the same air he does, so stay outside. I’m coming.” I stride across the club floor, my phone clutched in my hand.
“What about Randi?” Drew’s voice rises with concern for her friend. But Randi isn’t the one I’m worried about.
“Do what I told you, Drew. Randi will be fine.”
“Okay. I’ll stay right here, but hurry.”
“Good girl.” I hang up the phone and hit the entryway where Grice is standing guard.
“Something wrong, Boss?”
“Maybe. I gotta go handle something. Tell Stefano he’s in charge of the club floor. I’ll call you if I’m not coming back.”
My hand is already on the door handle when he asks, “You need backup? Or a piece?”
I shake my head. “I’m strapped. I’ll handle it.”
“Be safe, Boss.”
It takes me fifteen minutes to get to Lambo’s, and a wave of relief washes through me when I see a blonde standing out front.
Thank fuck. She listened.
I hop out of the cab, since it was quicker than calling Warren back from his errand on the other side of town, and head right for her.
Drew looks up from her phone and stills as she spots me.
I don’t hesitate for even a second. I stop in front of her, wrap one arm around her, cup her face with my other hand, and kiss the hell out of her. She stiffens at first but relaxes into my hold a second later. I take the kiss deeper, silently telling her I’m so fucking glad she’s okay, and finally pull back.
She blinks up at me, her gaze hazier than it was moments before. “What was that for?”
“For this morning,” I tell her, but it’s a fuck of a lot more than that. I’ve never had something to lose before. Never had a weakness to be exploited. Now it’s clear that the Rossettis have locked onto her as being exactly that. “And because you sounded scared as hell on the phone.”
“Why is he here?” she whispers. “Is it a coincidence?”
I shake my head. “No, and we’re heading back inside to make sure he understands this shit ain’t gonna fly.”
Drew’s entire body goes tense again. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
I think of the respect I saw on Dom’s face when I threatened him. “Doesn’t matter if it’s a good idea or not. It’s what has to happen. Come on.”
I lead Drew back into the packed bar and spot GTR immediately, leaning against a table where Randi Brown sits.
“Has Randi mentioned knowing him? Did she invite him here?” I ask Drew as I glance down at her.
“I don’t think she’s mentioned him. And she didn’t say she was planning on meeting up with anyone. We were just getting together to talk . . . about things.”
From the way she trails off after the vague answer, I have a feeling Drew and Randi were getting together to talk about what happened last night between me and the woman who feels perfectly right at my side.
But I couldn’t care less about her spilling details, because right now we have a lot more serious concern—why the fuck GTR is following Drew.
As Drew and I walk toward the table, Randi’s eyes widen and GTR turns to follow her gaze. When he sees me, there’s not even a hint of surprise. A smug smile curls his fucking mouth, and I want to knock his teeth down his throat for it. It’s like he wanted me to know that he was following her.
What in the actual fuck?
“You didn’t mention your man was coming out tonight,” Randi says, sizing me up.
“He surprised me,” Drew replies in a light tone. “Randi, you’ve met Cannon, my—”
“Boyfriend.” I finish for her and then spear GTR with a glare. “What the hell are you doing here, Junior?”
He puffs up at the nickname he’s been trying to kick since childhood. “None of your goddamned business, Freeman.”
“Wait, you two know each other?” Randi looks from me to GTR in shock genuine enough for me to think maybe she doesn’t have a clue what kind of scum she’s trying to pick up tonight.
“Well enough,” GTR says to her before turning to me. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight, though, Cannon. Thought you were working at that fancy club of yours. I think it’s about time for me to put in a new membership request. Should get bumped to the top now, yeah?”
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