Page 104 of Snitches and Serpents

I give my head a quick shake as I try to adjust my perception. The White Serpents isn’t some little backwater gang. It’s practically a business empire.

We reach a door at the end of the hall. But this time, Tristan doesn’t immediately open it. Instead, he turns to me.

His eyes are the most uncertain I have ever seen as he searches my face. “You really don’t have to do this.”

I look back at him with a steady gaze. “Yes, I do. I want to do this.”

In fact, I’ve never been more sure in all my life about wanting to do something. I want to do this. For us. For him.

I know that he is still a little uncomfortable with this. I could read it plain as day on his face when I brought it up. He doesn’t want to feel like he owes me anything. He doesn’t want to owe anyone anything.

But he won’t. I really meant what I said. I’m not lending him the money. And I’m not doing this out of pity or guilt. I’m simply returning money that was supposed to be his. I’m just righting a wrong.

I was so worried that he was going to refuse because of something as stupid as fragile male pride. So I was incredibly relieved when it turned out that he was mature enough to accept help when it’s offered freely. Not a lot of people, and not a lot of men in particular, do that because their pride gets in the way. So the fact that he did accept my help only makes me respect him even more.

Tristan continues searching my face, as if looking for signs of regret. I just look back at him with serious eyes. He swallows and then nods slowly.

“Alright,” he says, his voice a little thick.

I pretend not to notice.

Raising a hand, he knocks on the door before us.

After a few seconds, a commanding voice calls, “Come.”

Tristan draws in a deep breath as if to brace himself. Then he opens the door. I sweep my gaze over the room as we walk inside.

It’s a rather large space, with walls painted in a deep maroon color. The furniture inside is made of rich wood, giving it all a very expensive air. There is also a set of black drapes hanging on the wall to my left, which means that there is probably a large window there. It’s the wall that faces the club area I saw earlier, so it must be a way to observe the club from above without being seen.

I shift my gaze to the grand desk ahead.

A man in his fifties is sitting there. He has brown hair with only a few speckles of gray, a strong and athletic body, and sharp gray eyes that seem to pulse with quiet command. There is a military feeling to the way he carries himself, even whilst seated.

I expect a flash of worry to shoot through me. But to my surprise, it doesn’t. I only feel a steely sense of determination.

When we reach the massive desk, Tristan comes to a halt, straightens his spine, and clasps his hands behind his back.

“Sir,” he says.

Anger courses through me at the display of submission. God, I can’t wait to get Tristan out from underneath this guy’s thumb.

“Tristan,” Mr. Bracken replies. A calculating glint appears in his eyes as he holds Tristan’s gaze. “This is unexpected. A surprise visit when you have not been summoned.” He flicks a glance at me. “And you’ve brought a friend.”

“Yes.”

“Interesting. And why have you come?”

“To pay off my debt to you.”

Genuine surprise pulses in his eyes for a brief second. But he recovers quickly. Then his gaze slides back to me, and I can almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

A small, almost taunting, smile spreads across his lips as he looks back at Tristan again. “So, you’ve found yourself a little sugar daddy. Or sugar mommy, I should say.” He lets out a chuckle and leans back in his chair, giving Tristan a knowing look. “Good for you.”

Rage flashes through me, and I open my mouth to snap at him for being such a rude and disrespectful asshole. But before any sound can make it out, Tristan wraps his fingers around my wrist and gives it a firm squeeze. I start in surprise and flick a glance at him. He isn’t even looking at me, but I can somehow still practically feel him begging me not to say anything.

So instead of giving Bracken a piece of my mind, I blow out a breath to compose myself. I suppose Tristan is right. Picking a fight with this guy will probably only work against us.

“Yes,” I say instead, and flash him the friendly and pleasing smile that I have spent my entire life perfecting. “So if you would be so kind as to give me your account information, I can have the full amount transferred to you first thing tomorrow morning.”

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