Page 39 of God of War

Naz

Sullivan's club is already reopened for business, every trace of what happened here just a few days ago already wiped clean. No surprise. The incident didn't even make the news. I'm sure he greased the pockets of every politician and cop he knows to keep it under wraps.

It's what he does. It's who he is.

The oversized motherfucker working the front door doesn't try to stop me as I stride past him. Music pumps through the club, the beat vibrating my bones. Strobe lights spin and dance overhead, giving me a fucking headache.

I'm barely four steps in before I've got three of Sullivan's enforcers trailing me.

I ignore them, skirting around the dance floor toward Nolan's office in the back. He's expecting me. I made sure to give him that goddamn courtesy before I showed up. It wasn't out of respect, but necessity. I don't want the prick putting a bullet in me before I say what I came to say.

I promised his daughter that she wouldn't lose me. If I have to haunt this bastard for proving me wrong, I'm going to be pissed about it.

I lift my hand to rap my fingers against his office door, only for one of Sullivan's men to step forward, his expression level as he clears his throat. "Everyone who goes in there gets patted down."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I growl, rolling my eyes. Do they really expect me to take him out by my damn self in a club full of his people? Either they think I'm seriously the fucking devil…or an idiot. I turn, lifting the sides of my suit coat. "Do I look like I'm armed?"

"Have to check," he grunts, shrugging.

I bite my tongue, jerking my head for him to hurry it the fuck up. Naturally, he takes his sweet time, patting me down like he expects to find an entire arsenal hidden beneath my shirt.

I mutter a curse when his hand crawls all over my dick.

"That's my cock," I grit out.

He sweeps lower, grabbing another handful of it.

"Still my motherfucking cock," I snap, one brow arched. "Satisfied now, or do you want to grab the final four inches of it too?"

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, stepping back with a disgruntled look on his face. As if I had my hands all over his cock. "He's unarmed."

I shoot him a cold look, pinning the other two with it as well. They fidget under the weight of it, uncomfortable, unsettled.

Good. They should be.

"I'm not your fucking enemy," I growl before turning to rap on Sullivan's door. I don't bother to wait for an answer before I step inside his office, letting the door slam closed behind me.

His office is as predictable as the man himself. Expensive scotch bottles line shelves behind his imposing desk, the Irish flag stretched across one wall. Awards hang on the other three walls, mingling between photos of his family and those he's taken with celebrities and whoever the fuck else this man thinks will lend him a little legitimacy.

It's almost laughable how zealously he's curated that image. He's every bit as monstrous as I am, every bit the criminal. He loves the power. He loves the game. But he chases legitimacy like it he thinks catching it, surrounding himself with it, will make him anything other than what he is.

He looks up at me, an infuriating mix of anger, curiosity, and cold amusement in eyes too goddamn much like his daughter's. The hint of triumph glinting in their depths, as if he thinks I'm here like some beaten dog, makes me homicidal.

Cristo. I want to flip that desk and wrap my hand around his throat, remind him exactly who the fuck I am. But I'm not here for that. I'm here for her. I'm here…to make new rules. To be something—to forge something different.

I told her to choose peace the day we met, but it isn't hers to choose. It never was. If I want peace in her life, it's up to me and this motherfucker right here to choose it for her.

I'm willing to give her that. Is he?

"Leyva." He leans back in his leather chair, smirking. "Looking for something?"

My jaw clenches, anger coursing through me. The prick thinks I'm here to beg for Josef's body back. He's waving it in my face like a flag in front of a bull, hoping I charge at the bait.

"I'm not here for Josef's body, Sullivan. We both know you aren't giving it up so he can be buried," I mutter. "Decency is only in your nature when people like those in the photos on your walls are watching."

His smirk slips at the insult. "Then why are you here? I have a club to run."

"I'm here about your daughter."

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