Page 34 of Lost Kingdom

“What are you…” Dazed, he sends an ocean blue stare my way and gulps when our eyes meet. He sees me, even in the dark and under the shadow of my cap. “Shit.”

“I told you not to go there anymore, Duane. Owing money to dudes like Sarge is a dangerous predicament to be in. And when you don’t pay your debt, guess who they come looking for next?”

“No, they?—”

“Yes.” I swing him around and slam his back to the wall, pinning him with my hand at his throat and my thumb digging into his trachea. I’ll probably get in trouble for it someday, if Aubree ever found out I was manhandling her baby brother. But hell, maybe she’ll kill him first, for being a total fucking idiot. “I’ve talked to you about this. I’ve had my men talk to you.”

“If you could just?—”

“I’ve paid your debt more than a few times, but you’re not learning a lesson here, kid. I bail you out, and then you buy a new shovel and keep digging.”

His eyes wheel around, and the stench of cheap whiskey sizzles in the airbetween us. He’s already two-thirds of the way drunk and incapable of making sound decisions.

Which is precisely the moment Sarge will empty a man’s pockets and put him on the street until tomorrow.

“I’ll let you die before anyone comes knocking on your sister’s door. Do you understand that?”

His lips curl higher, wonky and a little too inebriated to take seriously. Though I note Sarge’s men don’t mess up the kid’s face. If you beat him up so his mama notices, the gravy train stops.

I give him a little shake. Maybe someday, a speck of sense will rattle around. “Are you hearing me, Duane? Do you know how guys like this collect from junkies?”

“I’m not a junkie.” He attempts to tap my hand away. And completely misses. “I never do drugs. Drugs are for dummies.”

“Uh-huh. So is getting blasted every day and gambling money you don’t have. If you owe Sarge, then you owe Booth, and if you owe Booth, you’re gonna find yourself in a world of fucking trouble, cement boots, and if she’s really unlucky, with a medical examiner named Aubree Emeri, standing over your body and grieving the idiot little brother she lost. Is that what you want for your sister?”

He lazily shakes his head side to side. “You’re taking thiswayyyyytoo seriously, bruv. This isn’t life and death stuff. This is…gotta have a better day tomorrow. ‘Sides, you’re loaded, and I didn’t tell my mom my sister is dating a fuckin’ gangster yet. So it seems we can be kinda mutually ben’ficial for each other, huh? You swing me a few dollars every week, and I won’t get you ejected from family dinner.” He flashes a smug grin. “I heard you were at the house last night. Didn’t know you and Aubree were tying the knot.”

“You know what that’s called,bruv?” I drag him from the wall and slam him back again until his head slaps the concrete. “A death wish. I take care of me, and I sure as hell insulate your sister. You don’t get to trade Aubree for money, dickhead. But you will lose your life if you stay on this road for much longer. Booth isn’t a forgiving man, and I won’t step in his way to protect you.” I give him one last shove and release his throat till he crumbles to the ground. “Go home, Duane. Sober up and straighten out, then do the right fucking thing. Aubree would be heartbroken if she had to attend your funeral when you still have so much life to live.”

I turn on my heels and start back toward the club, nodding when a sleek black SUV rolls up to the curb and Frank slides out. “Head inside,” I tell himquietly. “Pay his debt and warn them: if they let him in again, they accept the consequences that follow.”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Keep your ear to the ground for me. I wanna know if Booth is looking to get messy.”

Like the true soldier he is, trained by Timothy the Second and supplied by Felix, he repeats, “Yes, Boss.” Then he drops the car keys into my palm so we trade places. He heads inside Sarge’s shitty ass club, while I slide into the front seat and check my texts, because I have eyes everywhere. Alerts keeping me sane, and an appointment with a certain seamstress who might like to discuss color matching ties and pocket squares.

Best of all, Aubree will be there. As will her bad attitude and pretty mouth.

It’s my favorite way to spend an afternoon.

12

AUBREE

NO MORE SAUSAGE

“Is my bum supposed to pop this much?” I turn my backside to the mirror and twist my neck to get a better view. My brother is fabulously gay, yet he chose bridesmaid dresses that appeal to a heterosexual man’s eye.

Like…reallyappeals.

“You can almost see my butt crack.”

“You have the perfect figure for that dress.”

I jump and spin, squeaking and choking on my spit, but then my surprise turns to a growl when I find Tim leaning against the doorframe, his hands behind his back. He wears a baseball cap tonight, despite the lack of sunlight outside, and his lips, so friggin’ supple, quirk into a smile handed down from the devil himself.

“That gown was made for women with a tiny waist and a round ass. I like it.”

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