Page 82 of Boss Daddy

I feel a swell of pride at her unwillingness to back down. She remains steady and collected, even in the face of pure evil.

Misha narrows his eyes at her, his lips curling in disgust. “You’ve got some nerve.” He places his hands on the bar and heaves himself out of his stool. He nods to one of the guards, who sets down his drink and points his gun at her. “Where… the fuck… is my money?” Rage echoes in his voice.

If there’s a time to move, it’s now. If he doesn’t get what he wants, he’s going to kill her.

I nod to James.

The pipe in his hand catches the dim light as he swings it with precision. It connects with the goon’s head, a sickening crack splitting the air as the man crumples to the ground.

The room explodes in chaos.

I spin toward the closest guard behind me, who’s already reaching for his weapon, and grab his wrist. Twisting sharply, I force him to drop the gun, the clatter of metal against the floor barely registering as I slam his head into the edge of the bar. He struggles, but I’m stronger, and the adrenaline coursing through me makes my grip unbreakable.

“Samuel!” Erin’s voice cuts through the mayhem.

I turn my head just in time to see Misha gesture to the two remaining guards, positioning himself between them and James and me. He signals to one of the guards to point his gun at Erin.

“She moves, you kill her,” he says.

“Don’t,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous. “Unless you want this to end badly.”

Misha’s eyes dart to James, who’s already moving toward us, the pipe in his hand dripping blood. The tables have turned, and he knows it.

The room has become still and silent, the only noise the groaning of the guard James brained with the pipe.

My focus narrows on Misha, and I take a slow step toward him.

“Now,” I say, my voice icy, “you’re going to tell me exactly who fed you that lie about Erin. And you’re going to tell me now.”

Chapter 32

Erin

“Where were we?”

Misha sits on the bar stool like he owns the damn place.

His guards flank him, there’s a gun trained on me, and he’s clearly feeling a hell of a lot more confident. He reaches to the bar, taking the martini one of his guards abandoned when James hit the first goon. He brings the glass to his mouth for a slow sip.

“That’s good stuff.” He turns to me. “Are you sure you don’t want to come work for me again?” He laughs at his own joke, shaking his head.

The smirk on his face is infuriating. He’s so full of himself, so sure of his men, and so certain this fight is already over, that he didn’t even flinch when the fight broke out.

“Tell me,” Samuel says. “Who gave you this information?”

Misha shrugs. “Doesn’t look like you’re in any position to make demands,” he replies. “And it doesn’t matter. I know what she did and I want my money.”

“You’re not getting shit.”

Misha narrows his eyes. “I’m getting exactly what I came for. And if you don’t give it to me—”

What happens next happens fast.

I grab one of the bottles from behind the bar, throwing it with all my strength at the nearest goon. The bottle connects with athunk, and he stumbles backward.

That’s all Samuel needs.

“James, move!”

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