Page 120 of Vegas Daddies

“Vlad wants to see what I’m made of.”All the boy is made of is a few twigs. “I can’t let Peter destroy my career.”

“And I can’t let you kill him.” Brander taps the rod against Levi’s chest. “What about Alice, hm? You wanna kill her father and break her heart even more?”

“Alice will thrive without him.” Levi directs his eyes to me. “Come on, Match. You know that just as well as I do. He’s making things difficult, isn’t he?” His gaze extends to the othertwo. “Things would be so much easier for you all with Peter gone.”

“You don’t want to get back with Alice?” Lifesaver crosses his arms over his chest.

“Love distracts. I have a career to start.” Levi eyes me again. “Alice is all yours…but is she?” He eyes me again. “With Peter still in the picture?”

The son of a bitch. I press my lips together and stay quiet, because it’s true. Peter is the anchor that Alice, no matter what, will tether herself to. He’s the realist. She’s the optimist. He goes by the book. She writes her own pages. Since meeting Alice, I’ve seen more determination in her every day. Granted, when we first met, she was drunk, but she seems to carry herself different now.

She loves her father, and he loves her.

But killing is the easy way out.

At the Venom Vultures, we kill for the greater good, not for our own selfish endeavors.

Do I want to slaughter Alice’s father and make her upset?

I could lie, say somebody else murdered him, but then I wouldn’t be any different from the Russians and Peter.

And then what? I go on priding myself about being a member of the Venom Vultures MC when I’ve broken multiple codes of conduct?

I inch the knife closer to Levi. “You will not be killing Peter.”

“No,” he says. “Iwon’t be.”

The door thuds open and a tall figure with a cool hairdo strides in.

Vlad.

Suited and booted just like he was this afternoon, he greets his comrades in Russian and steps closer to us, shoes clacking against the concrete floor like he’s preparing for a tap recital or something.

And then in walks a second body. This one not as grand, but familiar nonetheless.

The one and only Peter Dyson.

“Evening, gents,” says Vlad, forcing a smile at us.

A smile breaks out on Levi’s face.

A laugh comes close to bursting out of my mouth. The boy thinks he’s won, but following around a Bratva leader and responding to their every call isn’t winning.

Nobody wins in the Bratva except the bossman himself.

But this time he won’t.

Peter shuffles in with his tail between his legs, the combined smell of caffeine and body odor sickening my stomach more than the anxiety of what’s to come. He looks at me, and for the first time in forever, hedoesn’tdeath-glare me like I’m worth less than a piece of shit.

Because roles have been flipped.

Then Peter turns to Levi. “You’re laughing now, but I’ll report you when I get chance. Snapping pictures of strippers is prohibited.”

“Not at Bratva-owned clubs,” Vlad says. He turns to Peter. “Guests can do whatever they want.” He lingers his eyes, the look inside of them growing even more mean than before. “There are no rules.”

A knuckle clicks.

Brander’s.

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