Page 130 of Lush

It was the kind of place that felt dangerous. And for some reason, that felt right.

“Can I help you?” a rough voice came from across the room, sharp and cutting through the noise.

I turned to see a tall, dark man with dreadlocks that fell down his back, with his arms crossed coming toward me, a deep frown on his face. His face was sharp angles, and his build was massive.

“We don’t let fans up in here, partner. You gotta go.”

I recognized him immediately. The tattoos, the intimidating presence, the aura of raw strength.

“Ronin Slayer?”

He didn’t flinch, just narrowed his eyes at me, sizing me up. “Yeah, that’s me. What the hell you want, rich boy?”

I didn’t even blink. “I thought your gym was based in Oakland.”

“Burned down.” Ronin’s jaw ticked. “Still, you should probably get your ass outta my gym now. Fighters only.”

“I’m here to train. This where you do it?”

Ronin burst into laughter. “You? Fight?”

“Yeah, I fight.” I leaned in, the corners of my mouth curling slightly.

His laughter died off as quickly as it came, replaced with a sharp, challenging look. “Alright. I’ll give you a chance. Get in the ring, and we’ll see if you last thirty seconds.”

A rush of energy spiked through me, and that made me grin wider. Ronin looked me up and down before whistling and calling out to the guys in the ring, who broke apart.

“Go get your stuff, rich boy. I’m sparing you five minutes of my time.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. My hands were already itchingfor something—anything—that would get my mind off the mess I was dealing with. I turned and walked back to the parking lot.

I got to my car and froze.

The tires were slashed—completely destroyed. Every last one. The adrenaline faded, replaced by a bone-deep chill that sent shivers down my spine.

Less than five minutes.

That meant I was being followed. I whipped around, looking around the small parking lot. No one. Few cars. But I felt eyes on me, even if I couldn’t see them.

I hadn’t even noticed the note wedged under the windshield wiper until it caught my eye.

I grabbed the paper and unfolded it.

I’m getting tired of playing games. Laurene will publicly resign from her position at the art gallery. You’re going to hand over 10% of Ashbourne Distilleries to a third party.

I clenched the note in my hand, every muscle in my body tensing. The bastard wasn’t playing games anymore.

And that’s when my phone rang.

The sound cut through the thick silence of the parking lot. A distorted voice came through immediately.

“You got the note?” It wasn’t even a question.

I could hear the low, steady breath on the other end. I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles white.

“Yeah, I got it,” I forced out, my voice low. “And if you think for one second you can control me, you’re fucking wrong.”

The voice chuckled. There was no humor in it. Just cold, clinical.

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