Page 222 of Enemies

I straighten and open my eyes to see a welcome sight. My right-hand woman stands in the doorway with her hands on her waist.

“Leni. Christ.”

“Evening, boss.”

I rise and cross to my friend, clasping her in a hard embrace.

“If I’d known you were this strung-out, I would’ve come sooner.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Told you. Vacation. My cabana boy licked the sand out of my toes and?—“

“I’m sorry I asked.” I hold up a hand, and she grins.

I cross to the door, shutting it to ensure we have extra privacy. “We need to take Mischa down.”

“His goons are selling outside. Pulled a knife on me, but I chased them off.”

Alarm works through me. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. I knew one of ‘em from last summer and told him what I’d do with his balls if he tried selling here again. New manager pissed himself when he saw the blade.”

I think of the guy Leni put in place once the club was made profitable last year and she accompanied me to LA. I vow to replace him immediately.

“It’s not only about Kings, Leni. His reach has broadened. He’s in America. In London. He’s running drugs through other owners’ clubs here, forcing them to turn a blind eye, then blackmailing them after. Interpol has been working to link him to narcotics activities, but they’ve cocked it up.”

She leans in. “So, what do we do?”

“We need to strike him close to home. Everywhere his parents built up, he’s well protected. Hundreds of employees without contracts who get fed only the bare minimum info. Whom he can deny having any knowledge of if it comes up. It’s the perfect business. But he’s not as smart as his parents, which means there’s an opening. We need options, and we need to move fast.”

“You want to play cop, Harrison? Never figured you for the polyester-and-a-badge sort.”

I narrow my gaze. “Raegan came to Ibiza to book La Mer.”

Leni’s eyes round. “Oh shit.”

Her expression says she knows exactly what that means—that the woman I love is working with the most dangerous man I know.

“She’s met with Mischa. Twice,” I bite out.

“Have you told her not to?”

“Of course.”

She grimaces. “Bad idea.”

“What?” I demand.

“Let’s see. You guys broke up last year?—“

“Separated.“

“Whatever—because you were an unreasonable prick after Mischa went all pyro on your new project.”

“So, a Russian madman responsible for my parents’ deaths burns down a ten-million-dollar project and I’m unreasonable?”

“With her, yes. She’s more likely to do something if you tell her not to.”

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