Page 11 of Cruel Debts
And we would all get caught in that inevitable crossfire, for better or worse.
SIX
HAWKE
Back at thefucking sex club again.
Asher and Liam let me drag them here every week, but lately, there’d been no time to actually enjoy myself. After that one incident a month or so ago where Asher got himself painted up by the pretty blonde in the skyscraper heels and body paint, he’d insisted we come on my least favorite nights. He’d scour the crowd, skim the program at the door, and then deflate like a leaking balloon when we finally got around to the feature presentations.
I had begun to suspect the painter girl had done something to him, bewitched him somehow, and now he couldn’t get her out of his head. He was looking for her, seeking her out. Unhealthy, for a man who viewed sex as a transaction. And very out of character for the usually calculating, calm, and collected man who led our ragtag little group.
It was behavior more in line with me, or even Liam.
Not Asher.
I was losing my mind watching him break apart little by little every time she wasn’t here. This shit was pathetic, and it had begun to affect his performance on the job.
Tonight, though, we weren’t just here for his little whim. We were here to touch base with Minnie, the owner, and see what she’d procured in terms of intel for us.
Our current target was a high-value man from old money who had been rumored to procure women for clients. Women from places like this. Women who were down on their luck, or maybe too trusting of a stranger.
Tennecent Frye. A fucking precocious name if ever there was one.
I bet he was bullied in school. Hell, I’d bully him myself if we ever found him.
Asher had been in Minnie’s office for an hour now, the door closed and guarded by some big, burly fellow who side-eyed our leader every time he showed up or looked in his direction. There was a bit of fear in those eyes, as there should be.
He might not know what was capable of, but Asher carried a certain deadly aura with him wherever he went that lent itself well to intimidation.
Hell, it even scaredmesometimes, and I’d lived with the guy for years now.
The bartender eyed the ice at the bottom of my glass and sighed. “Are you going to actually drink something, or just nurse sodas all night?”
“I don’t drink,” I replied coolly, shoving the glass across the bar. “Another. And maybe chill with the judgy shit. You ever hear of a designated driver?”
“Designated driver, my ass,” he muttered, lifting the soda gun to refill my drink. “Where’s your boyfriend tonight?”
I was pretty sure he was talking about Liam, who was currently bent over a table of cards, a girl on his lap wearing barely anything, no doubt transferring enough body glitter onto his clothes to have us all sparkling for weeks to come. As I watched, he slammed down his hand and grinned at the otherplayers, like he’d already won, no matter what was in their hands.
His hoot of excitement was audible even over the low din of the crowd and the music they constantly blared in this place.
“Playing cards, it would seem,” I mumbled to myself, “and hopefully winning, too.”
“Looks like you’ve been replaced, buddy.” The bartender wandered off to deal with customers drinking actual booze, and I shrugged off his assumption.
Wouldn’t be the first time I’d been mistaken for gay.
As I watched, Liam must’ve gotten a call, because he set the girl off to the side of him and reached inside his jacket for his phone, glancing at it for like a second, if that, before excusing himself and rushing out the back of the room. The only thing down that hallway was an emergency escape, so, intrigued, I followed him, my soda forgotten on the bartop behind me.
Shouts from the bartender about my tab and squaring up were swallowed by the music as I slipped into the crowd and hurriedly followed Liam’s fast-moving form.
I caught up with him in the back hallway, just as he slipped into the men’s restroom with his phone to his ear. I waited at the door, counting slowly back from ten, then cracked the fucker and prepared to eavesdrop on a one-sided conversation.
“What do you mean you can’t find her?”
Her?I leaned against the door and strained, wishing I could hear what was being said on the other end of the line. Or that I’d brought some of my equipment with me.
I should be out there on the floor having fun. Enjoying myself. Getting my dick sucked or whatever. Not eavesdropping on my partner in crime.
