Page 78 of Never Die for a Sinner
“I can’t let you—”
Fortunately, Christian’s only knocks him out.
The guard dog hits the ground like a bag of bricks. I look at Christian. Cock a brow. Christian shrugs.
“He was in the way.”
He’s not wrong.
I stroll through the front doors, whistling under my breath. The club is situated in an ancient brick building in the heart of downtown Seattle. Men from all over the country come here to join its ranks, but few are actually let in.
Surprisingly enough, you can walk right through the front door if you know how to fight.
I’ve never understood the need for the extravagance that this place is made of. As if the world didn’t know they were rich, the men who created this place needed somewhere to come when they wanted to cheat on their wives with each other. To bring their mistresses or to discuss business that the public can’t hear.
It’s all a bunch of bullshit, and from the moment I enter, I’m on edge.
I pass by a few rooms off the main foyer, ignoring the prying eyes that follow me as I walk. Most are gathered in a large room lined with plush couches and oversized televisions showing the game. I’ve never been one to care about football. I’ve always had more important shit to worry about, I guess, but the sound drifting out the French double doors reminds me of a different time when life was simpler.
You know, back when I had shit figured out and someone wasn’t investigating me for murder.
I make my way through to the back, where I was told he’d be, nodding to a man whose eyes follow me as I go. He nods back once, his expression guarded, before he walks away.
I push through the double doors at the end of the hall and step into a den filled with smoke. Men have cigars hanging from their mouths, and the air reeks of booze and elitist ideology. They’re all gathered around a pool table, while a few of them cheer on Palmer and another douche I don’t know.
They don’t notice Christian and me when we walk in, too immersed in watching Palmer stroke his ego to see me join their group.
That’s fine. I’ve learned how to be patient.
I merge into the crowd while Palmer lines up his shot. The fucker grins when he sinks the six ball into a corner pocket and takes a bow for his posse of undulating scrotums.
“What did I tell you?” Palmer drags the poor girl next to him under his arm. “I’m the fucking best.”
Jesus, I fucking hate this guy.
Man, let me tell you. The silence in the room when I start clapping is something to be reckoned with. Everyone turns to look at me, their eyes going wide. It’s even better to watch the smile fade from Palmer’s face when he sees me standing across from him.
“Looks like someone’s been practicing.”
Palmer’s glare intensifies.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Cross?”
I smile, holding out my hands with a shrug. “Just came to have a little conversation. It’s been a long time, buddy. We should really catch up.”
Palmer’s jaw tenses, and his little lap dog, Swanson, steps up to bat first.
“You aren’t welcome here.”
I can’t help but chuckle under my breath.
“You think that’s funny?”
“The thought that you think you’ve got enough balls to throw me out is.” I round the table slowly, my hand gliding along the felt. One look at Christian and he knows what I’m going to do. Fortunately, he doesn’t try to stop me. “How tall are you now, Boy Wonder? Five-one, five-two?”
“Better yet, how has your life been since you left the Lollipop Guild?” Christian chimes, and I’m reminded why I love my brother.
Swanson’s face turns red, but luckily for him, Palmer stops him from going any further.
