Page 27 of Kneeling for Daddy
Her hand curls against my chest, and she whispers so softly I almost miss it. “I don’t hate you.”
“I know.” I press my lips to the top of her forehead, unable to hide the boyish grin spreading across my face.
In the mornings, the club feels drab and dead. There are no lights or music. It even smells different. Instead of expensive perfume clinging to the air, it reeks of stale liquor and sweat. Sunlight slants in through the high windows, stark and unforgiving, laying bare every flaw—the sticky tables, the scuffed floors, and the questionable fresh stains on some of the seats.
I kind of like it better this way. There are no fake pretenses or distractions. Just the bones of what we built. The first legitimate—or almost legitimate—thing my brothers and I crafted together. The doors aren’t set to open for another six hours, but the three of us all came early to meet to discuss last night’s fallout.
Enzo still looks half asleep, the lazy Henley and baggy sweatpants he likely threw on minutes before getting into the car not helping. He is slumped over the bar, inhaling his cup of coffee like the vapors might have a faster effect.
Cillian is the opposite. At seven a.m., he is dressed in a sharp suit, looking like he’s swinging over to GQ for a cover shootbefore heading home. He has been pacing since we got here, a fresh cup of coffee still steaming in his hand. His jaw is tight and looks like he’ll explode if he doesn’t keep moving.
I settle onto the barstool beside Enzo, not far from where that asshole had his hands on my wife. Leaning forward on my elbows, I nurse the black coffee I don’t really want, wishing I were still in bed with Ani.
“So, Nik?” Enzo breaks the silence, smirking like the devil himself. “How’s married life going?”
“Shut it,” I mutter, not in the mood.
“What’s the matter? Afraid to admit you’ve got it bad, brother?” he continues to taunt me, the grin on his face widening. “That cute little wife of yours bats her lashes, some prick gets handsy, and suddenly our club is a fucking boxing ring. Yeah… clearly things are still transactional.”
Cillian stops pacing long enough to shoot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. “This isn’t a fucking joke, Enz.”
Enzo raises his hands, feigning innocence. “Easy. I’m not the one who broke the guy’s jaw in front of fifty witnesses.”
“That’s the fucking problem,” Cillian barks. “Half the city’s elite and the judges we’re trying to get in our pocket just watched him paint the floor with that asshole.”
I set my cup down with more force than necessary, snarling, “He put his fucking hands on her.”
“And you nearly killed him for it,” Cillian quickly shouts back. “You can’t afford to lose control like that. Not here. Notever.”
“You saying you wouldn’t have done the same if it were Madison?” I meet his heated stare head-on, watching his jaw tic and his composure crack as the memory of Hank flashes behind his eyes. “You know damned fucking well you would’ve done the same.”
“In a private room.” His voice is clipped as he shakes his head. “Not out on the main floor with the whole fucking city watching.”
“He’s got you there, Nik.” Enzo chuckles with amusement, enjoying watching the two of us square off far more than he should.
“Pretty sure you should shut the fuck up,” I snip at Enzo. “Considering you dragged an FBI agent out of here by the neck for threatening to put your wife in jail.”
“Damn,” Enzo exclaims. “So apparently we’re all fucking hot headed when it comes to our women.”
“Besides.” I lift my cup and smirk without any humor behind it. “You should both just be happy I didn’t put two bullets in the back of his skull.”
“It’s fine.” Enzo sighs. “Reuben is taking care of it. Having a twenty-five-hundred-dollar-an-hour attorney on retainer has its perks. We’re covering his hospital bills and reminding him that his health could take a drastic change for the worse if he goes to the cops. Between that and a pay-off big enough he never has to work again, I’m pretty sure he’ll sign the NDA and keep his mouth shut. He stays far away from the club, doesn’t so much as look at a King woman again, and he gets to keep breathing. Simple.”
Cillian doesn’t look satisfied. He rubs a hand over his jaw, his eyes distant in thought. “Money buys silence most of the time.But whispers travel faster than cash. You can’t beat a man bloody in public and expect it not to stain us.”
He’s right, and we all know it. “If he becomes a problem, I’ll fucking taking care of it,” I swear.
Seemingly content, Cillian finally joins us at the bar. Taking a stool and sliding his coffee aside, he shares, “That prick isn’t the only issue to discuss. Apparently, things aren’t exactly calm in Brighton Beach.”
Enzo groans, tipping his head back. “Christ, what now?”
“There’s unrest,” Cillian says flatly as he makes air quotes with his fingers. “I talked to Alek on the way here, and quite a few of his men aren’t happy. They don’t like the new business model. Money isn’t coming in fast enough. And some of them are pretty fucking pissed they don’t have the merchandise to fuck anymore.
“Fuck them,” I snarl, my teeth grinding. The thought of those bastards whining about losing their cages of women being forced into prostitution makes my stomach churn. “Let them choke on their fucking nostalgia.”
“You know it doesn’t work like that, Nik. Men like that don’t care about money unless it’s easy.” Enzo shakes his head. His voice is steady, completely devoid of the jovialness it had only a few minutes ago. “And they sure as hell don’t care about morality. You take away their toys, you take away their loyalty. They’ll start looking for someone else to follow.”
“Word is, a few of them already have,” Cillian agrees. “There are talks of quiet meetings happening in back rooms. Nothing solid yet. But we all know that Brighton has never been stable. If they think Alek’s weak…”Cillian trails off because he doesn’t need to finish.
