Page 115 of Smooth Moves
Chapter 22
Hours later, Cash kept thinking about what Reid had said as he waited at a seedy bar downtown for the punk, Juan, to show up. He hadn’t answered Jordan’s texts except to tell her not to expect him back until later.
He wanted to talk to her, yet he didn’t. For the same reason he refused to allow her to tell him how she felt about him. If she told him she loved him, he’d talk himself out of believing her. Because how could a woman as amazing as Jordan love a loser like him? What did that say about her?
And if she didn’t love him, that would just break him.
So, yeah, he was mental and unable to deal with much more than hurting someone. This meeting with Juan could not have come at a better time.
He held the baggie of drugs in his pocket. He hadn’t brought his pistol, though he’d thought about it. The gun would only provide a temptation to use it. More of a mess he didn’t need.
Since Ritter’s info had insisted Juan Williams had no connection to WSW, Cash figured the kid either wanted to get noticed and invited to join the gang, or he’d been talking out his ass to impress his buddies at school. Either way, pressuring Rafi to join him wasn’t happening.
A glance around the bar, also not a WSW hangout, showed some older guys, four around Cash’s age and a half dozen more much older, keeping to themselves. Some of them played pool, while three of them sat at the bar, flirting with the tough chick behind the bar and the barfly who looked like she needed a shower, stat.
But her sly smiles and slight belly exposed by her barely there top didn’t seem to bother the guys ogling her. Hell, if her skirt was any shorter, they’d call it a thong.
He shuddered, wanting out of this place. He needed to feel clean, to see Jordan’s smirk and hear her laughter, grounding him. Instead, he sat at a booth in the corner and toyed with his beer, his eyes scoping the place for danger.
Three of the guys near the pool tables kept him in their sights, so he subtly did the same.
A cocky little bastard having Juan’s description strutted into the bar with four friends, all looking like rich high school dropouts. Cash recognized the pricey haircuts and shoes. He knew all about wearing hand-me-downs. He also knew castoffs never looked that good, so the used-looking clothes these kids wore no doubt came from some designer trying to make a statement.
Cash stood and met the kid and his friends halfway. “You Juan Williams?”
“Yeah.” Juan sneered at him. “Who wants to know?”
After a cautious glance around, which showed him pretty much the bar pretending not to pay them any attention, Cash held out the baggie to Juan. “These are yours. Rafael Younger belongs to me.”
Juan raised his brows. “Oh? You muscling in on the West Side Wolves, fuckhead?”
A few guys near the back turned their full attention to them.
Cash bit back a sigh. “Try again, you little punk. First of all, no one here is messing with WSW. You’re not a player, and you’re sad trying to be one. My advice to you is to leave before the Wolves hear you’re using their name to sell product. Rafi is out. He never wanted in, and if your buddies were smart, they’d get the hell out too. From what I hear, Toto and crew are no one to mess with.”
The big guys by the back settled down at that. Cash would have to tell Ritter that his intel might not be the best. Seemed like WSW had ears in a lot of places.
“I never said I was WSW,” Juan said quickly, glancing around. “I’m not dumb enough to deal with them. I know Lasko’s brother. I’m just helping Rafi out.”
“By trying to force him to sell drugs? Kid, go back to school, take that payout from your rich mommy and daddy, and stick your nose in a book. Selling drugs is asking for trouble. And you sure as shit don’t want to get into a gang. Watch the news. The cops are all over those guys. It’s only a matter of time before WSW gets dragged to jail or shot by a rival gang. It’s too high for your pay grade, son. So take your fancy stash and blow.”
“Fuck you.” Juan nodded to his friends. “I’m friends with WSW. And you just made a big mistake.”
Before his closest buddy could bring out the item from behind him, Cash pounced. He had the kid jacked up and the kid’s gun in hand in seconds. So not what he’d intended by trying to get Rafi out of trouble.
“Look, Juan. Guns are trouble.” He shoved the boy he’d taken the gun from, ejected the magazine, and emptied the chambered round in seconds. Then he tossed the gun to the floor. “With one punch I can dislocate your jaw before your second boy there grabs his gun. And when he tries to shoot me, I’ll be using you as a shield, so he’ll end up shooting through you first. Dead is dead. Don’t be stupid. Get lost and quit selling drugs. It’s not often in life you get a second chance.”
Three of the boys with Juan bolted for the door. No one stopped them. But the boy he’d disarmed backed up with Juan, who pulled a gun of his own. His arm shook as he sighted in on Cash.
But the little bastard hadn’t released the safety.
Cash walked right up to him as the kid kept trying to shoot, aware that they now had everyone’s attention. The kid next to him tried to punch him, but Cash deflected the punch easily and shoved the boy away. He grabbed the gun out of Juan’s hand. Then he bitch-slapped him.
“That’s for pulling the trigger.” He looked to the bartender. “I don’t suppose you could call the cops on these little assholes?”
She popped her gum. “Nope.”
Cash sighed. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
