Prey (Primal #1)

17

A s Gunner poked his head into my office, I grabbed the signed baseball from my desk and chucked it at the door. He pulled the door shut and swore blue murder at me before opening the door again.

“What the fuck, bro?” he growled, half smiling.

“Where’s the keycard, Gunner?” I demanded to know.

He groaned. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Liar. You took it from my desk,” I scolded, pretending to care when I didn’t. I didn’t want the guy to fuck around and get caught, and I also didn’t want him to harass an innocent girl. We’ve witnessed his obsession go a step too far before when we had to bail him out, and I didn’t want to see that again, especially now that Mikky was out.

“Wasn’t me,” he shrugged innocently, still wearing that smirk.

“What have you done to her?” I questioned him, pointing my finger accusingly as he picked up my baseball with my favorite player’s signature and tossed it back to me.

“Nothing,” he replied, holding up a brown paper bag. “Mikky’s birthday.”

“Quick subject change,” I stated slowly, grabbing the bottle of single malt The Macallan 18yo double cask whiskey with a red ribbon tied around the neck.

“Shit. How much did that set up back?” he asked, placing the brown paper bag on my desk.

“Six hundy. What have you got?”

“King of Denmark,” he replied.

“Well done, lad. It’ll keep him going for a while. But I…ah, he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” I warned, because I hinted that it was his birthday earlier, and he talked over me.

That was his way of not wanting to go there. He had three birthdays in prison, and we, Mrs. Kaiser and I, did the best we could, but it’s not the same as being amongst family. But of course, Gunner was missing for a couple of those birthdays because he couldn’t face it, and I wondered if he blamed himself for what Annika did. That’s a conversation I had yet to have with him because he clammed up whenever I ventured down that road.

Gunner shrugged as he stepped into the closet, grabbed his dress jacket, and wore it over his white buttoned shirt, hiding those spreading black tattoos.

“Got a tie?” I asked him.

“No,” he frowned. “Since when do I have to wear a tie?”

“Ah…well, Mikky’s back, and he has higher standards than I did,” I pointed to the closet. “Grab that grey tie and put it on.”

“The dress code was always a jacket and buttoned shirt. No jeans and sweats and shit,” he argued, but snatched the tie hanging off a hook in the closet anyway and stood in front of the mirror to put it on.

“Like I said…Mikky’s back and all our members are keen to shake his hand,” I said, imagining Mikky grinning and bearing it, as he’d been pretty reserved since his release.

He sat in the viewing room last night and refused to go down to chat with the members. Mr. Kaiser was great at fraternizing, small talk, cutting jokes, and discussing the share market, and Mikky was, too, before he was arrested. But he had changed, and it’s up to us and Betty to draw it back out of him. At the end of the day, as Mr. Lars Kaiser always taught us, we had to put our grievances aside for the business, and the wealthy paying members fed our businesses.

I stood up, smoothed down my dark blue tie and shirt, and slipped on my Giorgio Armani wool jacket. Three fucking grand wool suit, and I never thought in my wildest dreams that I’d ever be in a position ever to afford this sort of gaff. It was the only proper suit I owned, so I had to be careful not to spill anything on it.

“Bro, you look chipper,” I exclaimed as Gunner turned around, tugging on his tie, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Thanks, man,” he stated, holding his fist out for me to bump. “Where is the boss?”

“Down the end of the hall, twitching about going down onto the floor.” I combed my fingers through my hair to sweep it back off my face and prompted Gunner to do the same. “He’s pretending that he’s stoic, but you know what he’s like.”

“Yeah,” Gunner grunted, and I sensed guilt in his tone because he hadn’t been as attentive as he should’ve been over the past three years.

He was great with the business, but when it came to family and emotional shit, Gunner was virtually useless. None of us hold it against him, though, because he was hurt really bad, too. But one day, he’ll want to talk about it, so the best I could do was tell him I was there for him. Fuck, I owed this family my life, so I’d do whatever they wanted out of my unwavering loyalty toward them.

“Shoes shined?” I nodded toward the floor.

“Yep,” he grunted, showing his lack of fervor, but he overcame that once we were out on the floor amongst bright lights, the scent of expensive liquor and leather, the sound of wheels spinning and cards shuffling.

“No creases in your shirt?”

“Nah.”

“No lint on your jacket?”

“Nah.”

“Alright, let’s go.” As we evacuated my office, I bumped him into the wall playfully, and he shoved me back. “Did you go into that girl’s room?”

“Girl? What girl?” playing dumb.

I rolled my eyes, shoving him against the wall, but then we composed ourselves as we approached the viewing room where Mikky sat alone with a glass of scotch in his hand, resting on his knee, smoke billowing from his cigar in the ashtray, while his narrowed dark eyes were fixed on the busy club floor.

“Hey, Mikky,” Gunner mumbled, taking the leather armchair beside him while I took the chair against the far wall. “Happy birthday.”

“Ah, fuck,” he cringed, looking like he just smelt something bad.

“Gotcha, little present,” he laid the brown paper bag on the coffee table next to a white bakery box. “That from Betty?”

“Yeah,” Mikky stated, feigning annoyance at making a fuss, but he loved us for it too.

“Here, I got you a bottle of your favorite,” I exclaimed as Mikky took the bottle and read the label. His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Am I paying you too much?” he growled, placing the bottle beside the white box.

“Nah, I saved up for it,” I told him, and a bashful expression flashed across his face.

“Fuck, Ronan. Take it back,” he argued. “You can’t afford this shit. It’s an 18yo.”

“It’s good, Mikky, it’s good. I got a discount,” I lied. “Besides, I threw away the receipt.”

“Eighteen is a good age, though,” Gunner chuckled, but he wasn’t talking about scotch whiskey. He opened the white box and showed me the untouched small cake that said Happy 28 th Mikky in red icing. “Is that how old you are? Climbing up to thirty.”

Mikky’s jaw pulsated at Gunner taking the piss, and I suspected that it was not what Gunner said exactly but the fact three years had been ripped away from him. “Red velvet. Never had a sweet tooth.”

“So, you’ll like these then,” Gunner stated, pointing to the brown paper bag. “Denmark King.”

Mikky cleared his throat as if he was about to say something, but he took a drag from his cigar and blew out the smoke, and I knew he was swallowing back his sentiments. “There’s nothing better,” he finally specified, “than when Scotland and Denmark meet in a Viking conquest.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to the Battle of Barry ten-ten AD.”

“Except when Ireland is invited,” I added for a piece of my heritage. “We bring the fun.”

I got a smile out of Mikky, and that’s all I care about. The three of us had to watch each other’s back and ensure we were okay because we had nothing if we didn’t have each other’s back.

“Alright,” Mikky drained his glass and rose to his feet. “Let’s get this ritualistic gallantry out of the way.”

Gunner and I followed our boss down the hallway, smoothing our suits down and adjusting our ties. We were eager to watch the working girls clamber over him and the wealthy members rise to their feet to shake his hand. Even though I ran this club while Mikky was inside, I was only a puppet boss, doing whatever Mikky demanded and expected of me. I never made big decisions or changed anything important without his saying so.

But fuck, I’m glad he’s back because I could relax and focus on the belly of the business, where the real guts and blood resides. The stuff the dancing girls and privileged members never got to see because it’s so well hidden.

Straight backs, expensive suits, slick hair, clean shaven…well, I was. Mikky and Gunner had a bit of stubble just because it’s fashionable, and honestly, it suited Mikky since he looked as if prison had aged him a little. But the three of us were a force to reckon with, and you’d have to be a fucking baked dunce to mess with us.

Mikky stepped onto the floor, and Betty came scooting over, trying to suppress that proud smile. She kissed his cheek, brushed invisible lint off his shoulder, and then lured him toward Mr. Copper, the spitting image of Winston Churchill, with the same dress sense and a fat cigar hanging from his mouth. He’s worth a couple of billion, and with a twinkle in his eye, he nodded to the leather chair opposite him for Mikky to sit.

While they chatted quietly about business, Gunner and I scoped the floor to ensure everyone was in their place as the wheels spun, cards were shuffled, and a sea of men in expensive suits parted with their cash.

The bar was in full swing, with several men waiting for their drinks, and the band in the next room was warming up. This was the life. This was what I lived for.

Mikky was starting to chill out, shoulders relaxing while Gunner was scanning the room with those sharp eyes, hunter on the prowl. Gunner’s default setting was the predator searching for discrepancies, suspicious behavior, and enemies in disguise to siphon out and dispose of. It was important never to let our guard down because even though it was a reasonably peaceful exchange between the Kaisers and the Ivanov family, believing they were gone for good was foolish.

Long brown hair flows behind a waitress, walking quickly around the table, holding a tray with five drinks and balancing that thing like a circus act. She reminded me of the selkie with the fake ID who is due to start work here in a couple of days. The perfect setup was Petra Black trapped in the kitchen, selkie in a cage, where I could keep an eye on her. Kitchenhands didn’t leave the kitchen the entire shift because their purpose was washing and stacking the dishes, so I’d know exactly where she was to see her and strike up a conversation with her.

I wished I had access to her brain to figure out when she would return to the nature pool in the forest and see her in her most vivacious, shimmering beauty.

“I got an idea of how to get to know Riley Laws,” Gunner whispered, “and maybe find out if she was really Annika.”

“Do I want to know?” I asked bluntly because Gunner's dark side needed to be controlled and tamed, but I could leave the details of his thoughts behind.

“Nah,” he replied shortly. “I’ll sort it.”

“You won’t hurt her?” I was scathing about Gunner’s plans. I knew he ignored boundaries and struggled to recognize when he went too far.

“No,” he sounded pissed that I even asked. “Why would I hurt Riley? She’s a nice girl.”

I screwed up my face. “You’re crushing on her?”

He shrugged casually. “I don’t know about crushing, but she’s…” Gunner trailed off, refusing to finish the sentence, but I could tell he was catching genuine feelings for the girl.

“Just go easy, Gunner. Alright?” I stated, patting his shoulder, hoping like fuck that he won’t do anything stupid if she rejected him. Even though the prospects of this girl being Annika were slim, I wasn’t overly concerned about that. I had to ask, “What would you do if you discovered she was Annika?”

He shook his raven head and flicked his eyes about the room. Every time someone moved, he watched their behavior with that unflinching stare. “Tell Mikky.”