CHAPTER 10
The meeting with Porter left Lazarus in a sour mood and made him want to fuck again—if only to relieve his frustration.
He didn’t fuck. When he excused Porter and was alone with Lord, he sat at his desk, his face tight with tension.
His gaze darted to the small, silver-framed photo perched on the corner of his desk, lingering on the young face looking back at him.
He felt the weight of Lord’s stare and looked away, letting out a hard breath.
“Word is, the cowboy is out for blood over a drive-by shooting he says you ordered.” Porter’s words had admittedly stunned Lazarus. Was one of their men shot? Lazarus didn’t play gangland games; if he wanted one of them dead, his tactics would be classier than a drive-by.
A message notification intruded on his thoughts. He picked up his phone and looked at the photo Haman had sent from the front gates, scanned the faces, then returned the simple reply – It’s them.
Lord stepped closer and looked at the photo. “Why does the cowboy think you authorized a drive-by?”
Lazarus shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“I should’ve put a bullet in him when he touched you,” Lord said, his voice like granite. “No one touches you.”
Massaging his throat, Lazarus smiled up at the man. “He only choked me a little.”
“He threatened your life. Put a gun to your head. Had it been anyone else, you would have let me pull the trigger. Why not him?”
From the cowboy’s expression in the photo, Lazarus didn’t expect a much friendlier encounter than last time.
“He reacted in desperation and panic,” Lazarus said, his voice low.
“Their boys were missing, and he believed I had information I was holding back.” Lazarus rose from the chair and faced Lord.
He cupped his strong neck and looked into his eyes. “What would you do if I disappeared?”
Lord stared back, a slight twitch in the skin around his eyes. “I’d burn down the fucking world to find you.”
A faint smile touched Lazarus’s lips. He nodded and kissed Lord. “Don’t hold a grudge against another man who would do the same for those he loves.”
Lord’s eyes roved over Lazarus’s face, a barely detectable emotion shifting behind the ice-blue orbs. “I don’t care why he touched you,” Lord said, his words carrying both affection and threat. “He touches you again, and he’s a dead cowboy.”
“Remember…” Lazarus stroked his thumbs in circles along Lord’s square jaw.
“When you had the gun to the cowboy’s head, protecting me—the Egyptian was protecting him.
” Lazarus kissed him again, his lips lingering on Lord’s mouth.
“I’m not Lord.” He deepened the kiss. “I couldn’t have brought you back to life. ”
Clint remained calm as Lazarus’s man guided him and Cochise through the corridors of the vast manor.
The host lived in luxury, but his refined tastes were carefully curated—nothing ostentatious or flamboyant simply to showcase wealth.
Clint hadn’t taken Lazarus as someone who relied on money to impress or intimidate; he didn’t need such tactics.
Lazarus Nazzaro had built his reputation in the criminal world through more innovative methods.
The man leading them took them up an open, central staircase to the second floor and along a hall of burgundy carpet, soft under Clint’s boots; each step felt like walking on clouds.
Their guide paused outside a stained oak door with a brass handle and knocked twice. “Your guests have arrived, boss.”
“Show them in,” came a slightly muffled reply from behind the thick door.
The man opened the door and motioned for Clint and Cochise to come inside.
Lazarus sat behind a spacious, antique mahogany desk, his second-in-command standing to his right, hands clasped behind his back, eyes like chipped ice as he surveyed the visitors with reserved caution.
Clint noticed his pale blue eyes raking over him, none too friendly.
The cowboy returned an equally “unfriendly” look.
Lazarus stood and gestured to their guide. “Pour my guests a drink.”
“This isn’t a social call,” Clint said, an edge in his voice.
Glancing at the Egyptian, Lazarus waved off his man.
“Leave us.” The man nodded and left the room.
Lazarus turned to the cowboy and the Egyptian.
“Gentlemen. I must confess, I’m surprised to see you here.
” He offered a small smile. “Not unpleasantly so. And no need to apologize for…” He stroked his neck, then waved his hand.
“All is forgiven and forgotten. You were under stress. No hard feelings.”
Lord seemed to harbor hard feelings.
“Enough pleasantries.” Clint moved closer to the desk as Lazarus looked at him, unintimidated. “Are my sources correct?” he asked tightly. “Did you order the drive-by?” His face twitched. “If you did, we are going to have a serious fucking problem.”
Clint watched Lord from the corner of his eye. The subtle twitch in his jaw in response to Clint’s words revealed just how “on guard” he was. If Clint so much as flinched toward his boss, Lord would react.
It wasn’t just his boss he was protecting.
Clint observed the man carefully, noticing subtle details: how close he stayed to Lazarus, a tense energy in his stance that went beyond typical bodyguard behavior, and how his eyes occasionally flicked to his boss and lingered for a moment.
The protective attitude Lord had toward Lazarus was almost tangible, like static electricity in the atmosphere.
“I assure you,” Lazarus replied with practiced calm. “If I had a problem with you, I would speak to you directly, like a civilized man, not resort to primitive, gangland tactics.”
“This isn’t about me,” Clint said, a tightness in his voice.
Lazarus leaned back and stroked his jaw. “I’m confused, cowboy. Why are you here?”
Flattening his hands on the desk, Clint leaned forward.
Lord immediately stiffened, his hand coming to rest on his sidearm.
Clint flicked him a quick glance. “Calm down.” The man looked ready to take Clint out, but made no move—not without a direct order from his master—and again clasped his hands behind his back.
Clint turned his eyes on Lazarus. “I want the shooter. Give him to me, and we’ll have no problems.”
Lazarus gazed at him lazily and flicked his fingers. “How does this concern you, again?”
“That’s my business.”
“You’re asking me to turn over one of my men,” Lazarus said. “I think it’s my business, too.” He glanced at his watchdog and raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you say, Lord?”
Lord’s eyes were chipped ice as he stared at Clint. “I would.”
“Innocent people died because of this little stunt,” Clint said, teeth grinding.
“Innocent people die every day,” Lazarus replied. “Not-so-innocent people, too. It’s how the world works. No one’s fault, really.”
“And sometimes,” Clint bit sharply, “it’s the fault of assholes like you.”
“True.” Lazarus smiled and shrugged. He stood. “However, I have no knowledge of this drive-by, but I assure you I will look into it.”
“Look into it?” Clint scoffed. “Two young boys are dead because of this shooting. Two families who will never see their sons again. And you’ll look into it?”
A shadow rippled across Lazarus’s eyes, and he sank back into his chair. “Two young boys.” He stared at Clint, a new tension in his gaze. “Were they shot in the drive-by?”
“One was,” Clint said. “A thirteen-year-old boy. He was with his older brother. The kid took a bullet to the chest and died in surgery.”
The skin beneath Lazarus’s left eye developed a tick. “You said two boys,” Lazarus murmured. “How did the other one die?”
Clint explained the events of the hit-and-run, a strain in his voice as he relived the horror of that moment.
“The older boy not only lost his little brother, but may face manslaughter charges. The mother is in danger of losing both her sons, leaving her alone. The other family lost their only child.” He huffed.
“But thanks for looking into it. I’m sure the families much appreciate your attention to the matter. ”
Lord narrowed his eyes at Clint, and his hands unclasped from behind him, his arms tensing at his sides. The fingers of his right hand contracted near his sidearm, a silent warning for Clint to keep himself in check.
Clint stared back, unwavering. Anytime, anywhere, motherfucker.
Lazarus glanced at the framed photo as he absorbed the cowboy’s words.
He stood, resting his hands on his desk, his gaze shifting between the cowboy and the Egyptian, who had yet to speak a word.
“If I had names right now,” he said, “I would give them to you. But as I said, I neither ordered the hit nor authorized it.” He straightened, his height and build matching both men before him. “But I will find them.”
“I have names,” the cowboy said. “Chaz and Helio. They were doing business with some lowlife street dealers. Deal went bad, or so they say. You telling me you didn’t have a hand in this?” He seemed skeptical.
“That’s what I’m telling you,” Lazarus said. “I’ll talk to my men and see what they have to say.”
“And then?” the cowboy narrowed his jade eyes. “You going to slap their wrists and make them stand in the corner—and think about what they’ve done?”
Lazarus liked the cowboy, even though the man clearly despised him. “I suppose that’s one option,” Lazarus said. “But I’m more old-school when it comes to discipline. I believe that without consequences, there can be no lessons learned. These men will face the consequences of their actions.”
“I want the shooter,” Clint said bluntly. “Do what you want with the driver, but I want the fucker who shot that kid.”
“I’ll speak to them,” Lazarus said. “And be in touch.”
The cowboy seemed poised to say more when the Egyptian touched his shoulder—a gesture that appeared to ease some of the cowboy’s indignation.
“This will be settled,” Lazarus assured the men. “To your satisfaction. I’ll see to it personally.” He spread his hands. “I gain nothing by crossing you, gentlemen. I wish to maintain good relations with you and your family.”
“Bring me the shooter,” Clint said. “And there won’t be problems.”
Lazarus nodded. He looked at the cowboy. “Are we good?”
“We will never be good,” the cowboy drawled. “But you deliver the shooter, and you’ll have no problems with us.” His eyes pinched, one tighter than the other, as if for emphasis. “But you don’t deliver? There will be issues.”
“Understood.” Lazarus nodded again. His gaze shifted to the Egyptian, who had yet to speak.
The large man stared back with a neutral expression that was impossible to read.
Had the Egyptian not been present at their last meeting, the situation would have gotten very…
messy. Lazarus didn’t sense the same hostility from the big man as from the cowboy, which felt like a good thing.
His gut told him he didn’t want the Egyptian as an adversary.
As the men departed, Lazarus relaxed into his chair, his eyes fixed on the silver-framed photo with a heavy look. “Find those two bastards,” he instructed Lord softly, his voice mostly casual but tinged with a brittle undertone. “Bring them to me.”