27. Zayn
CHAPTER 27
ZAYN
The look on my face was loud enough for even the most hammered patron of Elixir to give me a wide berth as I marched through the club.
I had one target, and I was going to kick his ass from here to Chicago. My blood boiled when I saw him.
Rye looked up just as my fist connected with his jaw. He staggered backwards, a snarl twisting his lips, but quickly caught himself and already had his fists raised, ready to fight.
“Happy?” I asked him as I swung again, and he ducked only for my left fist to connect in his gut. His grunt wasn’t enough to quell my rage.
“That all you got?” he taunted, lunging forward, and we exchanged a flurry of blows.
I felt every strike reverberate, and each punch I landed was a reminder to him who was in charge here.
The fight was raw and unplanned, and it did not lessen my anger. I landed a heavy right that sent him crashing against a wall. His face was a mask of stubborn defiance, but I recognized the look of respect as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
I glared down at him, my voice low and dangerous. “Why?”
He glared up at me, silent but with eyes that screamed challenge. Slowly, he pushed himself off the wall, his grin returning despite the fact his lip was bleeding and he had a cut above his eye.
I stepped back, my pulse still pounding. I couldn’t let this scene spill into the public areas—this was a conversation meant for us alone. As I straightened my shirt, I glanced around to ensure we had been unobserved. A bitter triumph settled in my chest. I’d reminded him that control wasn’t given—it was taken.
And if it was taken, it could be taken back .
“Why?” I asked him again.
“Because you’re distracted. Open. Careless .” He hissed the last word. “A conference room?” he asked with disgust. “Where anyone could get to you? Where hundreds of eyes can see how much she means to you?” He spat on the floor. “If she’s worth it, she will accept you.”
“You did it for me?” I scoffed, looking away. “What did you show her?”
“Everything.”
I knocked him flat on his ass.
“Stay the fuck away from me until I no longer want to hit you.” I headed back to my office, my mind racing.
“That’ll be a long time,” Rye called after me. “You always want to hit me.”
“Truth,” I muttered. “Fuck you, asshole,” I shouted over my shoulder. His low laughter followed me.
In my office, I thought about calling her. What did I say? Rolling my head on my shoulders, I fought the urge to punch Rye again. It wouldn’t change anything, and in his own way, he was trying to help.
Julian was protective of Isla.
Rye was over protective of me.
In any other situation, it would be amusing. Two overprotective brothers looking out for their siblings. It didn’t matter that not an ounce of the same blood ran through their veins.
Blood didn’t make you family.
Loyalty did.
I knew the fucker would bleed for me. Hell, he had bled for me. Too many times.
The door opened, and Rye walked in. He had a paper towel pressed against his lip. “Need the first aid kit,” he said with no shame, tossing me an ice pack.
“For a busted lip?”
He turned his head, and I saw the blood on his face. “Dirty trick.” He scowled at me. “Everyone knows above the eye busts like a watermelon dropping on concrete.”
I opened the cupboard and pulled out the first aid kit. “Stop whining.” In five minutes, I had him cleaned up and patched up.
“Crazy night,” he murmured as he watched the monitors, pouring us both a Scotch.
“Why tonight?” I asked him softly.
“In my defense, I didn’t know Angelo was going to go Reservoir Dogs on Mercutio in the back room.” He heard my grunt and carried on. “I saw her come in, all fucking wholesome and righteous, and man…she just doesn’t fit here.”
I hated that he was right. I hated that I wished he wasn’t.
“Not your call,” I reminded him, still not looking at him.
“Was my call,” he said gruffly. “You sure as hell weren’t going to do it.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes until he tossed the forgotten ice pack at me. “For your knuckles.”
I beat his ass. I had to stitch him up. He still brought me an ice pack. I fought the smile. “You’re still a dick.”
“I know.”
We watched the lower monitors. The club was half full; the screams of a dying man were more than people wanted with their whiskey. Angelo had finished with Mercutio about an hour ago, but the cleanup was still happening.
“We should have cleared them out.” I downed my Scotch. “Why was Julian here?”
Rye turned to look at me. “Never saw him.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Rewind the film from tonight. I want to see what he’s doing.”
“You think he’s suspect?” Rye asked me with surprise. This had been his argument ever since he met Julian.
“I think he’s caught up in something that he’s going to need me to bail him out of, and the way he spoke to Isla this evening about me”—I huffed quietly—“I may not be inclined to help him.”
Rye stood to get the laptop that controlled the surveillance, and I pretended not to hear him mutter finally.
Soon, we watched as Julian had a short conversation with one of our irregular guests. The town official who, thankfully, had left before Angelo had gone all Mr. Blond on Mercutio.
“Why does Turner look like Zeper just pissed on his parade?” Rye asked, leaning forward.
“Use the facial recognition. Let’s see who else has been ruining his evenings.”
Rye found three more encounters in which Julian left looking frustrated, each time looking wilder and wilder around the eyes.
“He using?” Rye asked dubiously, looking between me and the still shot on the monitor of Julian looking panicked.
“No.” I stood. “Worse.” I headed to the door. “He’s gambling.”
Rye hurried after me. “I thought you said he was a shit poker player.”
“He is.”
Few people in the lower club looked up from their conversations. I looked to Jayden, who nodded slightly. That was good. Everyone was behaving. Hearing someone be tortured to death would make the loudest patron humble this evening.
One of my regular servers, Hayley, was behind the bar. She was easy on the eyes, took no shit from anyone, and was tighter lipped than a nun’s cunt. I beckoned her over with one finger, and she sauntered over to me, the sway on her hips exaggerated and for show for the benefit of the customers who watched her.
“What’s up?”
“Julian Turner. What’s he been speaking about to my customers?”
Because people were stupid, a good bartender watched the bar for any sign of pouring their next drink. They were discreet, didn’t interrupt the flow of conversation, and heard more than they should.
Hayley glanced at Rye, and I turned to him. “More secrets, brother ?”
Rye waved his hand. “Tell him.”
I turned back to Hayley. “Speak.”
Hayley stood with her hands on her hips. “He’s in debt,” she said easily. “Over a hundred Gs, I think.” She sniffed. “Sounds like he’s been at the day games in Splay.”
Splay was a strip club in Chicago. It was never closed. The day games were big money, and only the very confident card players or the very desperate idiot played their hand there.
I turned to look at Rye, wondering how long he had known. I turned back to Hayley. “If your first response is not to tell me without seeking permission from anyone , you’re no use to me.” I pushed myself away from the bar. “Get your shit and get out.”
Rye didn’t move, and he didn’t speak up for her. In her defense, she swore once, then grabbed her purse and phone, and stomped out from behind the bar. Jayden went upstairs with her, and when he came back down, he had another server with him.
“Zayn,” a man said, and I turned to one of my customers. “If you could?” He gestured between himself and the guy beside him.
“Always,” I said, moving past my best friend and locking eyes with him. “You have a lot to tell me. When we close, I want the unedited version.”
“Always,” he mimicked me, and I almost punched the fucker again for his insolence.
The deal was simple. When I saw they were ready to agree on terms, I moved to the following table, leaving Rye to record the one I’d just witnessed.
The remaining few hours of the night were slow, but the club upstairs was still thriving. We’d opened our booths to Angelo’s boss last weekend, and already, our fifteen percent was handsome. Knowing what was happening in booth one this evening, I could only imagine Isla’s horror as she witnessed it all.
I checked my phone once, and when I looked up after seeing no messages from Isla, I met a sympathetic look from my friend. Yeah, he was a dick, but his intention had been good. His method had sucked. It had been too soon. I knew Isla wasn’t ready. She hadn’t even told Julian.
With the speed she ran from here, I doubted she would be back. She hadn’t been ready, and maybe Rye was right to push now because it wasn’t crazy to think I was so close to being too ready.
The clubs closed, and the cleanup crew was already descending on both floors. They all signed an NDA, and we ran background checks on them all. I didn’t believe in waiting until the morning. My clubs had too much in them that needed to be wiped as soon as we closed.
As Rye and I passed the VIP booths, I heard Rye snort. “We may need to pay them more for booth one,” he said with a laugh. “That shit was nasty.”
“The shit you showed to Isla?”
“I didn’t know it was a full-blown orgy.”
We entered my office. “Yeah, you did.” My voice was soft.
“Okay, I did,” he conceded. “But I thought they built up to that, not straight to it, know what I mean?”
We settled into our seats and watched the cleanup crew. “Speak.”
Rye blew out a breath. “From what I can gather, he’s in deep.” He sniffed. “Cards. Huge debts. I don’t think he’ll be able to cover his losses.”
I nodded as I opened the laptop and pulled up tonight’s earnings. “Who to? Just Splay’s?”
Rye looked around, a trait he had when he knew something he knew I would not like.
“Rye.”
“Delaney.”
I looked up and met his gaze. “How long have you known?”
Rye scratched his jaw, a nervous tic of his when he knew I was about to lose my shit. “Two weeks.”
I locked the laptop, closing the lid slowly. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Rye had a very bad habit of becoming nonchalant when he was cornered in a situation where he knew he had fucked up. “He’s twenty-seven years old.” He shrugged. “He’s old enough to handle his own problems.”
“Like you were when you were willing to sell yourself for your next hit?” It was a low blow. Really fucking low, but my anger was barely contained.
Rye glared at me. He hated being reminded of how weak he had been when he was craving his next hit. “For that jumped-up, pretentious prick, you bring me that low?” He pushed himself out of his chair. “Fuck you.” He turned away from me. “ Fuck you, you fucking prick.”
“Rye.”
“I said fuck off, Zayn.”
“ Rye !”
He turned at the cold command in my voice. I gestured to the screens. “Lock your shit down. We’ve got SWAT in Elixir.”
Rye gaped at the screens and then burst into action. Our office was wiped. The laptop was set in its hidden panel. The backup footage of the clubs was offloaded and untraceable.
It took five minutes, and then both of us opened the door to the armed officer who was pointing a gun at our faces.
“Well, that never gets old,” Rye said with a grin as he looked the officer up and down. “You lost?”
“We have a warrant to search the premises.”
“Of course, you do,” I said, leaning against the door. “Turn around, Officer, we’ll follow you down.” He hesitated, and I motioned to the stairs. “They’re quite narrow,” I carried on. “Promise not to push you. Rye?”
“No promises from me.”
I grinned. Crazy bastard.
We ended up going back into the office, then we left again, and the officer followed us down. Ridiculous, but we complied. In Elixir, the club was lit up at its brightest, and despite the sound of protest, Rye swiped a bottle of Scotch and two glasses, and we sat our asses down and drank as the police raided my club.
Detective Mick the Prick sauntered over to us sometime later. We were playing snap. I have no fucking clue where Rye produced the cards from, but it was fun and made the officers set to watch us confused but relaxed.
“Mick, I thought you’d be here.” I took a drink, not looking up from the cards.
“I wish I could say it was good to see you,” Mick said, swiping the cards off the table, and Rye turned to glare at him. “Last time I saw you, McCabe, you looked more like the scum you are.”
“Inflammatory,” I murmured. “Last time I saw you, I was sure you’d have died of that cancer eating your liver.” I ran my gaze over him slowly. “Jaundice is not a good look on you.”
He grinned, and I saw the hate in his eyes. “We have a warrant to search it all.”
“No point in only searching half.”
“Are you resisting arrest?”
I sipped my Scotch. “Am I being arrested? For what? Losing at snap?”
“You’re a drug dealer.”
“Nope. Too cliché.”
“You’re a sex trafficker.”
I grinned. “Nah, sounds like a lot of congestion.”
“You’re a murderer.”
“Meh, who doesn’t like a good steak? Unless it’s vegans, like you.”
He leaned forward. “You are a lying piece of shit.”
I leaned into his space. “Takes one to know one.”
Rye laughed. “Whoa, my fucking god, the tension! I need popcorn. Who has popcorn?” he asked, looking around, and I leaned back with a smirk.
I heard the telltale clip of heels on marble, and then I saw my lawyer walking towards us.
“All right, I already know this has turned into a dick-measuring contest,” she snapped as she stepped right into the detective’s face. She squinted. “I know you.” I watched her think about it. “Didn’t you have lung cancer?”
“Liver,” I corrected. “He’s losing the battle.”
Mick glared at me. “We have a warrant, and we will search it all.”
She nodded. “Well, no point searching only half. Let me see it.” She held her hand out, and the warrant was placed into it. I watched her skim it. “Fine.” She turned to the officers at the bar. “You break anything, you pay for it. There is a lot of very fucking expensive bottles on that shelf.” She pointed to the ceiling. “And there are cameras everywhere.”
“We’ll need to see those tapes,” Mick told her.
She handed him back the warrant. “Get an amendment on that warrant, and my client will happily comply, Detective.”
Mick stormed off, muttering about sleazy lawyers.
She turned to us, one eyebrow raised. “Well?”
Rye grinned. “Hey, Mommy McCabe. You look pissed.”