Chapter 6
SIX
ETHAN
Forty-eight hours earlier
Jesus fucking Christ. It’s been close to twenty-four hours since that hot angel surprised the shit out of me with that kiss, and I can’t get her off my damn mind. I’m supposed to be getting the club set up underground for the fight tonight, but my focus isn’t worth a shit.
Slamming my laptop screen down, I get up and, grabbing a cigar from my desk drawer, head out back for a smoke break.
I’ve just sat down on top of the picnic table we have in the back of the club, and haven’t even lit the fucking thing, when Logan gets out of his car and sits next to me.
He hasn’t said a word yet, but I’m already more agitated than I was before he pulled up.
“Got another Capone?” Logan asks, nodding toward my Al Capone cigar.
I shake my head, needing a few minutes to calm myself before I speak to him.
Sticking the cigar between my lips, I light it, then draw in the smoke.
I hold it in for several seconds, letting the sweet taste of cognac calm my nerves, before releasing the smoke into the air.
I watch as the white smoke travels upward, eventually disappearing, before taking another couple drags, already feeling calmer.
“You ready to go handle the cop?” I look over at Logan and he lets out a deep sigh, telling me I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.
Bringing the cigar to my lips, I take another drag, waiting for him to tell me whatever it is, while sending a prayer to whatever the fuck God is up there that I don’t kill my best friend and employee.
“He’s been gambling with Ricardo.”
I release the smoke into the air. “Seriously? Ricardo? So, he’s getting desperate.” I take another draw from my cigar. Ricardo is as shady as they come. He’s nothing more than a wannabe gangster in a shitty neighborhood, playing bookie for amateurs.
Logan nods. “He owes him a shit ton of money. He won’t be paying anyone. He’s broke as hell. He was up so fucking high and it all came crashing down. Now that he’s in over his head, he’s got nothing to lose. Remember when I told you he’s been making threats about going to the higher-ups?”
“We need to discuss this shit in my office, not out here.” Standing and walking toward the back door, I flick the cigar onto the ground then step on it, putting it out.
We get back into my office and I shut the door, already wishing I was back outside, smoking.
There’s no way I’m calm enough to have this conversation.
Leaning against the front of my desk, I face Logan, who is standing against the wall. I give him a look that says to speak, and he does. “He’s not only threatening to turn us in for the underground fighting, but also for the money laundering.”
“He doesn’t have proof.”
Logan’s head drops and my fists clench in response.
“He doesn’t have proof, right?”
“He’s dating a woman at the bank.”
My fist tightens and I punch the closest thing to me—a metal filing cabinet—the pain radiating through my knuckles and up my arm. There’s something more going on here. I fucking know it.
“So. Fucking. What. He’s a goddamn cop, not the FBI. What the hell is he going to do?” I stalk over to Logan, closing the small gap between us, and grab him by the collar of his shirt. “There’s something you’re leaving out. I’m not fucking around, Logan.”
He shakes his head.
“Logan, I’m giving you one chance to tell me what the hell is really going on.”
“Okay, okay.” He puts his palms up in a placating manner, and I consider grabbing his hands and breaking each one of his fingers. When he doesn’t say anything, I fist his collar tight enough it almost chokes him as I push him against the wall.
“Logan…”
“Fuck! Okay. Look, just hear me out, all right?” I let go of his collar, slightly backing up so I can look him in the eyes. He bends over, coughing lightly.
“Stand the fuck up and talk,” I demand.
“Luis noticed people were looking for…a pick-me-up on fight nights. As you know, his brother sells, so he came to me and offered us a cut if we let him sell on fight nights. On an average night, we bring in five figures easily.”
“What sort of pick-me-up?” I ask, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it with my own ears. Luis is one of my bouncers underground, and his brother is one of the biggest drug dealers in Atlantic City.
“X.”
“You’re selling ecstasy in my fucking club. Anything else?”
“Coke.” Jesus fuck.
I give him a pointed look, wondering how the fuck I didn’t notice this was happening under my roof, and realizing I’ve put way too much trust in Logan. “And what does the cop have to do with this?”
“He found out and started demanding a cut in order to turn a blind eye.”
I shake my head, not believing the shit he’s telling me. “You risked my fucking club over five figures? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Money’s money.”
“Says the guy with nothing at stake. You know damn well why I don’t fuck with drugs.”
Logan blanches. “I didn’t think about that. It’s been, what? Ten years?”
“Twelve, and I don’t give a shit if it’s been twenty years.
We don’t deal drugs, ever.” Not even my father deals anymore.
He knows it’s a hard limit for me—and why—and respects it.
Weapons, alcohol, gambling, money laundering—I’ll handle anything else he needs me to handle, but I’ll never touch drugs again.
“I didn’t think you would care as long as you weren’t the one dealing.”
“Bullshit, Logan. That’s why you hid it from me.”
Walking around my desk, I grab my cigars and phone from the drawer.
“Where you going?” Logan asks nervously.
“I’m going to handle the fucking cop. I can’t let it get out that he owes me two hundred fucking grand, and I’m sure as fuck not going to let him get away with blackmailing me.” Logan’s eyes bug the fuck out, telling me there’s something else he’s hiding.
“I’ll handle it,” he offers. “It’s my shit.”
“Okay.” I nod in agreement. “But I’m going with you.”
Logan opens his mouth to argue but thinks better of it. “All right.”
We jump into my Nissan GT-R and head over to Stephen’s place. I’ve never visited the cop myself, so Logan gives me directions that lead us to a decent apartment complex just outside of Atlantic City.
When I park in a spot near his building, Logan says, “Let me go in first and talk to him. I think I’ll have a better chance of convincing him to drop the threats and work out a payment deal if it’s just me.”
Getting out of my car, I slam the door shut and light a cigar.
“I’m giving you five minutes to talk to him, then I’m going to handle this bullshit myself.
” He already said the guy’s broke, so I know damn well he’s not getting money from him, but I’ll give him his five minutes and then I’ll find out what else he’s hiding.
Logan heads toward the building to the cop’s door. I watch him knock, and then knock again. A good minute or so later the door opens and then Logan enters the apartment, closing the door behind him. It’s in the sixties today, so I find a sunny area near the building to smoke.
It can’t be more than five minutes later when I hear yelling coming from the apartment.
It’s becoming evident Logan isn’t handling business properly.
After I deal with the cop, I’m going to have to reassess Logan’s position in my business.
Hiding shit from me is a huge damn red flag and I would be a fool to ignore it.
The door opens and Logan steps outside. He closes the door behind him and locks eyes with me, but doesn’t walk toward me. Okay…I guess I’m going to have to handle this shit.
As I push myself off the wall and take my last drag, I spot a woman stumble out of a window.
Her ass hits the ground, but she doesn’t let it slow her down.
She pops up and starts to run. What the fuck.
She whizzes past me, and for a second, I think I recognize her.
Where the hell have I seen this woman before?
She doesn’t stop running until she gets to her car, and once she’s in, takes off, her tires peeling out.
Throwing my cigar into the grass, I stalk over toward Logan.
Something’s wrong here. As I get closer, I see he has a gun in his hand, and his face is white as a ghost. I quickly assess the surrounding area, making sure there are no witnesses.
“Get inside,” I bark. He steps back inside, and I follow him in, shutting the door behind me.
My eyes immediately go to the dead body on the floor. It’s not the first time nor will it be the last that someone has been killed by the hands of one of my guys, but with the business I run, I try to leave it as a last resort.
“What the fuck did you do?” I accuse, because really…there better be a damn good reason to kill a fucking cop.
“He left me no choice! He wasn’t listening.” Logan is staring at the guy bleeding out all over the floor.
“I told you to talk to him, not kill him. You should’ve let me handle it. After I call Franco to clean up your damn mess, we’re going to have a serious fucking talk.”
Logan looks at me, not saying a word. He’s in shock.
I remember the first time I was forced to pull the trigger.
I had no choice, and if I had to do it over again, I would still make the same decision I made back then.
But knowing I did the right thing to save the person I loved doesn’t change the fact I still played God with a man’s life.
It’s also the day I came to terms with the fact that if there is a God and heaven, there’s no way I’ll be walking through those pearly gates.
Taking my phone out of my pocket, I dial Franco’s number. With my eyes trained down on the screen, out of the corner of my eye, I notice a pair of women’s shoes. The girl falling out of the window. Fuck.
My head shoots up to Logan. “Was someone else here?”
He looks at me like I’m stupid but then looks around. Franco answers on the first ring. “I need a clean-up.”
“You got it.”