16. Ten Percent?
Chapter 16
Ten Percent?
HUNTER
P art of the reason I’ve become so successful in my business is that I remain neutral in any situation with any criminal.
I’m Switzerland.
I can talk to anyone about anything, and my feelings aren’t involved. Why? Because I don’t have feelings in these matters, not when it comes to business anyway. I was taught early that business is business, and if you allow emotions to get in the way, it’s the kiss of death.
But there’s always a first time for everything.
Usually, I set up a meeting between clients at my club because it’s a neutral location over which I have complete control. Not this time, though. And I’m incredibly uncomfortable right now.
It doesn’t matter that Megan isn’t working as the club manager anymore. I’m still not going to let Fabre or anyone related to him, who works for him, or who even breathes the same air as him inside my club. For one, there’s the obvious reason. I wouldn’t want it to get back to Megan that I’ve arranged a meeting with the fucker who just kidnapped her. I know that woman of mine and a million different scenarios would run through her head, and none of them are good.
She’d probably be afraid I’d kill him.
Very possible.
Or that she could still save that traitorous Naomi from a future that’s been cemented for her since birth.
Not possible.
Lamenting about my reaction toward Fabre, or the idea of still saving Naomi or even Parker, for that matter, is not what I want the future mother of my child to be doing. She should be stuffing her face with delicious food, shopping for the baby, getting foot rubs, and being pampered in all the ways an expectant mother should.
But I still have time to make this right. The second half of her pregnancy will be better than the first half. And it starts with me allowing this meeting to unfold in a very uncomfortable way.
I’ve got my reasons.
Jack and I got here early. He’s clearly nervous as he paces the small balcony off the side of the suite. Lars is sitting quietly in a chair in the corner of the suite, keeping an eye on him. Nervous clients always make Lars uncomfortable. He thinks they’re “liable to do any damn thing” when their nerves are involved.
I’m sitting at the large desk in the room, having a cup of coffee with a shot of whiskey…waiting.
Finally, there’s a knock at the door.
Lars rises and looks through the peephole, raising three fingers, which means Fabre is there with two other people.
I give a head nod, permitting Lars to open the door, and it’s not until I see the potbelly asshole walk through the threshold that I realize this is a dumb ass idea.
“Middleton,” he says with a grin. “I thought we’d meet at your notorious club, but this is nice too.”
Fabre sits on one of the sofas as his two men stand close by.
“Hello, Mr. Fabre. My name’s Jack Brockington. I used to run with the DiAngelo family.”
“But before that, you used to run with Mr. Middleton in the organization, is that right?”
“Yes, I see you did your homework.”
“I always do. You must have called in a really big favor to get Mr. Middleton to arrange this meet for you.”
Fabre stares at me, and I can sense Lars’s body posture shifting in the far corner of the room. He’s itching for Fabre to do something stupid, looking for any excuse to put a bullet in his chest.
“Hunter and I do have some history, but this meeting was bound to happen, Mr. Fabre. I know you’ve taken some interest in things out here on the West Coast, but I’m asking that you leave my business out of it.”
“Before we get down to brass tacks, I wanted to introduce my daughter’s fiance to you, Middleton. Gabriel’s never been to Cali before. I thought I’d show him how the Fabres do business and brought him along.”
Naomi’s fiance looks indifferent to the introduction and doesn’t bother speaking at all. If I had to guess, I’d say he doesn’t care much for his new father-in-law, but what else is new? I don’t know too many men that say good things about Fabre.
“When is the wedding?” I ask, knowing I shouldn’t show any interest at all but remembering part of the conversation I overheard between Naomi, Megan, and Lena before Megan was kidnapped–neither Gabriel nor Naomi wants this.
“My wife is managing the wedding planning. It will be a grand occasion, though, the way we always do it in Louisiana,” he says with an extra twang to his voice. “I’d love it if you and Megan could make it.”
Every muscle in my body contracts.
He just had to say her name.
“You can’t help yourself, can you?” I say through gritted teeth.
“Can we get back to the reason why we’re all here, Mr. Fabre?” Jack interrupts, sensing the immediate danger growing in the room. “Can you assure me that you’ll leave my business alone as you expand out west?”
“And what do I get out of the arrangement?”
“Ten percent, of course.”
“Ten percent?” Fabre scoffs. “You’ll pay me ten percent of a business that could be a hundred percent mine if I put a bullet through your head right now?”
Everyone’s eyes widen except for mine. If it wasn’t clear why he decided to fly across the country for this meeting before, it’s crystal clear now. This is it. This is him making his move, daring anyone to stop him. And doing it in front of me is just icing on the cake.
“No one is getting shot inside this suite today,” I say steadily. “Not on my watch.”
Not today.
“Of course not,” Fabre smirks. “I’m just saying that ten percent is a disrespectful offer. I thought your man here would know better. I could simply take all of it from him, and he’d have nothing.”
“You’re assuming a lot of things. You can’t just walk up in the city of Los Angeles, take a man’s livelihood from him, and think there won’t be any repercussions.”
“Ask around, Middleton. I have a good track record of doing just that.”
“Not here, you don’t.”
We stare off at each other, and I notice a hint of amusement emitting from Gabriel’s eyes while the other man with Fabre stands stoically.
“Jack,” I say, turning to face him. “You’re going to have to do better than ten percent if you want to leave this room with a deal.”
“But I already have to give a piece to the organization.”
“That’s your business,” I tell him.
“Rest assured, Jack, when I make my move out here, you won’t have to give any of your business to the organization–just the Fabre family.”
Another veiled threat.
Jack takes a moment to think carefully about a number. I’m sure he’s weighing what he can afford to part with versus giving Fabre a number that doesn’t disrespect his power. I’d normally step up and negotiate the price in such instances, but I decide to fall back on this one.
If everything I’m thinking falls into place. This negotiation won’t mean shit anyway because Fabre won’t be around to collect.
“Then what about twenty percent?” Jack asks.
“What do you think, Gabriel? Cali will be your division to run one day. Are you fine with that arrangement?”
“In my family, we don’t settle for anything less than thirty percent,” he answers.
“We’re your family now,” Fabre responds, and it’s obvious that Gabriel hates every part of that statement.
“Thirty percent, or we walk,” Gabriel cooly tells Jack.
Fabre crosses his fat legs and settles his arms on his stomach. He’s pleased with Gabriel’s negotiation strategy and, I suppose, with himself as well.
“Then I guess we have a deal,” Jack agrees reluctantly. “Thirty percent.”
“Do you both enter this agreement of your own free will and, on your honor, will adhere to the terms?” I ask them both, knowing full well that someone like Fabre has no fucking honor, but it’s what I have to say. It’s why I’m here.
“We do.”
I stand up behind the desk, denoting the end of the meeting.
“I’m glad we were able to reach an agreement,” I say to the room. “Now, if you excuse me, Jack, I’d like to speak to Mr. Fabre alone for a moment.
Jack shakes my hand, then Fabre’s, and Lars shows him out of the suite.
“Alone,” I say to Fabre.
“Oh, you want my security to leave?” Fabre grins.
“What I have to say is just between the two of us. You won’t need security.”
“And what about your man?” he asks, referring to Lars, who I can already tell isn’t happy about this request.
“He’ll stand outside in the hallway as well.”
“Boss,” Lars warns.
“Outside,” I say in a deeper voice, the one he knows means I don’t want to hear shit he has to say.
Fabre stands once the room empties.
“Okay, Middleton, we’re alone. What do you have to say that’s so important you needed to clear the room?”
I choose my words carefully.
“My fiance will never admit this out loud because she knows how I feel about the situation, but she wants to know how Naomi is faring.”
“Does she?”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t seem too fond of my Josephine when she was traveling with us.” He stresses the pronunciation of Naomi’s legal first name–Josephine as if I need reminding.
“That’s because she was tricked and lied to by your daughter for a long time. She was understandably angry. Deceit must come easy to the Fabre’s.”
He smirks with amusement. “It does.”
Inside, I’m boiling over, but on the outside, I remain a calm and collected adversary. I want the information. While I’m done apologizing for the whole Parker debacle, I think a little intel on Naomi will get me a long way with Megan.
“Well?”
“Josephine is faring quite well. She’s living a life of luxury she’s accustomed to, eagerly preparing for her wedding day. You can assure Miss Taylor that all is well if she’ll even listen to anything you have to say.”
What the fuck.
“What are you insinuating?”
“I know that your beloved is back in her old apartment and not living with you. Did you two have a lover’s spat? It would be a shame if you’re not there to witness the birth of your firstborn child.”
I remind myself to text Vaughn just as soon as I step foot outside this hotel and tell him to do a device sweep of the apartment and the club. This psychopath may have bugged one or more of my offices. How is he always a step ahead of me?
“It would be nice if Naomi could assure her of that herself. I’d like them to have a conversation.”
“You want them to speak after all that’s passed between them?” Fabre walks toward the suite window with his hands clasped behind his back. “You must love your fiance very much to even bother with this.”
“You know I fucking do.”
He pivots on the ball of one of his shiny Italian-made shoes, turning around with an overconfident swagger I want to crush in the worst way.
Soon.
“Then why haven’t you tried to kill me yet?” he asks flippantly.
“Murder is a delicate matter.” I stare at him with violent intent. “It needs to be slow-cooked and seasoned properly like a stew, but once ready…it will be utterly delicious.”
Fabre knows exactly what I mean.
I’m growing tired of this dance between us. It feels as if I’m only treading water, waiting for the right circumstances to strike. But assuredly, his reckoning is coming…I’m just not sure if the egomaniac believes in his own mortality or not.
“I’ll have Josephine call her tomorrow at six pm your time. Just make sure your little artist picks up.”
The way this fat fuck pushes my buttons.
Little artist?
I just have to remember this is all for a greater purpose. I need Megan to be happy, and I need her back in my bed where she belongs. She needs to see that I’m doing the work. No matter how excruciating it is.
“Agreed.”