Chapter 27
Dylan wanted to punch someone, but he was driving. That bitch hadn't paid all his debt. Instead, she'd been rescued. Now, she had to pay for the trouble she'd caused.
He owed more money than he would ever have access to, and with the club burned, he had no options. If they’d left him the club, he might have been able to make it back. But there was no way he could make the money now. He had to find another way.
First, he was headed to Dallas to pick up cash from one of the guys who used to come to the club all the time.
There were photos of the guy with multiple women and two guys.
He was getting big money from the jerk. Luckily, one of the old employees of the club let him use his email address so he could get money from people without exposing himself for being the person behind the crime.
Dylan rolled up in front of the man’s work at eight in the morning, ready to put the fear of God into him. A quick photo snapped and sent via email should do the trick. There was a local coffee shop around the corner where he could hang out until the guy paid him.
He got his coffee and a muffin, thanks to some money that had come in the day before, and sat at a table outside.
The weather was warm, but not too hot. He didn't like the constant traffic noise.
The area was busy, much busier than Albuquerque.
That city was a piece of shit. He glanced around, taking in the trash on the sidewalk, the cracked pavement, the lack of sidewalk with only one cone placed to stop people from falling into a hole. This place was shit, too.
He sipped the coffee, which wasn’t bad, and took a bite of the muffin, which was heavenly. He could live on these muffins. They were absolutely perfect.
His phone pinged, and a smile spread across his lips. This had to be good. He took another bite of the muffin and closed his eyes, enjoying the taste.
After he finished with the bite, he opened his eyes and checked the message. The man who he’d sent the photo to was begging him not to send anything to his wife. He had him in the sweet spot and was ready give the final blow that would get him some money.
He typed in his reply, telling the guy if he didn’t have the money in an hour, he would reveal everything. After he sent the message, he did a mic drop motion with his hand.
“And that’s how it’s done.”
There was one guy sitting at a table about fifteen feet away who gave him a strange look but he didn’t care what some idiot thought about him. He was making money the old fashion way. One bribe at a time.
He should have been doing this for years. He had the blackmail material, but he’d hoped the club would keep bringing money in. Now that was gone, and he had nothing left to draw on except his own wit and the material that would make him money.
The muffin was too good to walk away from, so he finished the muffin and coffee before checking the account the guy was supposed to deposit money into. Anger flashed. The money wasn’t there.
He checked the time. It hadn't actually been an hour, only twenty minutes.
There had to be someplace around here where he could lose himself for forty minutes.
But it was early, and what the hell could he do?
There weren't any green spaces, and the traffic looked like shit, so traveling more than a few miles to get to any place wasn't worth it since he needed to stay near this guy so he could really put the screws in if he had to.
Two women in tight yoga gear got out of their car.
He couldn't take his eyes off them. He swore he could see through their clothes.
Jesus, it was almost like they were naked.
This he could deal with. Damn, the women here were hot, and the getup these two were wearing.
He should have had his waitresses wear sheer yoga pants.
Maybe he would open another club, something with women wearing sheer clothes.
His phone pinged again, and he checked the messages.
The guy had sent him the money. Now, it was time to take care of his next problem.
That woman who used to work for him. She owed him.
Maybe he could force her to work for him again, this time as a call girl.
He just had to figure out where she was.