12. Wrangler
12
WRANGLER
My watch now reads 10:20, which means Zoe is twenty minutes late getting out of Pilates. Parked up outside the studio, I watch every single woman leave but her.
“Did Zoe attend this morning?”
“No,” answers one of the girls leaving the studio. She wears pink flared leggings and jet-black hair swirled back into a bun so tight it looks like it’s giving her a headache. “She’ll be with her Prince Charming.”
I narrow my eyes, unsure if that’s supposed to be sarcasm or not.
Anxiety creeps into my stomach. Forgetting to pick up Sammy will bury Zoe in deep shit. In a backwards way, I just pray that Felix cares so little about his daughter that he won’t punish Zoe.
But clearly not.
Otherwise Zoe would be leaving Pilates class by now.
Unless she left early to go somewhere else.
Where, is the question.
I start up the engine, ignoring the women around me who twirl their hair and giggle in response to the revs, and get the fuck out of here.
Jesus, I thought the bathroom situation last night would eradicate all desires for Zoe out of my head for good…but it’s worsened them. Maybe it’s because my dick remained in my pants. If I had finished inside of her, maybe things would be different. Nothing washes reality over you quite like post-nut clarity. At the masquerade when I fucked Zoe, depression overcame me in the days that followed. That’s what I need—to crawl into a hole and regret my life choices enough to never want to bother Zoe again.
This situation isn’t easy, though. She’s in trouble. I can’t turn a blind eye to that. The club might sit below the law, but club members pride themselves—some of them, anyway—on lawful acts, like saving women from oppressive billionaires who seem invincible.
But just once.
Sex with her, just one time, might kill the overthinking. Besides, we were drunk at the masquerade. The environment was hazy. Full of masked figures and blurry neon lights, tuberose pheromones cloaking around me like a curse. Sometimes, you ruin the thing by overdoing it.
So I need to overdo it.
I maneuver through traffic and rev the Harley the second the traffic lights blink green, taking a right toward Cash Pot Palace. If she’s gonna be anywhere, it’ll be her father’s casino or Paul’s—considering she was there last night. Or , maybe she’s made a lucky escape back out into the desert, this time with Sammy.
But she knows better than to chance an escape with a three-year-old where coyotes lurk, and water is scarce.
I pull up a block away from the casino, lock up the Harley and walk over, taking side streets instead of the main strip to avoid any media consumers who’ve since viewed the online photo of Zoe, Bullwhip, Poet, and me.
I Google her name, and what do you know? It’s top of the search results.
God, these photographers are fucking good at their jobs.
Maybe I’ll pay them a visit and run them over. That’ll show them to never mess with the Venom Vultures. But it’s too risky. Their deaths would increase media conspiracy that we are in fact sleeping with Zoe.
It’s bullshit.
Although we did strip her naked in a public location last night.
My entrance into the casino wins me a glare from two random guests who clearly miss nothing the press post online. I stare back at them until their sorry little eyes flicker to the floor. To them, at the moment, we’re playing dress up, and bought our leathers from cheap costume stores. For their sakes, I hope they continue believing everything the media tells them. I’d hate to prove them wrong and introduce them to the Venom Vultures’ weaponry collection.
The sparse crowds tell me all I need to know—Zoe isn’t here.
I slip through the back exit in case she’s hiding, nerves bundling up inside of me even more when I don’t find her. What if Felix Fernando killed her? He’s rich enough to pay off an assassin, and could stage it well too. Make out she died in some freak accident.
Would he be able to fake the tears?
“Get your slimy hands off me!” shouts some guy.
I turn my head. There’s not much around the back except dumpsters, fallen bricks, and weirdly, a hanging noose blowing in the breeze.
I tiptoe toward the end of the building. The sounds of heavy breathing and gravel gritting underfoot grow in volume until I’m turning the corner to see two men trying to pin one another up against the wall.
I turn my back to keep myself concealed.
Finally, we might have something to report back to Grizzly.
More ragged breathing continues. “You took back the envelope.”
“I’d go nowhere near you. Don’t fancy catching a disease.” The British accent rings loud and clear in my ears. Paul.
Swiftly, I curl my head back around the wall.
It’s Warren pressing Paul up against the brick wall.
Two casino owners going at it. Fantastic.
“I have more money than I fucking need,” spits Paul. “That’s something you greedy bastards can’t understand, is it? You’re like alcoholics, never knowing when to draw the line.”
“I’ll draw one across your face with a knife in a minute,” says Warren. “That stupid accent might sweet-talk others into bed, but it’s not gonna work on me. I want that envelope back. Now. Felix requires it.”
Ah. The envelope Grizzly saw him hand over.
That must make Warren the employee who received the envelope on Felix’s behalf.
Paul and Warren stand at similar heights, so it makes their eye contact pretty intense. They stare at one another like it’s a competition neither one of them wishes to lose. Paul and I have met very briefly, but he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy to raise his voice unnecessarily. When selecting club members, Grizzly is very picky, so he must be even more so when it comes to friendship.
Warren does not look like Zoe. All he looks like is a bully. One that needs putting in his fucking place.
Warren holds an arm under Paul’s chin, keeping him pressed into the wall.
All Paul does is laugh. “You two make a good team. Both as bad as each other.” He grits his teeth when the pain intensities. “If I open you up, what will I find inside? An empty space where your heart used to be? Evil bastard. Zoe and Fiona might be your daughters now, but they won’t be forever.”
I narrow my eyes and peek my head around the corner a little more.
“What is that supposed to mean?” asks Warren.
“They’ll find a way to escape. They’re strong girls.” Another laugh escapes his throat. “I mean, what father forces their daughter into marriage?”
“He threatened to shut down everything I’d built.”
Another laugh. “Everything you’ve built, meaning your business?” Paul rolls his eyes. “Word of advice for you, mate. Don’t birth kids into the world if you’re more bothered about money. Lonely people build businesses. Not those who are fortunate enough to have families.”
A stroke of realization flashes across Warren’s face. But only momentarily.
Then, the back of Paul’s head slams against the brick wall.
“You like to talk.”
“I’m not giving you money. Not a buck. Not a billion,” Paul says.
“May I remind you,” says Warren, “what Felix did for you thirteen months ago?”
This tightens Paul’s face. His expression turns long, but only briefly. “The pot calling the kettle black. I may have done wrong, but you and Felix still place first if we tally up all of the points.”
Warren tightens his jaw. Continues staring. “This is your final warning.”
“Oh, lucky me.”
Warren steps back to scroll his eyes up and down Paul’s body.
Then he yanks Paul’s hair and drags him to the ground in one smooth motion. Taking advantage of his vulnerable, bent-over position, Warren circles around and boots him to the ground.
Paul lands in the gravel face down.
I leave my side of the wall and charge over to headlock Warren. Throw him to the ground.
The son of a bitch hisses at me—didn’t know he spoke fucking parseltongue.
“Piss off back to your own casino,” I tell him.
This creases Warren’s face into a smile. “Shortly, this will be my ?—”
I cut the guy off with a punch to the face. “I suggest you go, and quickly, before I call for security. Better not cause a scene. That won’t bode very well for business .” I waggle my brows.
Warren pushes off me and straightens out his blazer, creating distance between Paul and me. “For one of the three men caught hiding away with my daughter yesterday, you’ve got an awful lot to say. I’d be more careful, if I were you.”
He heads back inside after that, leaving Paul and me to our own devices.
“Thanks, mate.” Paul pats me on the shoulder.
Questions swim in my head. “What’s the deal with you and Felix?”
“Nothing,” says Paul. “You know what those two are like.” He starts to head back inside, widening the gap. “I told your mate this yesterday, and now I’ll tell you. Stay away from Felix and Zoe, and from me too. It’s not worth it.”
* * *
“I was starting to think the reason you three didn’t pay the club a visit last night was because you slacked too much and got on the booze.” Grizzly pots a pool ball and then stabs his cue on the ground. “Please don’t tell me I’m right.”
“No, Prez.”
Poet and Bullwhip on stand either side of me. They stayed at my place earlier today because apparently walking as a group in public would’ve sparked more attention.
Good thing they remained home.
Bullwhip probably would’ve taken Warren’s eye out.
“Paul did something thirteen months ago that required Felix’s assistance,” I tell them.
Grizzly abandons the game of pool and ushers us to a table. We all sit. “Did what?”
“Not sure. He didn’t say.”
“And how was this found out?”
“I found them outside. Warren had him pressed up against the wall.”
“That Fernando-wannabe bastard,” Grizzly mumbles to himself. He returns his gaze to us. “What does Warren want?”
“The money envelope that he thinks Paul stole back,” I say.
“So Warren’s the guy he handed it over to?” asks Poet.
“Yep.”
Grizzly huffs. “Doing Felix’s dirty work, as per usual.”
“Let’s just give him the money back,” says Poet.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “Paul’s adamant on not giving them any.”
“Sounds like my guy,” laughs Grizzly.
“Look, he’s in trouble either way. We should probably do something.”
“More digging needs to be done first.” Grizzly strokes a finger under his chin. “This is good, but we need more.”
“He must’ve done something bad,” says Bullwhip, “if he went to Felix instead of us.”
“It’s never a money thing with Paul.” Grizzly stares vacantly. “It’s shame.”
Modest guy.
Grizzly turns to me. “What business did you have at Paul’s casino this morning, anyway?”
I practically see Poet’s and Bullwhip’s ears flower open to listen. They know exactly why I was there, and it’s because Zoe didn’t show at Pilates earlier.
“Nothing much,” I answer. “Nothing like a quick dopamine hit.”
“Hm.” Grizzly raises his gray brows. “Wouldn’t you three know?” He stands up and bangs on the table. “We have the afternoon ahead of us. Get back to work and find out why Paul has his British knickers in a twist, and do it sooner rather than later so we can put this to bed. The world only has one Paul, and I wouldn’t like to see him bleeding out on the floor.”