Chapter 22 Juliet #2
Squatting next to the table, I set down the two bottles of mezcal and the six glasses. “If that will be all…” I get back to my feet.
“No.” Darrio points to a spot in between two of his men. “Sit. Pour the alcohol.”
My fingers tighten on the tray. “I’m not—”
“I wasn’t asking, Miss Donovan.”
If there’s something about me that must drive the guys insane, it’s the fact that when I’m presented with a challenge, it’s really fucking hard for me not to take it. I hope this is over before Lex comes back.
Stepping over a few of their legs, I drop the tray beneath the table and lean forward, grabbing the first bottle. I keep my eyes fixed on Darrio’s as I open it and pour. One glass. Two. Three. I pass them around. When I get to the sixth, I pause.
“That one is for you,” Darrio says. “Pour.”
His expression is cold—detached. The sight of the yellowing skin at the top of his forehead and around one eye as well as his nose makes it easier for me to follow the order.
I don’t skimp either, pouring a full shot of the mezcal just like I had for the others.
He nods in approval and I set the bottle to the side.
“What are we drinking to?” I inquire as the group lifts their glasses.
Darrio answers with a gravelly tone that’s pure disdain. “To getting rid of traitorous bitches.” He stares straight at me as he says the words. I don’t flinch from it as his men all tip their glasses up.
I grimace as the alcohol fills my mouth and slides down my throat, burning a hot path into my gut. Disgusting. As soon as I set the glass down, coughing as the searing liquid pools in my stomach, Darrio is reaching for the bottle of mezcal again.
“My son seems to be quite taken with you,” he says, the casualness of his words a lie so easy to see through that it’s a wonder he even attempts the facade of civility. “Enough to turn his back on his own family.”
“A family that beats and abuses him isn’t really a family at all,” I reply coldly. He pauses a beat as he pours his own shot before continuing and then swinging the bottle to the side to pour a second one.
“Martin. Jack. Up.” He barks the command and the two men on either side of me—the redhead and one of the older men stand, moving to the edge of the booth area and standing alongside the opening with their arms crossed as they face the rest of the club.
Their departure from the booth has left an open gap between Darrio and me.
My heartbeat thrums against my chest, speeding up as sweat dots the back of my neck.
Darrio shoves the second glass full of liquor in my direction. “Drink.”
This time, I glare at him as I lift the rim to my lips and swallow back the foul taste. Two shots should be nothing, but I haven’t had much to eat today and when I get to shots three and four, my lips begin to tingle.
The other two men sitting with us move to the edges of their seats, remaining seated, but don’t get up. They sit there, quiet, eyes trained outward like the two that are standing as if they’re giving us some sense of privacy. A snort escapes me.
“Is there something funny?” Darrio asks.
I pick up the mezcal bottle. After so many gulps of the stuff, it’s actually going down a little easier and, shit, I need the booze to deal with this piece of shit.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “A lot is fucking funny.”
“Oh?” Darrio leans back against the cushioned back of the booth and stretches one arm over the top of it. “Tell me.”
“It’s funny that you’re here, demanding my attention, because you blame me for your son leaving you when the truth is—you forced him out.”
His expression turns thunderous and the hand hanging over the booth’s seat curls into a fist. I laugh and shake my head as I pour two more shots.
“That pisses you off.” I shove one of the glasses into his chest and he takes it with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes. “But it’s the truth. All your boys,” I scoff as I look at the four men guarding the booth, “are too afraid of you to tell you that, but I’m not.”
Darrio slams back his glass of mezcal and then nearly shatters it when he brings it down hard on the table. “You should be, little girl.”
I take my sweet-ass time drinking my liquor, holding his gaze as I lick a drop of it from the rim and then set it to my mouth and down the stuff. I close my eyes as another wave of heat burns a path straight down my throat.
“Your son is worth ten of you.” I don’t look away when he slides nearer and when his other hand snaps out and his hand wraps around my throat, I keep my voice steady. “And if you hurt me, he’ll fucking kill you.”
His fingers dig into my throat, thumbs pressing against the hollow like he wants to snap my neck.
“You think you’re worth more than a quick fuck, you little cunt?
” His spit flecks hot against my cheek, a rancid mix of liquor and rage invading my nostrils.
His other hand rises, flat and poised, a storm waiting to strike.
I bare my teeth at him in the facsimile of a smile. “Do it,” I challenge. “See what happens. I dare you.”
For a second, the cruel gleam in his eye flickers—anticipation, madness. Then his arm cuts through the air. My smile widens. He’s so fucking dead and he doesn’t even know it.
Before the crack of his palm can land, another hand bursts over the top of the booth, iron-strong, snapping around his wrist mid-swing. I blink, surprised. The force makes the whole table rattle. I twist my head up and my stomach plummets—it’s not Lex. It’s Viks.
A pitch-black gaze and jaw sharp enough to split bone, fury carved into every line of him, he glowers down at Darrio Vargas with all of the respect one might show a cockroach.
“I don’t know what kind of place you think this is,” Viks growls, voice steady, calm—the kind of calm that makes the hairs on your arms rise. “But putting your hands on her?” A muscle tics on the underside of his jaw. “Not an option.”
Now, I see it. The possibility that Viks and Lex could be related just skyrocketed because I’ve never seen anyone else with that same level of insanity in their eyes.
Darrio jerks, twisting, trying to break free, but Viks doesn’t budge. His grip is a shackle. Darrio looks like a caged animal thrashing uselessly, and for once, I’m not the prey.
“Juliet.” Viks’ gaze slices to me for a brief second before returning to Darrio. “You good?”
My head feels heavy, the liquor taking effect and forcing every thought to sludge through mezcal-laced mud before it gets out. I manage a sloppy thumbs-up. “Peachy—hic—keen.” The hiccup bursts from me, and I clap a hand over my mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter I can’t contain.
Viks’ scowl deepens, thunder in his expression. “You’re drunk.”
Pinching two fingers together, leaving barely a sliver of space between them, I offer him a sheepish grin.
“Little bit.” Another hiccup follows the words and it sets me off once more.
I giggle like an idiot, even as the man who had his hands on me seconds ago simmers with humiliation, his face blotched red with rage.
“You should—hic—see your face.” I snort, leaning back in the booth. “Priceless.”
“You fucking bitch—”
“Enough.” Viks’ voice slices clean through his snarl. With one vicious jerk, he yanks Darrio out of his seat, dragging him up and over the booth’s divider like he weighs nothing. The sound of impact—flesh, bone, wood—echoes when he hits the ground on the other side.
“Whoa…” My laughter sputters into silence.
“Boss!”
“Hey!”
The men that Darrio had brought with him finally seem to realize that something’s wrong. They launch themselves into the booth as Darrio’s kicking legs go up and over the top of the barrier. The sound of masculine cursing as well as flesh hitting flesh ricochets from the other side.
“Oh, my god!” The feminine shriek that pierces through the otherwise stunned silence surrounding me drives an audible knife through my skull.
“Ugh.” I cup my hands over my ears, wincing at the noise.
Rough hands seize my arms, fingers digging into my skin as I’m yanked upright. Pain flares and my legs wobble, unsteady under the alcohol I’ve consumed. I stumble forward, dragged from the booth like a rag doll.
“Mother—hic—fucker—” I slur, the floor tilting beneath me. I slam into the man’s back when he suddenly stops short, my nose colliding with solid muscle. “Ow! The fuck was that?” I hiss, clutching my face.
The man yanking me forward doesn’t answer, but drags me around to his front. My knees barely lock into place before I crash to the floor. My vision spins, a blur of strobing lights and furious voices.
Note to self: don’t take any more alcohol from my boyfriend’s psycho gang leader father.
Viks has Darrio by the collar, dragging him like a bloodied offering toward the doors leading outside. The man’s face is flushed and wild, his shirt twisted from the choke of Viks’ grip. Around them, his men are circling, tension crackling, every eye flicking between me and their boss.
“Wait!” one of them shouts, palms raised as though it’s enough to stop Viks’ forward momentum. His eyes cut to me, then back to Viks. “You want the girl, right? We’ll give her to you. A trade. Our boss for her.”
I scowl at the man. How dare he. I’m not a fucking currency to be traded.
Viks doesn’t so much as pause. His hold on Darrio is iron. His face unreadable, carved from stone.
But Darrio—smiling now, teeth pink with blood—lunges upward, managing to get his feet under him for one wild swing, smashing his fist across Viks’ jaw. The crack echoes. The impact barely shifts the larger man, but the room shifts, all sound shattering into chaos.
Hosts scramble out of their booths, abandoning their guests while some hide behind the men who stare wide-eyed at the mess that’s become of The Dionysus Lounge. Damn it. I’m so fired and this time, it’s totally my fault.
“Enough!” A new voice tears through the din, sharp as glass.
Ma-Ri storms out from the back hall, her heels hammering the floor with each stomping step. Small though she is, she wastes no time in heading straight for the group of violent men standing in the center of her club. Right behind her is Lex.
The moment he sees me, his eyes widen and then narrow into slits of black smoky fire. “Oh shit…” I smack the guy’s arm that’s holding me. “Dude, you want to let me go now.”
“Shut up, bitch.” He shakes me and I groan.
“Fine,” I tell him. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
That seems to catch his attention and he scowls down at me. “Just shut up and we’ll—” It’s too late. Lex is on him before he can finish the words, his long, powerful legs closing the distance between us.
In a split second, I’m torn from the asshole’s grip and Lex whirls back around to deliver the coldest, fastest right hook I’ve ever seen.
The man doesn’t even have time to grunt before Lex’s fist smashes into his face a second time.
Then another. And another. Blood sprays, warm across my cheek as Lex snarls like a rabid dog over his kill.
One final hit and it’s lights out for the bastard. The dude goes down in a heap on the floor, crumpling like a house of cards. I blink down at him and then shake my head.
“Told you so.”
Arms close around me, the muscles pulled so taut that it’s almost like steel shackles sliding into place. I tip my head back and peer at the underside of Lex’s jaw. He smells so good, way better than Darrio Vargas’ fetid breath. I snuggle closer.
“Baby, are you okay?”
Burrowing my face into his t-shirt-covered chest, I choke out a drunken laugh before I wrap my own arms around him.
“Baby?”
I tip my head again and give him a smile. “I’m fi—hic—fine,” I tell him, those stupid hiccups rolling through me once more. My body folds against him, relishing the unyielding, possessive hold.
“Call the cops,” Viks bites out, voice cold. I glance up and around, realizing that he’s talking to Ma-Ri. He’s still holding on to Darrio, knuckles white even as Darrio attempts to yank himself away and get in another good hit.
In response to Viks’ command, Darrio coughs out a wet laugh.
He tilts his head in Ma-Ri’s direction and despite the facade of strength she’d worn when she’d powered through into the fray, she pales a bit at his dark look.
“You do that, Ma-Ri… and you’ll regret it.
” His smile is feral, broken lip split wide. “I promise you that.”
For a beat, everything is still. Ma-Ri doesn’t say anything, but neither does she rush to the phone.
Viks releases him with a curse. “Fine,” he barks. “Just get the fuck out.”
Darrio stumbles, but he straightens with the smugness of a man who’s convinced the game isn’t over—it’s only just begun. He wipes his mouth, smearing blood across his cheek as his men—the ones still conscious—cluster protectively around him.
“We’ll go,” he says smoothly, though his voice vibrates with barely leashed rage. He turns his gaze toward Lex—Lex still holding me up, keeping me caged in his arms as though he’d slit every throat in this room before letting me slip an inch away. “But this isn’t over.”
His finger rises, a deliberate point at us. “Tell my son…” His smile is pure venom. “Tell him he’s got a target on his back now. You all do.”
The threat hangs, acidic, coating the air. My heart lurches against my ribs, a drunken hiccup rattling out of me at the worst possible moment. Lex tightens his grip, dragging me closer, his body shaking with barely suppressed violence.
I don’t know whether it’s the mezcal or the madness, but all I can think, pressed to Lex’s chest as Darrio walks free, two of his men hurrying back to retrieve their fallen comrade and drag him out, is that something has changed tonight.
A war between the Scorpion Kings and the Vargas Syndicate is no longer a potential threat, but an undeniable reality.