4. Jax
Jax
“We have to tell Flynn,” I say resolutely, but Scott immediately pushes me away, leaping to his feet, as he shakes his head.
“You can’t. Jax, you can’t. If Nick doesn’t kill me, Flynn will.”
“Well, what do you suggest? I’m amazed he hasn’t worked it out already; he’s usually obsessed with the profits on this place. How the hell have you kept it quiet?” I say, as Scott chews on his lip.
Restless and needing something to do, I walk to the door, grab my shoes, and shove them back on my feet. When I turn back to face him, the safe door is hanging open like a yawning mouth, spewing out all my brother’s secrets, and I go to it, kicking it shut.
“How did you lose so much?” I ask angrily.
“Nick kept upping the bet. Every time I lost, he would say that we could let it slide. He’d up the bet, I’d lose, and then he’d do it again. I always thought I could win, Jax. I would never have done it if I hadn’t thought I would get the better of him eventually.”
“You know this is a problem for you, Scott,” I say, as I slump against the edge of the desk. My fingers rise automatically, beginning to braid my ponytail in a familiar rhythm. “How could you do this with Flynn’s money, with the club’s money?”
“I know. But you’ll think of something, right? You always do.”
“Scott, we cannot keep this a secret. Not only would it be a huge betrayal, but Flynn needs to know. This is serious. It’s our family business. If it goes under, we are fucking screwed.”
“It’s not gonna go under. We’ll fix it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know! But we will, I know we will.”
“If Flynn—”
“Stop,” Scott yells, pointing his finger at me, his breath coming hard and fast. “I am not being grouped with Seb and Ben on this. I am not the fuckup brother. I was given this responsibility because he trusted me. If I tell him what’s happened, he’ll never let me near the business again.
I love running this club with you, Jax. The last six months have been amazing.
I don’t want Flynn to stop trusting me.”
Then why have you been lying to both of us for so long?
“I understand, Scott, but we have limited options here. He’s going to find out, it’s inevitable.”
“I could organize another game,” he mumbles, tugging at his lip with his thumb and forefinger. “I could get a group together, make some quick cash.”
“You are not fixing a gambling debt by gambling,” I growl. “That’s how you ended up in this mess. What does this Nick Monroe guy do anyway?”
“Officially, he runs a business refurbishing cars, but I think he’s kind of a gang leader. Cal’s brother knows him, and when I asked how they met, Cal wouldn’t tell me.”
“Brilliant.”
“I know. I know, but I trusted Cal. I thought Nick was legit. He was really flash, looked like he had a lot of money.”
“They always do, and they’re usually the ones who don’t have any of their own.”
Scott starts to pace back and forth across the room, and I think feverishly about our options. In my mind, there’s no way Flynn won’t discover the truth. Scott has never been able to keep a secret in his life, and I’m shocked he’s kept it under wraps this long.
Finding 80k might have been achievable, but 200k? Shit… where’s it going to come from?
Sometimes I fucking hate my brothers.
My cell vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to see Aidan’s number flashing up on the screen.
“Everything okay?” I ask him as I answer.
“Yeah, but I need to go on break. I’ve swapped with Laurie. You okay to watch the upper deck?”
“Sure, I’ll be there in a sec.”
I hang up, catching Scott’s gaze. His expression is wrecked, and half of me wants to hug him, the other break his nose.
What an absolute fucking nightmare.
“I have to go back to work,” I say. “The one thing you need to do is get the books in some semblance of order. If you really want to keep this from Flynn, you need to delete any evidence of that deficit. If he senses a whiff of financial trouble, he will dig until he finds the cause. You stay here and deal with that, and I’ll deal with the club. ”
I leave the room—rage, worry, and anger seething in a ball in my chest. I can’t spare a smile for anyone as I go down to the floor, heading back toward the atrium.
As I come to the edge of it, resting my hand on the cold metal bar, I lean against it, staring down at all the people below me.
Do any of them have this kind of problem? Is anyone out there fighting for their life just to get through each day?
There’s a loud shriek of laughter from nearby, muffled but audible, and I twist around, focusing on the little group of women in the VIP lounge.
From this vantage point, the edge of the blue room can be seen to the side of the atrium. They all look like they’re having a fantastic night, food and drink overflowing on their table.
They were throwing 100-dollar bills around like pocket change. Where do they get that kind of money from anyway?
I walk to the bar in the Blue Room, snagging two bottles of champagne and a tray of shots, weaving through the chairs and tables toward the VIP section.
As I come around the screen between the tables, the brunette eyes me with a grin as I place the bottles in the center.
“Oh my god, this place is the best,” one of the blondes says as she pops the cork over the balcony, and it sails away toward the DJ booth, lost in the crowd.
“My staff tells me you’ve all been very generous tonight,” I say with a smile. “And this is a little thank you on the house. We’d love to have you back again.”
I try to tamp down the anxiety that’s threatening to overwhelm me.
How the fuck am I going to get 200 grand together in a week? Will Nick Monroe really break my brother’s legs?
“Where do you all work, anyhow? You in finance or something?” I ask, hoping they’re not the kind of women who balk at a waitress asking them questions.
But the whole table goes quiet, all of them looking at me quizzically. I tense, but the expressions on their faces seem more intrigued than offended.
“We work at a place called Sterling House,” the brunette says, producing a card out of thin air. It’s thick, embossed, and simple in design. “You should check them out,” she says, and the other women all begin to laugh amongst themselves. “Our clients would love you.”
“Oh my god, they would adore her, it’s the hair. Red hair is so beautiful,” one of them says, drunkenly running her finger down my braid, then she snatches her hand back. “Sorry, please don’t break my arm, I forgot.”
The other women all start cackling together, and I stare down at the card as the brunette leans into me.
“My name’s Bethany. Talk to Pippa Grooman at Sterling House if you’re interested. Say I sent you. Seriously. If you want to get out of this kind of place and into some serious money, that’s where you wanna be. Trust me, you’re just what they’re looking for.”
She gives me a smug smile, her eyes running over my body with such a filthy look I’m surprised my skin’s not on fire.
I tuck the card in my bra, nodding to her in thanks. As I leave the room, I tell Marty to serve them free champagne for the rest of the night.
Sterling House could be exactly what I need right now.