2. Brian
2
brIAN
T he smell of bourbon wafted up my nose from my drink beside me as I stood behind the bar and counted the night’s receipts for the third time at my upscale restaurant in Nashville. The numbers weren’t adding up for the fifth night in a row.
I mumbled swear words under my breath as I sipped my bourbon, staring out at the now-empty dining room where crystal chandeliers cast shadows across the empty tables, their light catching on the hand-polished cherry wood.
Despite the steady stream of customers, I couldn’t keep up with high prices or constant mistakes made by the waitstaff. I was losing money left and right, and it was a challenge to keep Rogues afloat.
I hardly failed at anything, but I had to call a spade a spade. The restaurant business wasn’t for me. I would be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes miss my drug-dealing days or, rather, the money I’d made running an empire for the Colombian cartel.
How could I work for the mob, making a fuckton of drug deals, without so much as a blip or slip-up? Yet I couldn’t run a legitimate business.
My best friend, Duke Hart, would laugh his ass off if he could see me now, playing at being normal while my past sat in the shadows, waiting to pull me back in. But I couldn’t go back. I’d promised myself and my daughter, Fran, I would live a better life—one that didn’t involve illegal activities or seeing lives destroyed by the cartel.
I looked at the bottom line again, tempted to recount for the fourth time. But who was I kidding? If I was good at anything, it was math, and no matter how many times I punched numbers into a calculator, the result would be the same.
I set my drink down and squeezed the bridge of my nose, a headache beginning to bloom. I usually didn’t wallow in self-pity, but regret was a motherfucker.
After Duke had gotten pinched by the Feds and spent a year in prison, I couldn’t have sold my dealerships fast enough. I’d seen the writing on the wall—the neon sign blaring in my face urging me to get the fuck out of New England before the Feds decided to zone in on my ass. Not to mention, Rosario Mendoza, my boss and head of the Colombian cartel, had gone to jail at the same time as Duke. If she hadn’t, I might’ve never left Boston, since it wasn’t easy to just walk away from the cartel.
“What’s wrong? Another bad night in sales?” Sabine’s voice carried across the mahogany bar as she sashayed over.
I ground my back teeth, regarding my lead waitress—average height, short dirty-blond hair, single mother—who was much too interested in becoming more than my employee, as she slid onto a stool.
“Who the fuck on the waitstaff can’t do their job?”
“It’s probably the new gal.” She leaned forward, her tight blouse exposing her cleavage.
I had no interest in her, yet my eyes dropped to her tits, even though my cock didn’t react in the least. Only one woman had that control, and she was off-limits. I wouldn’t dare make a play for my best friend’s sister, Grace Hart.
It had been over three years running, and I kept my desperate longing for her hidden from everyone. All I could allow myself were stolen glances whenever I had the chance—each one both a blessing and a torment. Back then, in Boston, I would stand in Duke’s nightclub, rooted to my spot as Grace swept into his office—chestnut waves cascading down her back, those big brown doe eyes filled with hope, and a devastating smile that could bring the strongest man to his knees to worship her. Even at Thanksgiving dinners with the Harts, I had to refrain from stealing a look across the dinner table or to tamp down the urge not to react in a boyish way whenever she laughed at something I said or batted her long lashes at me.
Sabine reached over the bar, her touch on my hand extinguishing the high I was on as I thought of Grace. “I’ll work with the new girl more,” she said.
I pulled away as if her fingers burned my skin. “Doesn’t matter. The keys to this place will be handed over to the new owners this week. It’s not my problem anymore.”
Excitement coursed through me that I was moving back to Boston, especially to hang out with Duke, eat at all my old hangouts like Yvonne’s, where Grace was working, and more importantly, be closer to my daughter.
Sabine straightened, seemingly hurt that I wasn’t interested in her. “I hate that you sold it, but I understand. Maybe we can have dinner before you leave town permanently.”
I had to give her props for continually trying to strike up a relationship with me, a feat she’d perfected over the last nine months she’d been working at Rogues.
If my abusive old man had taught me anything before I packed a bag, gave him the finger, and took off during my teenage years, it was not to shit where you ate. It was a hard lesson on his part when he got caught fucking his boss’s wife—the reason why he drowned himself in bourbon.
I rubbed a kink in my neck. “I won’t have time. I have a ton to do before I sign the papers.”
She frowned. “Harris and I were hoping to see Fran during her spring break. We just adore her. I’m going to miss her helping out here during her vacation from school.”
Fran was attending a prestigious private academy in Connecticut. When I had made the move to Nashville, I initially enrolled her in a high school nearby so we could be close to each other. But she pleaded with me to transfer her to Oakwood Academy, where many of her friends from her previous school in New York were headed to start their freshman year. Her happiness was everything to me, so I hadn’t been able to say no.
I held in a growl, mainly at the mention of Harris. “Fran is too young to date your son.”
At sixteen, my daughter didn’t need to be tangled up with a nineteen-year-old who had a wandering eye and a penchant for drugs and fast cars.
He’d gotten smitten with Fran the first time he’d met her. Not that I blamed him. My daughter was gorgeous—all legs, blond curls, and deep-green eyes that blinded a person. I might be biased, of course, but I knew exactly what Harris was thinking when he laid eyes on Fran. I had been a hormonal teenager once with a constant hard-on that I couldn’t tame.
“She’s sixteen,” Sabine said. “Surely, she likes boys.”
Fran and I never talked about boys or the birds and the bees. I’d tried once, and I had failed miserably. But Grace was there for my daughter. Fran felt better discussing womanly things with her or Fran’s bestie’s mom.
Regardless, I knew the day was coming when boys would be in the picture. Hell, she probably had a boyfriend, and I would be the last to know. Still, I wasn’t ready to see her with a boy. She had a bright future ahead, and with her brilliant mind, she was on track to graduate high school a year early.
The squeal of hinges cut through my thoughts and the tension between Sabine and me like a knife, and the air changed before I saw him.
Arturo Rodriguez, a short Latino man with thick black hair, hadn’t aged a day. He was still wearing power like a second skin as he strutted in, dressed in a sharp suit and shiny loafers that screamed cartel money while his dark eyes promised blood and violence.
My hand found the SIG under the bar purely on instinct, muscle memory from days I pretended were behind me. But I was an idiot to believe that my past wouldn’t come back to haunt me.
Sabine tossed a look over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, sir. We’re closed for the night.”
Arturo Rodriguez smiled coldly at Sabine. “I’m here to talk to my friend.”
The head of the Mexican cartel strode up to the bar, sizing Sabine up like she was his next conquest.
His bodyguard took up a position by the door like a well-trained attack dog.
“Sabine, it’s time for you to leave.” My voice stayed steady even as memories of blood, drug deals, and betrayal flooded back.
“I still have to finish setting the tables for tomorrow,” she said.
“I’ll do that,” I replied, not taking my attention off Arturo.
The last time he and I had met, we had guns in each other’s faces over a deal gone wrong not long before Rosario swept into Boston and took over as the lead drug supplier.
Sabine didn’t move as she smiled at Arturo in a flirtatious sort of way.
I swore the woman was either desperate to get laid or starving for attention from a man. She’d told me she’d had a messy divorce several years ago but hadn’t dated since. She had to work three jobs at times to pay for rent, food, and also medical bills for her younger sister, who’d gotten a brain injury from an accident that Sabine didn’t elaborate on.
I was disheartened by her plight, but I paid her a good salary, and she made a decent amount in tips. Still, her business was her own.
I kept my face blank while ice froze my veins. “Sabine,” I warned, “I’ll walk you out.”
She flinched at the growl in my tone and scurried behind the bar to collect her purse.
Arturo flashed a hungry look at her. “She can stay if she wants to.”
Oh, hell no. My employees weren’t privy to my past, nor did I want them in the middle of whatever was about to go down.
“Sexy waitress you got there.” Arturo unbuttoned his suit jacket.
Her hazel eyes lit up, inviting more of his compliments. Little did she know that she was toying with the devil if she continued to flirt.
I let go of my gun and poured Arturo a glass of bourbon. “I’ll be a minute.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I wished he would. Nevertheless, I waved a hand at the kitchen door. “Come on, Sabine.”
She gave Arturo a long look, and he raised his glass, winking at her.
“Who’s the guy?” she asked in a giddy voice as we were winding through the kitchen toward the back exit.
“Someone you need to stay away from.”
“Are you going to be okay alone?” She sounded concerned.
I laughed as I opened the heavy metal door. “Have a good night.”
She placed a hand on my chest, batting her lashes. “Brian, you know you can talk to me.”
Her persistence was getting on my last nerve. “Goodnight, Sabine.”
Embarrassment washed over her before she stalked to her car.
I hurried to bolt the door, ensuring she didn’t return with the excuse that she’d forgotten something. If I knew her, she would. Not long after she’d started work here, she’d tried like hell to get into my personal business and in my bed.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked, walking back into the bar to stand in the spot where I had easy access to my Sig.
He toyed with a napkin. “I was meeting a new client earlier and heard all about the good food here. Color me surprised when she mentioned that Brian McCauley was the owner. I thought to myself, nah, it isn’t the degenerate who told me he was going to fuck my wife if I ever threatened him again.”
“That threat is still on the table. Your wife is hot, Arturo.” No lie there.
He liked them young and brunette, with long legs, tits that I could bury my face into, and lips that would seal nicely around my dick.
“Are you tapping your sexy waitress? I wouldn’t mind a romp in the hay with her.”
I rolled my eyes. “If I remember correctly, she’s not your type.”
“A man has needs.”
“What do you want? You’re not here because of curiosity, and you sure as fuck are not here to see how I’m doing. The Arturo I know always wants something.”
He played with his mustache as he pinned dark eyes on me. “Can’t an old friend stop by to say hi?”
I chuckled through a snarl. “We’re not friends. Never have been.”
He wrapped chubby fingers around his glass. “Oh, come on, McCauley. You and I go way back.”
To hell, that was. Those days dealing with Arturo were as dark as fuck and ones I didn’t care to remember. But he had been a necessary evil before Rosario hired me.
I checked on the bodyguard at the door. The thug hadn’t moved and was looking anywhere but in my direction. Smart fucker.
“Get to the point as to why you’re here. I have a long list of things to do.”
He chuckled “How’s your daughter, Fran?”
What the fuck? The mere mention of her name from his lips felt like acid burning my skin. I’d built walls between my past and my daughter, kept her safe at a boarding school where cartel wars were merely plots for movies on Netflix.
“Are you threatening me?” My voice dropped, evil radiating in every word that had caused better men than Arturo to shit themselves.
I slipped a hand underneath the top of the bar and gripped my SIG Sauer. If this bastard was about to use Fran to force me to do something or to seek revenge, then war or, possibly, jail was imminent. Because it wasn’t beneath me to put a bullet in that fucker’s head if he so much as mentioned her again.
Regardless, I couldn’t think of why he would throw down that threat. Revenge came to mind. He’d been forced out of Boston by Rosario, and that had almost started an all-out war between the Colombian and Mexican cartels. But Rosario was serving a ten-year sentence for various crimes, and she wasn’t up for parole for at least another four.
“Why would I do that?” he asked as if I were crazy. “I don’t have a beef with you. Just making small talk.”
“Not your style,” I fired back.
“You brought up my wife. It’s only fair.” His smugness was making my fingers itch to pull the trigger.
“I met your wife.” I flared my nostrils. “You still haven’t answered why you’re here.”
“Maybe I want you to work for me,” he said.
I let out a hearty laugh. “No fucking way. Now get the hell out.”
He continued to nurse his bourbon. “Look, I understand you got spooked when Hart went to jail.” He waved his hand around the restaurant. “Nice place. High-end. Attracts money. But let’s be real. You’re slaving away here. For what? I can give you more than Rosario ever had.”
“Desperation doesn’t look good on you, man. Still, why on earth do you think I would even consider working for you? You screwed Duke and me out of a lot of cash before Rosario hired us. And you almost got me killed in a drug deal gone wrong. Look, I sleep better at night now that I’m out of the rat race.”
He studied me, his nostrils flaring, seemingly thinking about his next words. “You haven’t heard of the offer.”
“Don’t need to.” I leaned over the bar, slightly toward him. “And don’t think for a second that you can use my daughter as a threat to coax me into working for you. Because remember, Arturo, I can be just as lethal as you, and I know that pretty wife of yours would love to fuck me.” I didn’t need to throw in the last part, but the bastard was pissing me off.
His fist came at me, but I straightened before he gave me a bloody nose. He growled in annoyance. “Keep talking about my wife, and I have no problem fucking your daughter.”
I sneered. “Get the fuck out, and I don’t want to see you again.”
He smirked. “We’re not through, McCauley.”
Of course we weren’t.
Motherfucker .