Chapter 57
BODIE
I saw him before the others, because I happened to be facing in that direction. Cole’s face still sported the yellowish bruises of having gotten his ass so thoroughly kicked. Likewise, his nose looked very different than before Grizz had done so much free work on it.
But it was his eyes that got me. Cole “The Hammer” Kane’s normal look of fierceness had been replaced with something else. Something foreign. Something I didn’t quite recognize, but didn’t have time to figure out.
And that’s because he was coming toward us… with long, deliberate strides.
My fists clenched reflexively, as I tapped Carter and Sawyer. With that, I shoved Hayden behind me, my rigid body steeling itself for the physical battle that would inevitably come.
“Easy there, tiger.”
The gravelly voice was unmistakable. I recognized it before my eyes shifted over Cole’s shoulder, to the entourage of men who entered The Refuge behind him.
“Otto…”
I mumbled the name out of surprise and shock. He must’ve liked putting me at a disadvantage, because the beady-eyed asshole was already grinning.
“We need a table,” he grunted casually. “Somewhere private.”
He placed a hand on Cole’s shoulder. Cole stopped instantly.
“And why the hell would—”
Then I saw him. Black suit, white tie. Suspenders. Fedora. He walked slowly into the bar, surrounded by other men on both sides.
And I knew.
“Marco.”
He saw me and smiled warmly. Probably because I’d finally remembered to call him by his first name.
“Bodie!” he cried, waddling over. He hugged me as tightly as he could, without causing himself physical pain. Over his shoulder, I watched as his enforcers bristled menacingly.
“Can we talk?”
Carter and Sawyer were standing exactly where I’d left them. I signaled that everything was going to be okay. Though I suspected they knew who this was, I had to make sure.
“In the back,” I motioned toward the empty booth in the corner.
“Good, good.”
“Hayden comes too,” I nodded her way. “If that’s okay, of course.”
Marco pivoted to look backward for a moment, his old man feet shuffling in thousand dollar shoes. His smile grew mirthful.
“She’s a part of this, too,” he grinned. “So yes.”
He did something with his hand, and his men sprang into action.
It was astounding how fast they moved, ushering a very confused Hayden to the back of the bar.
We slid into the booth; just the three of us because Cole wouldn’t fit.
Marco’s men flanked him closely, after positioning him at the end of the table.
“This man here…” Marco began calmly. “He has something to say to you. But first, he would talk to her.”
The old man’s eyes shifted to Cole. They were stone cold now. The eyes of a trained assassin, or someone who had meted out death.
“I—I’m sorry,” Cole choked. He’d turned toward Hayden now, but was still looking down at the floor. “I really am.”
The big fighter’s voice was strained, and two octaves higher than normal. It cracked not just with fear, but with mortal terror.
“And what are you sorry about?” Marco asked, coldly.
Cole shifted nervously on his giant feet. It wasn’t just nervousness, though. He was shaking all over.
“I’m sorry that I—I touched you,” he stammered. “I’m sorry about coming here, and what happened, and everything I did.”
I looked at him more closely, and realized some of the marks on his face weren’t two weeks old. They were fresh from a much more recent delivery.
“Now tell them what happens next,” said Marco.
Cole swallowed, and the swallowing took effort. His throat was choked with emotion, or fear, or maybe it was just swollen from the bruising he had around it. Come to think of it, it looked like someone had stepped on his neck.
“I leave you completely alone,” Cole said, the words tumbling quickly from his dry, cracked lips. “Once I leave this place, and you will never see or hear from me again.”
Hayden’s eyes flashed in the dim light. Somehow, I saw pity in them. And as much as I hated that, it made me love her even more.
“And what happens if any of these people — who are as close to me as family — ever see you again?” Marco demanded, with ice in his voice.
Cole snorted and coughed into one ham-like fist. I could see he was having trouble breathing through his twice-shattered nose.
“You…” he began, fumbling for the words. “You said you would…”
“If any of them see you again,” Marco cut him off, “it’ll be the last time anyone sees you. Ever.”
Cole’s expression, if possible, went to an even sadder, darker place. He sniffed again, and nodded.
“Now get him out of here.”
With ruthless efficiency he was yanked back and whisked away, in all the time it took to blink. Through the corner of my eye, I saw Otto — who was comically half Cole’s size — shove him through the back door. He and two of his men followed.
“There now,” Marco said, turning to face us. His smile and pleasant demeanor were back so quickly, it was like a mask slipping over his face. “That solves a problem for you, no?”
His eyes had shifted to me. I nodded, gratefully.
“Thank you, Marco.”
Without breaking our gaze, he shook his head.
“Don’t insult me by thanking me,” he murmured.
“Family do such things for each other. I learned of your troubles, and your friend’s issues with this fine place here.
” He twirled a finger. “Those troubles are over. No construction, no permits, nothing more is needed. And the fire marshal — who is a good man, and a personal friend of mine — sends his apologies.”
Somewhere near the bar, I saw Carter and Sawyer watching intently. By the way they clenched their drinks, I knew they were on edge.
“You honor me, Marco,” I told the old man, finally. “I appreciate your friendship, and your help.”
“Friendship, no,” he corrected me, solemnly wagging a finger. “Family, yes.”
He extended one old, wrinkled hand. After a moment’s consideration, I reached out and took it.
“I told you you’d get paid, one way or the other,” Marco said with a wink.