COEN
Tommy slides my scotch across the bar to me, and I take the glass and thank him before I raise it to my lips and down a sip.
Allegra elbows me playfully. “Scotch tonight? What happened to bourbon?”
I grin at her. “I thought we should save that for when we get home.”
Her eyes widened, her pupils dilating with her instant arousal because she knows exactly what my favorite thing to do with her favorite drink is. I lean in closer to her at the bar at the Hawkeye Club, even though with the sound of the music and people talking, no one would be able to hear me anyway.
I dip my head close to her ear. “Though…we don’t have to wait until we get home. Gabe isn’t here. So, his office should be open upstairs.” I glide my hand up her inner thigh. “He has a couch and a desk…”
She squeezes her legs closed, trapping me and preventing me from advancing. Her eyes dance with amusement and promise. “I don’t particularly want one of your aunts, uncles, cousins, or employees walking in on us fucking tonight, Coen.”
“Who said anything about fucking?”
Scowling, she bats my hand away.
I chuckle as the first chords of “Kashmir” start up, and my humor instantly fades.
Bishop gapes from her seat on the other side of Allegra, turning toward the stage with wide eyes. “Did you know about this?”
I shake my head and motion for Tommy to come over.
Before he can get away from mixing drinks, Isaac steps through the door and makes his way over to the bar, settling on the stool on my other side. His brow immediately furrows. “Is that ‘Kashmir?’”
I nod.
He gapes, turning toward the still-empty stage. “What the fuck?”
“I know, right? I was just about to ask Tommy.”
Tommy finally finishes whatever he was working on and hustles over to us. “What’s up, guys?”
Isaac points absently toward the pole. “I want to know who’s about to walk onto that stage to our mom’s song.”
Tommy’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh, shit. I didn’t know…”
He wouldn’t.
He wasn’t even alive when Mom was on stage, nor were we. But still, it’s like a retired jersey; you don’t just give that song to a new dancer, especially not when the OG is married to the club owner’s brother.
I smell a Hawkeye Club scandal…
A cute redhead finally emerges from backstage, swaying her hips to the beat of the song, the sultry low bass thumping through the club, setting the mood for an intense, slow, sensual dance.
Isaac sighs, then turns his back to her and looks over at me. “I heard you were with Cass and Kennedy earlier.”
I snort and nod. “Yeah. They got into it again.”
“Not shocked.”
“You think they’ve made up by now?”
He snorts. “I’m sure they have.”
“Where’s Jack?”
“She didn’t want to come tonight. Said she was tired and not feeling well.”
I glance over at Allegra, who’s watching the new dancer intently, completely unbothered by the fact that the song has sentimental meaning to us. “I’m sorry Jack isn’t feeling well. Did she go see Mom or Pope?”
Isaac shakes his head. “Nah. If she isn’t feeling better by tomorrow, I’ll have Mom come take a look at her, though. It’s probably nothing, just overly tired.”
“Has Gio been sleeping well?”
He snorts and accepts the beer Tommy brings him, tilting the bottle in thanks before he takes a swig of it. “Not really, but Vivi is old enough to go in and try to comfort him if he wakes up crying. Most nights, by the time we get in there, he’s already back asleep.”
“She’s a good big sister.”
Pride brightens his gaze, and he grins. “The best.” He leans around me, suddenly looking much more serious. “Hey, Allegra?”
She gets pulled from her viewing and turns to him. “What’s up?”
“I wanted to ask you something.”
Something about the tone of his voice sets me on edge, and I protectively wrap an arm around her as she leans across me so she can hear him over the music.
“Yeah?”
“Well, I just got a call at the office a little while ago about somebody named Michael McDonald. Does that ring a bell?”
I feel her immediately stiffen, and her eyes go to that dark, steely gray they always do when she’s afraid.
“Why?”
Isaac catches on immediately. “One of our contacts said his name popped up on an international flight, and apparently, he’s on a list of known associates of your father. We’re monitoring any sort of movement for obvious reasons, especially with the opening of the second tower in a week.”
Suddenly, Allegra’s not the only one nervous.
I keep my arm wrapped around her, hoping she can’t feel how tense I’ve suddenly gotten. “Who is he?”
She swallows thickly. “Um, a guy who used to work for my dad.”
“How long ago?”
Shrugging, she chews on her bottom lip. “A couple of years, I guess?”
“What do you mean by ‘used to?’”
“Well, I haven’t heard anyone mention him in probably a year and a half. I assumed he either moved on or…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence.
But we both get the picture.
If he did anything to disappoint or piss off Satriano, he’s probably sleeping with the fishes right now.
Isaac drums his fingers against his beer bottle. “How well did you know him?”
She shakes her head. “I never even met the guy. But I heard enough to know that you don’t want to cross him.”
A strange silence hangs between us for a moment, the tones of the familiar song and the hoots and hollers of the patrons filling the void.
Isaac finally clears his throat. “Well, he’s here.”
The smoky scotch I just drank threatens to make a reappearance. “What do you mean?”
“The flight he got on, the end destination was New Orleans, and it landed several hours ago.”
“Shit.” I shove my hands through my hair, looking from him to Allegra. “But Satriano isn’t in town anymore.”
Isaac shakes his head. “Not as far as we know.”
Allegra nods her agreement. “I haven’t heard from him, not since we met with him months ago.”
That ultimately doesn’t mean anything.
“He always likes to make a grand entrance, though, and appear at the most inopportune times for us. We have an opening. You know what happened at the groundbreaking.”
Isaac curses under his breath and downs half his beer. “Yeah, and then at the hotel opening, he tried to have Atlas throw the fucking fight, which would have crushed the high of the event. What do you think he’s going to do now that we’ve got the ability to double our income at the hotel starting next week with a second tower?”
Allegra’s face suddenly loses all color, and she presses her hand over her stomach again. “Oh, God…”
I rub her back. “Are you okay?”
She nods, but the paleness of her skin and her unfocused gaze suggest otherwise. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. I’ll be back.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
But she doesn’t offer an answer, just slides off her stool and rushes toward the bathrooms along the far wall.
Isaac watches her with concern. “She didn’t look all right.”
I slide off my stool. “No, she didn’t. I’m going to go check on her.”
She didn’t feel well earlier today, either.
But she said she was fine and still went to Wren’s class. Bishop would have told someone if she noticed an issue there or after. And if Allegra hadn’t been up to it, she never would have agreed to meet me here tonight for a drink after I finished up at the hotel.
I hustle after her and push my way into the women’s bathroom, not giving a shit who else might be in here.
The door to the handicapped stall stands ajar, and I can see Allegra’s feet sticking out as she kneels in front of the toilet retching. The sound fills the air, and I wince, worry instantly consuming me as I rush through the bathroom to her.
“Babe? Are you okay?”
She gasps, trying to catch her breath, and I drop to my knees beside her and grab her hair, helping her hold it back. “I don’t know. My stomach’s just been off…”
“I’m calling my mom. You and Jack are both not feeling well at the same time.”
She glances over at me, breathing heavily, trying to swallow before she wretches again.
“Your dad would never?—”
“Poison us?” She shakes her head, then seems to regret it as another wave of heaving rocks her body. Coughing through it, she gasps. “God, no. He wouldn’t…”
I wish I could be as sure.
“Well, something’s going on…”
I pull out my phone from my pocket and use voice commands to initiate a call to Mom. Pope will be next. Both Allegra and Jack are sick, and we just discovered one of Satriano’s “associates” is in town.
A sense of absolute dread settles over me as I wait for her to answer.
* * *
BISHOP
The new redhead at center stage isn’t bad.
She could have a decent career here, if she hadn’t been stupid enough to dance to Nora’s song.
Doc isn’t going to be happy about this…
I chuckle to myself, picturing the fallout that will result from her discovering what happened.
And she will find out.
My guess is that at least three people have called or texted her or Stone about it already.
But maybe I should, too, just in case…
I reach into my pocket to grab my phone when the women’s bathroom door flies open, and Coen stalks out with Allegra cradled in his arms.
Oh, shit.
Rushing to the other side of the club, I meet him on his way to the front door. “Is she okay?”
He shakes his head. “She’s sick, and apparently, Jack is, too.”
“Shit. That can’t be random, right?”
His jaw hardens as we reach the bar. “I don’t know.” He nudges Isaac with his arm. “Mom and Pope are going to meet us at the clinic. Go get Jack—now.”
The panic in his gaze sets Isaac in motion. He launches off his stool, already bringing his phone to his ear as he heads toward the door.
I follow Coen closely, unable to tear my gaze from how pale and clammy Allegra looks. “I’m coming with you.”
“No, stay here. If something is going on, where would the most likely place be for him to hit? Either the hotel or here. Call your dad and tell him what’s happening—and keep your eyes open .”
“I always do.”
He finally reaches the door, and I pull it open for him and watch Isaac rush to help get Allegra in the car.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Not good.
This is not good.
I pull out my phone to call Dad, and movement at the end of the bar catches my eye.
A blond guy sitting at the other end from where Allegra, Coen, and Isaac had been slowly pushes his stool back and rises to his feet. With his back to me, all I see is the sandy mop of hair and black leather motorcycle jacket.
He reaches into his back jeans pocket, pulls out his wallet, and tosses cash onto the bar before he slowly saunters toward the entrance.
There’s something about the way he carries himself.
The set of his shoulders.
His sure steps.
Whoever he is, he’s trouble.
* * *
I hope you enjoyed Restless Hawke.