Zayden
Xavier, Grant and Yale are waiting for me in the room set aside for us.
When I reserved it earlier, the manager informed me that it’s used for corporate events and weddings, so my footsteps echo across the polished oak floor.
Large function tables and stacked chairs are pushed against the far wall, and most of the lights are out but for the small bar we’ll be occupying in the corner of the room.
Yale is sitting in a stool, elbows resting against the bar top behind him. Grant is on his phone but pockets it when I approach. Xavier is hunting for booze, because of course he is.
“How’d the politician go?” Grant asks.
Xavier grunts. “He took a last-minute trip with his family. I’ll let him enjoy Disneyland before I cut his head off. Does this place not have glasses?”
I rap my knuckles on the bar top. “It’s closed. Stop fucking stealing.”
He pops up to glare at me. “We just paid close to a grand for a fucking meal. If anyone’s being stolen from, it’s us.”
Grant chuckles. “You say that like you paid.”
“Zayden likes paying. Makes him feel like Big Daddy.” Xavier winks at me.
“Big Daddy. That’s your new nickname,” Grant says, narrowly avoiding me slapping him up the back of his head. “What’re we doing here, anyway?”
I check my phone again. The notification from Cleo is still there, but part of me hoped I’d read it wrong. I don’t want to work tonight, and I definitely don’t want to work when I could be fulfilling fantasies with my hot-as-fuck wife.
Pulling up the CCTV app Yale created, I scan through each feed. The room I booked is empty, so I check the restaurant. Silence is sitting with the man at the bar—Dean McGregor. Quantity surveyor, thirty-six, boring as fuck, but that’s fine by me. I’m not looking to make friends with the guy.
I watch Silence for a moment, the way she keeps brushing her hair back, playing with the straw in her drink—she’s nervous.
“Z?”
I raise my gaze to Yale, then lock my phone. “Cleo got us a meeting with Bobby; we couldn’t miss the chance.”
Xavier scoffs. “Why are we meeting with that leech?”
“Let me guess. He’s in trouble with the wrong people?” Grant suggests before rolling his eyes and taking his phone out again.
“Something like that.” I glance at Yale, wondering whether it was a good idea to bring him into this. He can take care of himself, but he’s not as quick to violence as Xavier and I.
As if reading my mind, he says, “I’m fine here, Z.”
Rolling my shoulder, I nod. “You given any thought as to how you’re gonna propose, Grant?”
“I was thinking Christmas Day. That’s romantic, right?”
Xavier shrugs. “Do it while you’re boning. That’s hot.”
“It blows my mind that people actually go home with you,” Yale says, shaking his head.
“Because they don’t,” Grant quips, and Xavier flicks a straw at our friend. “What? Is that supposed to be a secret?”
Confusion furrows my brows, and I look at Xavier. “What secret?”
“He hasn’t gotten laid in a year.”
Xavier growls. “Grant, I swear to God, I will beat you to death.”
“Why?” I ask. “I thought you were sowing your seeds all over the damn place.”
My brother shakes his head. “I just haven’t felt like it.”
This is odd. Xavier loves one-night stands. He told me he was once torturing a man to death in a hotel room and stopped because a hotel employee knocked with room service. He fucked her in the hallway, then ate the food, and only then continued the torture.
“X,” I say.
My brother finally meets my eye. “Fine. I’ve been going to therapy.”
We’re all quiet for a second. Yale glances at me, and his expression tells me that he didn’t know either. He asks, “For how long?”
“I dunno. A while.” Xavier shrugs and refocuses on looking for booze. “She thinks I use sex as a distraction. So, I’m removing the distraction.”
“Does she know you’re a contract killer?” Grant asks. “Because I bet that could use some attention, too.”
Xavier smirks. “Actually, yes.”
Yale groans. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“She’s cool. Charlie recommended her.” Xavier finds a bottle of whiskey and unscrews the cap.
“Charlie Callahan?” I ask, and he nods.
Charlie runs one of the largest close protection services on this side of the states.
After serving time a few years back, he decided to go on the straight and narrow, but quickly fell back into his old ways.
Now, while the business is lucrative and running, it’s also the front for other activities.
We met him through a friend, and he’s a good guy to know.
“Anyway.” Xavier flicks the bottle cap off, and it flies past Grant and skids across the floor. “I’m healing, while you losers are just raw-dogging life.”
We talk for a while, and I wait for my phone to hum in my pocket.
One more message and we can move this night along.
Usually, I wouldn’t ask Cleo to double-check her information, but a na?ve part of me is still hoping she’s wrong.
The reality of that is too much, so I think about Silence.
Soon, I can get back to her and hopefully walk into the hotel room to her already enjoying herself.
My cock twitches at the thought, and I clear my throat, counting the bottles on the back wall to get rid of my hard-on.
“How much longer?” Grant asks. “It’s been thirty minutes. And why are we meeting with him? Xavier’s right. He’s a leech.”
I shrug. “You know what he can be like. He said he has information for us, and you know the connections he has through those poker games.”
Grant scratches the back of his neck. “I guess. I should call Monica, let her know I’m gonna be late.”
“She’s working, isn’t she?” Xavier asks. He finally found a shot glass and some tequila and throws back his second mouthful.
“Yeah, but—”
“Then her phone will be in her locker,” I say. “You don’t need to call her.”
Grant looks between us, his smile frozen. “Yeah. True.”
Yale and I share a quick look, and he drops his head back, sighing heavily. Xavier watches Grant, his jaw ticking. The easy conversation is suddenly like wading through mud, and though technically nothing has changed, and no one has pointed it out, we all feel it.
My phone vibrates, and I check it only for clarity, because I know what that message will say. I take it out and place it beside Yale.
“Sometimes she checks her phone on breaks,” Grant says, moving forward. “I’ll just—”
Xavier takes out his gun and places it on the bar top. “Don’t do it, Grant. It’ll just piss me off.”
Our friend freezes in place, eyes darting between us. Despite the turmoil, I remain expressionless, because he doesn’t get to see how much he’s hurt me.
“Z,” Grant whispers, sweat dotting his brow and slicking the column of his throat. “What’s going on?”
He knows. He knows exactly what’s happening, and what’s about to happen, but I need to voice it. Whether it comes from him or me, the words need to be said so they can be cemented in reality.
“How long have we been friends, Grant?” I ask.
He swallows. “Ten … eleven—”
“Eleven years,” I interject. “And how much debt have you got into with Bobby over those years?”
“I … I don’t know. A lot, I guess.”
“Two million?” I offer, and he nods stiffly. “I’ve kept your head more than above water. Paid Bobby without saying a word to you. So imagine my surprise when I visit him to clear your existing debt and find it’s already been paid, and then some.”
There’s no ticking clock in this room. No countdown to inevitable violence. It’s there, though. The painful, terrifying passing of time that brings my friend closer to a confession and the end of his life.
Yale looks hurt. Xavier’s angry. I’m a little of both. It’d be easier to just kill him, because listening to him beg won’t be easy for any of us.
But we’re owed answers.
“I was being smart for once.”
“Think carefully before you lie to me again,” I say. “My patience is wearing thin.”
Grant steps forward. “I swear, Z—”
I seize the back of his neck and slam his face into the bar. The loud crack tells me his nose is likely broken, and when I release him, he slides to his knees, clutching his face.
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Grant. I’m already way past pissed off.
” He sobs, seeming to shrink before my eyes as he kneels before me.
My friend. A man I trusted with my life.
“You’ve been receiving bank transfers for the last three months, and we’re not talking a bit of cash, Grant.
Who are they from, and what are they for? ”
He shakes his head, showing me his sweat-slicked palms as if he has nothing to hide. “I swear, Z, it isn’t what you think.”
I gesture at him. “Then explain.”
He remains on the floor, looking up at me, his face smeared with sweat and blood.
I didn’t want this to be true. When I discovered his debt was gone, I hoped he’d come to me and tell me the good news, but the fact he kept it a secret told me everything. It’s bad fucking timing that I got confirmation tonight, but at least we can find out exactly how badly he’s betrayed us.
“Some guy contacted me.” He begins, wiping tenderly at his bleeding nose. “By phone. We never met, and he offered me help. I was in real shit this time, and I couldn’t ask you to bail me out again, Z. So … I took the cash. He said all I had to do was be available if he needed me.”
I resist the urge to hurt him again, because that’s how it always starts. He fucking knows it’s never that simple, but he did it anyway.
“Then he asked for more?” I ask, and Grant nods tearfully. “Text Yale the number he contacted you on. Yale, send it to Cleo.”
Grant is trembling as he does as I ask, and Yale gets to work. “Is this why you were leaving?” I ask. “You knew I’d find out.”
“No, I …” He shrivels even further into himself. “Yes.”
“Fucking coward,” I bite out, moving to stand before him. “You could’ve come to me at any fucking point, Grant. You could’ve told me the goddamn truth. You’re one of my oldest friends!”
He winces at the boom of my voice, the words reverberating off the walls. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry … I—”
“What did he want?” Xavier asks, remarkably calm given how much I know he’ll want to hurt Grant right now.
I didn’t voice my suspicions to my brothers at first, only texting them the truth when I found out at the dinner table.
They’ve have had no time to digest this.
For Yale, that means silence. For Xavier—rage.
Grant doesn’t answer. “Grant, the level of pain I inflict on you is dependent upon how much you hold out on us. You’ve seen how I work.
Unless you want to end up like that, fucking talk. ”
Tears flow free now, and Grant wipes a trembling hand across his bloodied nose and mouth. He focuses on me, not Xavier. “I swear, I was only watching her, Z.”
Spikes of anxiety scatter down my spine, and I stiffen quickly. “Who?”
Grant sobs. “Silence.”
My words feel stuck in my throat, but I look at Xavier. “Room nine-oh-five-five. Get her out of this building.”
He’s gone before I can finish speaking, and my phone rings. Yale answers for me.
“Why were you watching her?” I demand. Grant is still sobbing, and I grip the back of his neck and drag him to his feet. “Tell me, or I’ll pay Monica a visit, I swear to fucking God.”
His eyes widen and he shakes his head. “No, Z—”
“You hurt my family, I hurt yours.” Still, he doesn’t answer.
He struggles, whimpering, and I use my other hand to grip his throat.
“You have five seconds to tell me, Grant.” No answer.
Not even an attempt. Just a terrified, wide-eyed stare that stokes the fire in my belly.
Picking up Xavier’s abandoned shot glass, I shove it into Grant’s mouth and keep a firm grip on his hair. “You’re gonna regret that.”
I’m just about to smash his face into the bar again when Yale puts my phone on speaker.
Cleo’s voice fills the room. “Ryker Blake. That’s who the number belongs to. But Z—”
“Who is he?”
“He’s the same guy you asked me to background check earlier,” Cleo rushes out. “He’s Dean McGregor.”
Her voice is cut off when the fire alarm starts screaming above us.