RAIN
Chapter forty-two
“How exactly did you get invitations to this?” I ask Blade as we move through the bustling nightclub. “We were kicked out of here a year ago.”
When you beat the house every time you’re here, they don’t particularly want you back.
I guess there’s a lesson here about the events that transpired with my uncle and the aftermath they produced, but I need this over with.
Rome is currently safe at home watching his team play with Xander for company, so I know a kidnapping event won’t repeat itself.
“What’s one way to get in anywhere?” Blade cocks a brow as we stalk down the dimly lit hall to the guarded door at the back of the club.
He either bribed someone or fucked someone for these invitations; considering the only person he’s been sexually intimate with for the last five years is me, I’m assuming it’s the former.
I take the card from my breast pocket and show the guard, who has more piercings visible on his face than skin. Airport security must be a bitch.
He looks at the invitations before narrowing his eyes. “Blade Wilder and Rain Weston, I believe you’re on the permanent get fucked list.”
Blade smiles. “Bridget Holt. Get her, and we promise to be good.”
While he talks into his radio, I take out my phone and pull up the camera feed in the living room. Rome sits with his knees to his chest, looking nervous as shit. Xander lounges at the opposite end, squinting like he’s trying to locate a single thought.
I check the score next: a draw of 4-4 with fifteen minutes to go.
His team better win, or Rome’s bad mood will only spiral further.
He spent the day ignoring me and training in our gym, running through drills and going through game play, and then he video called his sisters and mother for over two hours.
I think he refused to hang up, because if he could see their faces, he knew they were okay.
I slide my phone away when the door opens. Her burgundy hair whips over her shoulders as she steps out. “Gentleman.”
“Ma’am.” I smile.
She eye-fucks Blade for a good minute before stepping aside and motioning us in.
We follow down the hall and through another door, the copious amount of thick cigarette and cigar smoke limiting visibility.
Blade, of course, beelines for the bar. He’s been drowning himself in alcohol more often than not.
Lately, he has a whiskey in hand before midday.
He orders one while I opt for water. I can beat any fucker in here completely intoxicated, but after what I discovered last night, I’m beyond irritable, and alcohol will only make it worse.
Plus, if a certain blond God finds it in his heart to forgive me while I’m out, I want to be sober and ready to shove him against a wall, to feast on those insatiable lips.
I scan the room slowly, not catching sight of who I was informed would be here as we take to two vacant leather chairs in a quieter corner. I watch the smoke bellow from Blade’s mouth, my own watering.
Rome, Rome, Rome. I repeat his name to myself in an attempt to push away the want to snatch the addictive stick from Blade’s mouth.
“I’m starting to think Dad’s even more manipulative than you,” I mutter against my glass.
“Not possible, brother. I am simply elite.”
My father played me, and it’s only a matter of time before he presents Blade an offer he won’t refuse. Without my mother here to keep Dad in check and make him question his actions, Dad’s greed has no limit. Blade has no limit to what he’ll do to get Alexa.
I’m standing in a pit of snakes with no way out.
Securing my money clip around the new bundle containing ￡80,000, I slide it into my jacket pocket.
“The fuck?” Blade growls in my ear as we move back to our chairs. “You could’ve made double that. Why the fuck are you losing on purpose?”
“You want to be kicked out of…” I trail off when clashing with brown contacts just inside the door.
Finally, we’ve been here two hours. I want to let Blade go at him like the animal he is, but Ryan White is a form of communication to Smith.
“Gentleman.” Ryan flashes his disgusting rotten teeth, the smile deepening his wrinkles.
“I was wondering when you’d show up here.
” He waves a hand at a server. “Scotch, neat.” He holds out a hundred before taking a seat and leaning forward across the small table.
“￡10 million and I’ll leave you alone,” he negotiates.
I arch a brow. “You think we owe you ￡10 million because you sat in prison for selling photos of and jerking off to little fucking kids?”
He’s under the assumption I’ll hand over money and take his word he’ll disappear? It’s really pissing me off that people believe I’m so fucking stupid.
“I’m the tamest of the people I sat in a cell with,” Ryan argues.
Blade chuckles. “Which sounds to me like you can’t stomach whatever he’s planning.”
Ryan’s gaze locks on mine. “I have people waiting for me. Give me the money, and you’ll never see me again. If I don’t walk out that door, they’ll be in here looking for me.” He sits back, taking the drink. “Offer’s there. I suggest you take it.”
He’s a fucking imbecile if he believes I’m taking any offer he proposes, and there’s only one reason he’d present a deal this quickly.
“You’re already running.” I take out a piece of gum and slide it into my mouth. “Aren’t you?”
To the untrained eye he’d present as collected, but I just caught his jaw move. He’s just pressed his tongue to his teeth. I’m right. The question circling my mind: why is he running now?
“Shame about Josephine.” I cock my head. “Seems she wasn’t willing to play ball.”
It’s not just Smith he fears—it’s us. He’s aware of what we did to Sam Kidd.
His gaze drops to my finger rhythmically tapping my glass. He aided in giving Alexa those pills. I don’t take that lightly, and Blade, well, I can already see him choosing the best way to kill the fucker.
Ryan’s increasingly panicked gaze flicks to mine when I cease my tapping. “I’ll give you your money—once you get us in a room with Smith.”
He drops his gaze, debating for a moment.
￡10 million—which he’ll never see—will go a lot further if he’s not forced to spend it on hiding himself.
“What makes you believe I still have contact?” Ryan asks.
Blade tips his glass. “Forgiveness can be bought. I’d invest in knee pads.”
I swallow back my laugh. I hate having meetings of this nature with Blade. It’s as though he purposely says crude jokes just to test my restraint.
“We’ll give you a penthouse view while you’re in London. Get Smith here, and we’ll keep our end of the deal.” I slide the black key card out of my pocket, placing it on the table between us.
His breaths quicken as he stares at his only key to freedom. He can either run to Smith and risk being killed, or side with us on a chance we may show mercy. I won’t, and that word isn’t in Blade’s vocabulary.
“And if I can’t get him to London?” Ryan asks.
He’s still in America. Good to know.
I tip my glass to the card. “You have ten seconds before Blade makes acquaintance with your little friends outside.”
Sweat beads on his bald head, his fingers tightening around his glass.
“Four,” I count, and Blade stands. “Three, two—”
“Fine,” he surrenders. “But I want conformation I’ll be paid and let go the second the meet is set up.”
He flinches as Blade hits his shoulder. “Of course. What are we if not men of our word?”
“Animals,” Ryan sneers.
“That’s a compliment to me,” Blade whispers.
I grin.