CHAPTER 6
NOW
NICKY
“65k wholesale is the best I can do, Mr. Conners. I’m sorry if that’s higher than you were anticipating, but we had that unfortunate crop burning incident last year which significantly depleted the supply and, well, we’ve all got to make a living.” The portly man smirks at me as he twists the edge of his mustache like some cartoon villain.
Greedy asshole thinks he’s my only option. That’s cute.
In the three and a half years since Yuri forced me into this shit show of a partnership, Russia has gained a massive foothold in becoming the mainstream European point of access for cocaine. The drug trade is alive and well, and business is booming for the Bratva.
All their product is currently supplied by Peru. When Yuri expanded their operation into North America via crawling up my ass, he didn’t have the resources at the time to establish a separate transit line. Currently, shipments have to hit St. Petersburg before rerouting my portions back over to me. We’re all still making a killing, but the unnecessarily long transit routes are cutting into profit margins. Not to mention, every second those drugs are in transport longer than they have to be is a risk to us.
As a result, Yuri’s directed me to meet with this slimy piece of shit and finalize the details of the new shipping lines—ones with more direct routes. It’s the only reason I’m even entertaining this meeting.
Hector Valdez, Lieutenant for the third largest cartel in Mexico, sits across the table from me looking smugger than a pig in shit.
Cartels. Fuck my life. And fuck Yuri. God forbid he take the meeting. He may have me by the balls in this clusterfuck, but business is business. And this is one piss poor deal I will not be taking.
“So?” Valdez strokes his mustache a few more times. “When would you like to set up the first shipment?”
Lifting my glass to my lips, I toss back the remainer of scotch before cracking my neck. JP tracks the movement, straightening from against the doorframe in response. His eyes survey the two men accompanying Valdez, ensuring they’re distracted as his hand slowly slips to the back of his waistband.
I place the glass back on the table, flexing my hand to release the tension.
“There will be no shipment. I’m sorry, but we’re not going to be able to reach a deal.”
Hector stares at me for a moment in confusion, as though perhaps he heard me wrong. “Lo siento. It sounded like you just said there will be no deal.”
“That’s right.”
Hector’s frame shoots forward, his chair almost toppling over as his palms slap against the white linen tablecloth. “You do not have a choice!”
The bright white of Rico’s smile glints in my periphery. He slips his aviators on, knowing this meeting’s about to come to a close.
“Let me run though my options, Hector. Option one—I seal this deal with you. You sell me a product that goes for $1800 a kilo in your shithole town at the joke price of 65k wholesale. Yuri’s men then have to drag their asses down to pick it up. My guys then gotta meet his two states out to accept the package. Factor in fuel costs and other trip-related expenses, that tacks on another five grand. Now I gotta bribe law enforcement. 100 kilos coming in? That’s easily 100k in payoffs. Sure, the product’s so pure that $1800 a kilo is worth 150k here on the street, but I’m already behind the proverbial eight ball at that point at 6.6 mil. Then, in swoops Yuri, who’s gonna snatch up thirty percent for transport and facilitating the supply chain that he couldn’t even put the man hours into building.” I lean in, ensuring I capture his full attention.
“Option two—I go straight to the source. The Colombians sell me that same product at 35k wholesale, and that 5.875 million I stood to make bumps up to 7.945 like that.” I snap my fingers for effect. “100 kilos a month, twelve deliveries a year. That’s over ninety-five million. And that’s just my cut. Easiest choice I’ve made all week, Hector.”
“Puta!” he curses. “There’s no way Yuri cleared this.”
“As long as Yuri gets his cut, he don’t give a flying fuck who’s sourcing the product.”
“You’ll never establish the necessary contacts to get up and running.”
“Yeah, I’d imagine that would be challenging. I guess it’s a good thing I was able to get down there personally last week and speak with Aguilar.”
Hector’s face falls, a shattering look of defeat lacing his features before shifting to one of pure rage. The guards reach for their weapons, but my boy’s a step ahead. JP’s right hook collides with the cheek of the goon standing beside him. The asshole tumbles to the floor where the heel of JP’s boot stomps him into a state of unconsciousness, all while simultaneously holding the second guard at gunpoint.
“Pinche pendejo!” Hector spits. “I will kill you and fuck your skull in front of your men.”
Hector lunges for me, only to be intercepted by Rico, who slams his face into the table. Gripping the back of Hector’s neck, Rico holds him in place as a string of expletives pour from his mouth.
“Here’s the thing, Hector.” I rise, rounding the chairs and coming to crouch beside him. “I doubt very much Yuri would take lightly to you offing his North American partner. While you aren’t small time, your organization certainly doesn’t have the resources to take on the Bratva. An attack on me would be considered an act of war. If you’re straight with that, then I encourage you to shoot your shot. I just hope your boss is prepared for the blowback.”
His face tightens in anger. Hector doesn’t have the authority to come for me. This deal was something he proposed to his boss—a way of proving his worth in expanding the business. If it falls though, he looks incompetent. His inability to close isn’t ruffling the feathers of any higher-ups on my behalf.
“As far as the skull fucking goes—” I stand to my full height, securing the button of my suit jacket as I rise. “—you’d have to find your dick first. And I get the impression you haven’t seen that shit in quite some time.”
Rico tosses him to the side just as JP presses his piece against his hostage’s temple, guiding him toward his friends. He shoves off him, coming to stand beside me and Rico as we watch them collect their unconscious friend from the ground.
Hector shoots me a final scathing glance before disappearing through the doorway leading down to the rear exit of the building.
I don’t typically conduct business in such public places, but Hector insisted on me taking him and his men out for a “working lunch.” Had Yuri not been so insistent on this meeting, I would have just as easily told him to fuck off. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option, so I cashed in a favor with the owner of Savor who lent me the catering space on the top floor of his restaurant, away from prying eyes.
“You really think he’s just gonna let this go?” JP asks, holstering his weapon.
“He’d be stupid not to,” Rico responds.
“I’ll monitor it.” I clap JP on the shoulder, offering assurances. He side-eyes me, his accusatory glare suggesting he’s less than confident in my claims. “What? I challenge you to name one time I’ve ever steered us wrong.”
“Tijuana!” JP exclaims. “Your twenty-first birthday.”
“How the fuck is it my fault that you couldn’t wrap your dick properly before hole-hopping between those two hookers?”
“Oh, no.” He starts to undo his belt. “That three-way was worth every single pill of antibiotics I had to take to clear up the gonorrhea. I am referring to this!” He spins, dropping his drawers to expose the ink on his right ass cheek.
Rico howls with laughter, doubling over to brace himself on his knees. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, fighting back a smirk at the tattooed image of the rubber duck with heart eyes accompanying the words “Duck Love.”
For my twenty-first birthday, the boys dragged me down to Mexico where we proceeded to engage in a week of depraved debauchery. In the midst of our tequila-fueled antics, JP decided it would be a good idea to tattoo the words “Duke Life” on his ass. However, between his drunk-ass chicken scratch handwriting, and the poor English comprehension capabilities of his artist, he instead ended up with the words “Duck Love,” which the artist then took some creative liberties with and added the rubber ducky with heart eyes.
To this day, I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as hard as the morning after when he took the bandage off.
JP shoves at Rico, who’s practically hyperventilating with laughter.
“Dick,” he mutters, doing up his pants.
“Bro, you’re worth millions! Why have you not had that shit lasered off yet?!”
“Have you read the reviews? That shit’s painful!”
“JP, you’ve taken a bullet before.”
“And that shit hurt, too! You think I’d willingly subject myself to pain?”
“Then you’re not allowed to bitch.” Rico waves him off as he heads toward the archway that leads down to the main floor of Savor. I follow, shaking my head as the two of them continue to bicker.
We hit the base of the stairs, emerging through the long thick curtains that separate the main dining hall from the stairway.
“What do you guys got going on for the rest of the day?”
“Firearms training with the new recruits.” JP adjusts his jacket, pulling his sunglasses from the inner pocket.
“I gotta take a run out to Hope Falls. There’s an issue involving some missing product that I gotta go knock some heads over.”
“You need me to come with?”
“Nah.” Rico shakes his head. “I got it, bro. Child’s play.”
“Is that Daph?” JP’s voice has my head snapping to attention.
I zero in on her instantly. Her back’s to me as she heads in the direction of the restrooms, but I’d know that ass anywhere.
Daphne Guinevere Burke. Siren incarnate.
I’ve taken an instinctual step in her direction before I catch myself, fighting against the gravitational pull as I force my feet to anchor to the floor.
Walk away, Nick. I scream the words internally, cursing myself for each and every second my gaze lingers on the swoosh of her flowing red locks as she sashays between the tables.
It’s been weeks since I’ve caught a glimpse of her. Not since the last time we spoke. Even then, it was no more than some bullshit passing greeting. I caught the tail end of her visit with my parents when she was dropping off Christmas presents before she all but up and ran to escape me.
As my sister’s best friend, there was a time I couldn’t take more than three steps in any direction without tripping over Daphne. Now, she does such a good job of avoiding me, it’s almost hard to believe we still live in the same town.
“Nick.” Rico nudges me in an attempt to guide me toward the exit.
My name comes out no more than a whisper, yet clear across the room, she stops.
Daph stiffens, the tension in her shoulders evident, and even with a room full of space between us, the invisible tether that binds us electrifies with heightened awareness. She spins, slow and deliberate, as though preparing herself for what she inevitably knows she’ll find.
Her eyes remain fixed to the floor, rising only once she’s fully turned to face me, lifting to lock with my own. The air rushes from my lungs, the sight of her the equivalent of a baseball bat colliding with my abdomen. It’s a visceral reaction to her presence, one I’ve been unsuccessful in ridding myself of no matter how hard I try.
I hate the effect this woman has on me, the weaknesses she highlights in my otherwise impenetrable fa?ade. Any semblance of self-preservation cautions me to keep my distance, and yet I can’t seem to pull away.
We stand on opposite ends of this crowded room, captive to one another’s stare. I could spend eternity drowning in those endless emerald pools.
And therein lies the problem.
Because a world where all I see is Daphne leaves far too many blind spots.
It’s on that sobering note that I turn and exit the restaurant.