CHAPTER 25
NOW
NICKY
The line outside Torque is around the block, which isn’t surprising even for a Thursday. The nightlife scene in Queen City hosts some of the best clubs outside of NYC and is controlled predominantly by none other than Maverick Bishop.
I must admit, you gotta admire what he’s built in spite of everything. While he’s forced to launder money for Yuri through two of his clubs, the other five are legitimate businesses—Torque being one of them.
Which makes what I’m about to do even more offensive.
I’m not exactly flying below the radar tonight. JP parked his Ferrari like an asshole again in the driveway, and in the midst of my still-heightened irritation, I opted not to wait for him to come move it. This is how I came to be driving his red F8 Tributo, which I am currently handing off to the wide-eyed valet outside the club.
It is a beautiful car. Though, to be fair, I’m not sure if his shocked expression is in awe of the luxury ride or fear of me. Considering the baseball bat I’m currently sporting at my side, there’s a good chance it’s the latter.
“Here.” I peel a hundred-dollar bill off my money clip and hand it to him before returning the bank roll to my pocket. “Keep it close for me. I won’t be long.”
“Y-yes, sir,” he stutters, slipping past me and sliding into the car.
Bypassing the line, I approach the door to find Mav’s head of security, Logan. My presence garners his full attention, though his neutral expression shows no hint of alarm.
“Mr. Conners,” he addresses me, ever the epitome of professional and polite.
“Logan.” I tip my head to him in greeting, coming to stop in front of him on the opposite side of the velvet ropes.
Logan’s been with Mav a few years now. A good fifteen years older than us, he’s former military and oversees all the security operations of Mav’s clubs. He’s a truly decent human. That doesn’t change the fact that I will play home run derby with his face if he tries to stop me right now.
“How may I assist you this evening, sir?”
“Little birdy told me Lucian Devoreaux’s on the premises.”
He glances down, taking note of my hand clutching the bat before returning his pointed stare to me. “Mr. Conners, why do I get the impression you’re about to make an incredibly poor decision?”
“Poor decision?” My brow arches. “No. It is, however, going to be one hell of a scene.” I step over the ropes, moving to brush past him when Logan’s hand plants in the center of my chest. Two additional guards begin to approach from the right, only to pause when Logan gestures for them to halt.
“I like you, Mr. Conners. Please do not put me in a position in which I am forced to hurt you. Whatever it is, it’s not worth it.”
My hand slips into my pocket, withdrawing my cell while navigating to the photo I snapped of Daph sleeping in my bed before I left. Turning the screen toward him, I thrust my phone in his face.
“That’s Devoreaux’s fiancée. Look at her face.”
Logan’s surly expression falters, the stern lines of his hardened exterior softening as his eyes shift from the photo to me.
“Look at her!” I demand, repositioning the phone so it’s centered in his line of sight. “Let me in or toss his ass out, but one way or another he will answer for this.”
His gaze lingers on the image a moment longer before he glances to the side, this time waving his men off entirely before pulling his earpiece from his ear. Logan steps to me, speaking low so only I can hear. “From the time you swing, I can guarantee you thirty seconds on my end. That’s not to say Mr. Bishop won’t get to you first.”
“Mav’s on site?” I glance into the club, realizing this complicates things a bit.
“He is. However, he’s currently behind closed doors with Mr. Galloway and Mr. Michaelson.” Finn and T—Mav’s second-in-command and lead enforcer. Looks like we got a full house tonight. I’m gonna have one shot at this before all hell breaks loose. “Which means,” Logan continues, “in the event of a disturbance, should they not be interrupted, I would expect their response time to be delayed.”
My gaze travels back to his, a silent understanding passing between us.
“You’re a good man, Logan.”
He shifts to the side, giving me room to pass. “Back bar. VIP seating. And Mr. Conners?” Logan begins to step away, slipping his earpiece back into place. “Swing for the fences.”
I clap him on the back, the corner of my mouth tipping up into a smile as I push into the club.
Torque is different than Mav’s other clubs, boasting more of an industrial grunge look. It’s still high end as fuck but appeals to the wealthy’s ridiculous notion that drinking $22 martinis in a warehouse with Edison lighting somehow equates to slumming it. How incredibly edgy they all must be.
I navigate my way through the club, eyes zeroing in on the back wall when the sea of bodies momentarily parts and I’m granted a glimpse of my intended target. The music shifts, fueling the raging swell of adrenaline surging through my veins.
X Gon” Give It to Ya by DMX (Spotify)
X Gon’ Give It to Ya by DMX (Apple Music)
I stride across the dance floor, shouldering people out of the way as I close the remaining distance between us. He’s smiling, his body turned toward the woman he’s currently engaging in conversation. She laughs in response to whatever he’s said, all the while assessing the caliber of his watch he continues to not-so-subtly flash. It’s gonna work to his favor that she’s a gold-digger, because after what I’m about to do to his face, he certainly won’t have his looks to fall back on.
My swift approach draws her attention, her eyes sweeping over my form as she seductively nips at her bottom lip. She continues to scan me up and down appreciatively. That is, until she notices the bat in my hand.
Her eyes widen, startling as she scrambles away, sparking Luc to cast an investigatory glance over his shoulder. He barely registers my presence before the barrel of the bat is driving into his face. Several screams ring out around us as Luc stumbles backward, colliding with the bar.
“You like putting hands on women?!” I shout over the music, drawing the bat up over my shoulder. “Ask the last asshole who hurt her what I did to him!” I swing, the full force of my momentum cracking him upside the head and sending him crashing to the floor. Luc looks up at me from the flat of his back, lids fluttering as he fights to keep them open.
“Oh, wait. You can’t.” Lifting the bat up over my head, I swing down, striking him twice in the stomach. His body buckles with the impact of each blow before going limp against the concrete. Leaning forward, I grip hold of his shirt, pulling him up to meet me. “Because I fucking killed him.”
My head slams into his, the blunt force shattering his nose as the resulting rivulets of blood paint his skin crimson. People around us flee, their fear palpable in the presence of their screams, which are now easily discernable even above the heavy bass of the music. Their horrified stares should serve as a deterrent to my actions. Yet even in the presence of dozens of eyewitnesses, I can’t bring myself to care. Every time I look at him, all I see are the bruises that stain her skin, the quiver of her worried lip, the shine of her tear-slickened eyes. The images paint a picture in my mind, a scene playing out before me as though I’m witnessing the attack in real time.
The thought of him striking her unleashes something animalistic within me, and I realize I’m not going to be able to stop. Not while he’s still breathing, at least. My foot kicks out, connecting with his ribs before pulling the bat back once more. I’m just about to cave this motherfucker’s skull in when I’m tackled from the side, sending my and my assailant’s bodies crashing into the bar.
Mav rips the weapon from my grasp before shoving off me to stand. “What in the actual fuck, Conners?!” he roars, gripping the bat with both hands and breaking it over his knee. The wood splinters, various fragments flying about as the barrel separates in two, and he discards the pieces off to the side. Mav’s eyes narrow as he advances unto me once more, his chest bumping with mine as we come nose to nose. “Walking in my house to start shit?” he seethes, the music masking this portion of our conversation. “That is an act of fucking war. How the fuck am I supposed to let this slide? T’s ready to use you for target practice.”
A quick glance over his shoulder confirms as much. Tristan and Finn stand about a dozen feet away, bodies postured like they’re just itching for the go-ahead to pull their pieces. The only reason I’m not dead already is because neither of them have the authority to take a shot at a boss without Mav’s approval. Given our men know nothing of our alliance, I recognize the precarious situation this puts us in. My actions will demand a response, one involving blood. Unless the context I provide is deemed a worthy enough cause to settle for reparations instead.
Pulling the phone from my pocket once more, I opt for the explanation that requires no words. I press the device into Mav’s palm, his fingers curling around it and ripping it from my hand as he retreats a step. He glares at me, his scowl deepening before glancing down, only to go lax as he takes in the image on display before him.
Mav touches his thumb and index finger to the screen, spreading them apart as he enlarges the image. The glow of the device illuminates his features, allowing me to take note of the way his jaw clenches in anger the longer he stares.
Mav knows Daph from when he was dating my sister. For a brief time, they may have even considered one another friends. And though they never kept in contact after the breakup, my suspicions on Mav’s feelings regarding woman-beaters is confirmed to reflect my own when he tosses the phone back to me while eyeing Lucian with disgust.
His chest heaves, the fingers of his right hand swiftly popping the button of his suit jacket as he swipes his hair back with his left. The music suddenly cuts out, prompting me to take in the sight of the now empty club.
“Is everyone out?” Mav asks, eyes still trained on Lucian’s crumpled form, whose whimpers can now be heard in the silence.
“Yes, sir.” Logan approaches, dragging a chair behind him, which he places at the center of our huddle. “The guests were evacuated, and all employees were dismissed with the instruction to report to work two hours early tomorrow for prep and cleanup.”
Mav nods, reaching inside his jacket and pulling his gun from its holster. “How long have you worked for me, Logan?”
“Three years, sir.”
“And in three years, I can’t recall a single time anyone’s been able to slip so much as a sewing needle inside one of my clubs when you’re on site. Wanna explain how Nicky C. strolled in with a damn baseball bat?”
“Did he show you the picture?”
Mav’s face hardens, a subtle nod serving as his response.
“I believe that answers your question, then.”
“We’re gonna talk about this later,” Mav states, though his matter-of-fact tone doesn’t hold any malice or anger.
“I look forward to it, Mr. Bishop.” Logan nods, crossing to flank him on his left.
Mav shakes his head, scrubbing a hand over his face before offering up an exasperated sigh. “Put him in the chair.”
T and Finn move swiftly in my direction, eager arms outstretched.
“Not him!” Mav calls out, halting their advance. They turn to him, confusion sweeping across their features. “Him.” Mav gestures to Lucian with his gun.
T and Finn share a questioning look, their eyes briefly flickering between me and the bloodied heap on the floor.
“Devoreaux.” Mav speaks calmly. “It seems we need to have a little chat, because I don’t allow woman-beaters in my clubs.”
Apparently, that’s all the explanation Finn and T require. They snap into action, nostrils flaring as they rip him up from the puddle of blood he’s been lying in and slam him into the chair as instructed. They remain alongside him, their aggressive holds forcing him to sit upright despite his unsteady sways.
“That the kind of man you are, Luc? The kind who has to knock around his woman in order to feel big and strong?” Mav releases an eerie chuckle as the coward before him stutters out his reply.
“It was a misunderstanding.” Finn’s grip on his shoulder tightens, causing Luc to wince in response. “I was—”
Luc’s words are suddenly cut off when the barrel of Mav’s Glock is thrust inside his mouth. Mav grips hold of the base of Luc’s chin, forcing his head back as the gun is pushed deeper, muffling his screams.
“Since you’re so prone to misunderstandings, let me be crystal clear. Moving forward, if I am made aware that Daphne Burke has so much of a shadow of a bruise, you are dead. I don’t give a fuck if she trips over the shoes you carelessly left out in the living room. If her body holds a mark that is in any way attributed to a fault of your own, I will cut your legs off and beat you to death with them. Am I clear?”
Luc’s head frantically bobs, nodding his agreement.
“Good boy.” Mav slaps his bloodied cheek, withdrawing the gun and wiping his palm clean against the fabric of Luc’s shirt. “Nick? You got anything you’d like to add before Finn and T take out the trash?”
Luc glances over at me, his blood-soaked skin and swollen eyes masked in a mixture of fear and regret. I’m slow in my approach, using each purposeful step to wrangle any remaining ounce of control I possess. Reaching his side, I grip hold of his hair, ripping his head back to look at me.
“You’ve got to be the dumbest motherfucker on the planet to lay a hand on her. I cannot wait for the day your brains are splattered across my wall. Stay away from what’s mine.”
My grip loosens, tossing his head to the side as I take a step back. Planting my foot against the side of the chair, I give a hard shove, sending him toppling back to the floor. I move to step around him, spitting on the waste of space as I pass.
“Conners!” Mav shouts at my back. “There’s still the matter of reparations to be discussed.”
“Bill me.” I keep walking, eyes affixed straight ahead as I flip him off over my shoulder.
I exit the club onto the now-deserted sidewalk, the one that was filled only moments ago. Mav’s team must’ve cleared the block at the possibility of impending bloodshed. Glad one of us had the wherewithal to account for witnesses.
Jesus, I’m losing my mind. I tug at my hair, my busy thoughts drifting to the redhead asleep in my bed. Suddenly eager to get home, I fumble in my pockets for my keys, only to remember I’d given them to the valet who was most likely dismissed with the other employees.
Expelling a breath, I allow my head to fall back to the sky on a tired groan. I’m about to return inside to search for them when the ringing of my cell has me pulling my phone from my pocket.
UNKNOWN
The word on the screen has my body tensing, given there’s only one person who ever calls me from an unknown number. I answer, knowing ignoring the asshole isn’t an option.
“What?”
“Please tell me my sources are wrong and you did not just walk into Torque with a baseball bat?!” Alec Kelleman, my DEA handler screeches into the phone.
“Don’t see how that concerns you.”
The sound of items being thrown about on his end lets me know he doesn’t appreciate my cavalier attitude on the matter. “The deal is simple, Nick. You and Mav feed me info, and should that lead to an ironclad case against Yuri, you get full immunity and you’re out of the game. You can’t very well feed me info if you’re sitting in a jail cell.”
“Relax. With the money I pay my attorney, an assault charge wouldn’t slow me down.”
“Did I call the wrong number?”
“What?” My brows pull together in question, only to become distracted when a pair of headlights turn onto the block.
“Did I call the wrong number? Am I talking to Maverick?”
“What are you rambling about?” I ask, though my gaze remains trained on the car slowly creeping up on me, traveling far below the speed limit.
“I was under the impression I called the one with a brain, but the way you’re talking I must be wrong. Because if I was talking to the one with a brain, he would realize when you’re stuck smack in the middle of the Bratva and a half-dozen federal investigations trying to nail your ass to the wall, you do not call unnecessary attention to yourself! I cannot, nor will I, put my ass on the line for you if you’re going to start going rogue on me. Do I make myself clear, Nick?!”
My hand creeps into my waistband, preparing to withdraw my gun when the headlights suddenly cut out. From this distance, I can see Andrei—Yuri’s lieutenant—in the passenger seat. The car pulls up beside me just as a smug little smirk crawls across his lips.
“NICK!” Alec roars in my ear.
“Understood,” I respond dryly, cutting the call.
“Daniel,” Andrei greets me, his eyes alight with amusement.
After casting a quick glance up and down the street, my eyes return to the fucking ogre before me. “Andrei. What brings you out here?”
“I could ask you the same thing. You and Maverick having a little dispute?” He cocks a brow, taking in my disheveled appearance.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We’ve got eyes everywhere, Conners. You walked in here not even twenty minutes ago brandishing a baseball bat. Yuri would like me to remind you you’ve got no authority to move on Bishop.” Judging by the fact they think I was here for Mav and not Luc shows those eyes don’t extend to inside the club. And even though Yuri despises Mav, he can’t have me taking out the guy who washes his money for him without having a replacement lined up.
“Tell Yuri he’s got nothing to worry about. We were simply having a discussion.”
“And the bat?”
“We’re starting a baseball team.” I press my hand to his door frame, bending down to see inside the car. “You guys interested?” My eyes shift between Andrei and the driver, who looks just as stupid as him. “Come on, between the two of you, who’s pitching, who’s catching? Your secret’s safe with me.”
The driver looks to me, eyes wide with shock. “Is that some kind of gay joke?” His heavily accented voice shouts with offense. “I don’t take it up the ass!”
“Pitcher. Got it.” I nod, shifting my attention back to Andrei. “Gotta say, buddy, didn’t peg you for a bottom. Pun intended.”
Andrei’s face falls, his eyes narrowing before he manages to compose himself. “How’s your sister, Daniel? Graduating soon, right? Maybe we should all take a trip out to USC. A woman as fine as her? She deserves to be celebrated… with a bang.”
We draw our guns simultaneously, the barrels pressing up against one another’s temples with little regard for who may happen upon us.
“Talk about my sister one more time, motherfucker.”
“I’d behave myself if I were you, Conners. A man with something so precious to lose should really be more mindful of who he pisses off.”
Our standoff stretches on, the intensity of my scowl a direct correlation to his ever growing smirk, until eventually we both concede. Lowering our weapons, I back away as he flips me off before the car speeds away into the darkness.
I stand on the sidewalk a moment longer, with Andrei’s words echoing in my head.
A man with something so precious to lose…
Unfortunately, the only way around that is to not have nice things.