Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“I can ask them to leave but it’s exactly what they want me to do. There’s a van parked outside that I have a feeling is full of Rossi soldiers.”
“I’m about twenty minutes away. Just keep an eye on Benji. The fucking imbecile.”
“You got it.”
I’m parked in my reserved spot at the club fifteen minutes later. The lot is full, but it’s always full, and I see the van Hugo mentioned he thinks contains Rossi soldiers. It’s sitting at the farthest corner of the lot with the back doors open. I don’t know how many men there are but it’s more than the two standing outside smoking, watching me. They’ve also busted the overhead streetlamp. Fuckers.
The club itself is located inside a large warehouse where the main floor is the club, the basement is, well, where some of the uglier business gets handled. My office is on the floor above and Hugo lives on the top level.
Two men stand sentry at the large doors of the front entrance. They’re the first checkpoint. I nod to their greeting and they pull the doors open where inside is the second checkpoint.
“Hey boss,” Chrissy’s thick voice greets me. Chrissy is actually Chris, a transgender who may look like a sweet piece from behind the glass wall, but if you fuck with her, you’ll be on your back with the spiked heel of a $500 pump impaled in your throat. Met her in prison too. She was Chris then and got the shit beat out of her regularly. At least until I showed up she did. It only made her stronger, she says. Cup half full person, I guess.
“Evening, Chrissy. I hear we have some unwanted guests.” I strip off my coat and hand it to the girl working coat check tonight.
The smile she reserves for the usual clients vanishes. “Rossi bastards. I know for a fact at least one is armed. I let Hugo know right away.”
“You did the right thing. I’ll take care of it.”
Two more men stand at the second set of doors that lead into the club itself. They open both when I approach and I survey the space, spotting Benji immediately. He and his new friends are at the far stage where two girls are putting on a show. Bills carpet the floor of the stage, which I can understand is a huge motivator. I pay my girls well, but it’s the tips that take them into the six-figure earning category.
Benji doesn’t see my approach, but two of the men around him do. I notice their shiny revolvers when they pull their jackets back. Hugo flanks me as I give them the once over. They should know better than to come into my club armed. Benji should know better.
I walk between the men like I don’t give a fuck, because I don’t, and wrap an arm around Benji’s shoulders just as he realizes I’m there.
“Ben, Ben, Ben,” I say, looking down at him. He stumbles to his feet. All 5’8” of him. At 6’4”, I’ve got eight inches on him. And about fifty pounds of solid muscle.
“Kill,” he says, his bloodshot eyes always betraying that little momentary panic he feels in my presence. He shrugs free of my hold and clears his throat, straightening his spine. He looks an inch taller tonight. I look down at his feet and I chuckle. I have to. The douche is wearing what must be a specially made pair of men’s shoes with a fucking platform. “You need to teach your dog there some manners,” he says, pointing to Hugo. He picks up his drink, some mixed shit, and takes a long sip from the straw. A fucking straw.
I feel Hugo’s eyes narrow beside me and see how Ben shrinks back. Jesus. What a fucking pussy. How the hell do we share blood?
“You know you’re welcome here anytime you like, but that invitation doesn’t extend to members of either the Antonino or the Rossi families. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that.”
“They’re my friends.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” I’m not fucking around. I don’t want trouble, not inside. “You also know my rule about weapons.”
“We’re just having some fun. Spending money in your establishment. Putting money in your pocket.”
“I don’t need their money. Time for your friends to go home. You and me though? We need to have a talk.”
He rubs his eye, his nose, as he looks around nervously. I wonder if he’s not high on top of being drunk.
I look at Hugo. “Have Chrissy call my cousin a cab. Boys,” I say, turning to the men surrounding Ben. My men circle them. “Time to go home. And you tell whoever it is who ordered armed soldiers on my property I better never learn his fucking name. Understand?”
The idiots stand there looking at Ben for direction and he’s still rubbing his nose, one eye on the girls still making out on the stage.