The kiss is still lingering on my lips, even an hour later. If there hadn’t been a rush I wouldn’t have let Erin leave so easily.
The low hum of music echoes through the club. Today’s been better, business-wise. That’s a good thing. Not a chance in hell I’m going to let Misha fuck up what I’ve built.
It’s getting late, but I’m nowhere close to tired. My mind is spinning, as it has been for a couple of weeks, searching for solutions to the Misha problem.
I glance at the desk where a folder sits with a resume on top. I’ve hired a marketing manager. I needed someone with a fresh perspective and a decent track record. It’s a step in the right direction, a legitimate way to get the club’s name out there and bring the crowds back.
If it works, great. If not, well, I have a backup plan. It might not be as clean, but I’ve been collecting evidence—documents, records, everything I can find about Misha’s operations. Drugs, trafficking, money laundering—it’s all there. I’ll take it to the FBI if I have to.
A knock sounds at the door.
“Come in.”
James steps into the office, interrupting my thoughts. He looks tired but satisfied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he leans against the doorframe.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Got some better news for you,” he says, crossing his arms. “We didn’t hit capacity, but the numbers were solid. A little better than a typical Thursday.”
It’s the first decent news I’ve heard in a while. I grab the bottle of whiskey from the shelf and pour each of us a glass, sliding one toward him.
“About time,” I say, raising my glass. “Maybe we need to beat up one of Misha’s goons every night, a good luck charm kind of thing.”
James smirks, clinking his glass against mine. “Cheers to a decent night for once.”
We sip, the whiskey burning just right.
Another knock.
“Yeah?”
The door creaks open. This time, it’s Mark, a till tucked under his arm.
“Hey, boss,” he says, giving us a quick wave with his free hand.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Just wanted to let you know Erin and I already counted the tips and split them between the front-of-the-house staff.” He comes over to the desk, setting the drawer down.
I lean forward and give it a quick glance. Everything’s in order. “Appreciate it,” I say. “But why didn’t Erin come back? This is usually her job.”
Mark shrugs. “Said she wasn’t feeling great. She said something about it being her time of the month.”
That gets a bark of a laugh out of James and me both.
He flashes a small, sheepish grin. “Figured I’d leave that one alone.”
“Good call. Thanks, Mark. See you tomorrow.”
He waves one more time, flashing his easygoing smile before disappearing through the door. As the sound of his footsteps fades, I glance at James.
“He’s solid, a good kid,” James says. “Reliable. Doesn’t miss a beat. And it’s good to have a friendly face among a full line of mean mugs like us.”
“Yeah, I agree. Hopefully, he sticks around for a while.”
James finishes his whiskey, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “So, what’s the next move with the Misha bullshit?”
I glance at the folder on the desk, then back at him. “We play this smart,” I say. “Keep the heat off ourselves while we rebuild. Marketing’s step one, so we can undo the bullshit slander he’s been putting out there. Step two…” I trail off, the thought of Misha’s empire crashing around him satisfying. “Let’s just say, if Misha doesn’t back off, I’ve got a way to make him regret it.”
James grins. “You always do.”
I nod, finishing my drink and setting the glass down. “Damn right.”
For now, the club’s steady, and the pieces are falling into place. But Misha’s not done, and neither am I.
James lets the comment sit for a moment, then shifts gears. “The numbers seem to be creeping back up.”
“They are,” I say. “Tonight was better than this time last week. Solid for a Thursday. But let’s see how the weekend shakes out.”
“You think Misha’s backing off? Maybe we got lucky and your little karate chop to his goon’s rib cage was enough to let him know we’re not fucking around.”
“No. This isn’t over. A guy like Misha doesn’t know when to quit. He’ll push until someone pushes back harder.”
“You still think Erin is his target?”
I nod, exhaling sharply. “Yeah. I’m watching every move when we’re out. When we leave the club, I’m glancing every which way walking to the car. I pull straight into the garage when we get home—I don’t even let her get out until the door’s down. It’s not ideal, but it’s what I can do right now. There’s still the matter of this Kailee girl, too, she’s still missing. Hired a PI, but he’s turned up nothing.”
“That’s not good.”
“No kidding. All the same, it’d be weird for Misha to do something to her and not say a word about it. You saw how he treated Tiffany, dumping her in the damn parking lot so we’d get the message. He likes to brag about his work.”
“He’s a prick.” James tilts his head, studying me. “You ever think about hiring a bodyguard for personal protection? I know some guys who’d kill for a gig that’d give them a chance to beat the hell out of someone like Misha.”
I shake my head. “You think Erin’s going to go for that? She already hates that she can’t go anywhere alone. Add a bodyguard to the mix, and she’ll riot.”
James grins. “Fair point. But if you and Erin are a real couple now, maybe if you hired a bodyguard he could do some of the boring parts of being in a relationship.”
I glare at him, though I can’t help the smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Get your ass out of my office.”
“Fine, fine, I’m going,” James says, raising his hands in mock surrender as he stands. “But you know I’m right.”
“Out.”
He chuckles as he heads for the exit, but before he can leave, the door pushes open. Erin steps inside, her face pale, her expression twisted with fear. My smile fades instantly.
Something’s wrong.
“Erin?” I say, standing as she walks toward me. “What’s going on?”
She doesn’t say a word, just holds out a piece of paper, her hands trembling slightly. I take it from her, my chest tightening as I unfold it. James steps behind me, his eyes narrowing as he peers over my shoulder.
The note is handwritten, the letters sharp and aggressive, as if the writer wanted every word to cut.
Erin,
Kailee’s dead. She screamed, cried, and begged for mercy. Her death was slow. Painful.
You’re next.
You can’t run from me.
M
Rage fills every fiber of my being. I crumple the paper, tossing it aside. There’s no doubt in my mind Misha would do something like this.
“He’s… he’s serious, Samuel. He killed her.”
In that moment, I realize I don’t have the luxury of letting my anger take over. I need to be strong for her.
“We don’t know that for sure. This could be a scare tactic.”
James huffs behind me. “A damn effective one. Maybe she’s still alive and he’s trying to bait you.”
Erin shakes her head. “Kailee wouldn’t just disappear like this. She would’ve told one of us if she was leaving. She was always super thoughtful and didn’t want people worrying because of her. She wouldn’t have left without saying something.”
I reach for her hand, pulling her closer. “We’re going to figure this out. But I need you to stay calm. We’ll handle this.”
“Handle it how?” she asks. “Samuel, this is my life we’re talking about.”
“And it’s my job to protect it.”
James clears his throat. “Whatever this is, it’s escalating. We need to act fast.”
