Page 9

“I know.” I yank the wheel toward the parking lot with so much force it slings her against her door. “Sorry.”

I drive straight up to the front door, hit the brakes, and screech out a line of tire marks. I put the SUV in park and leave the engine running when I get out. The bar isn’t open yet, but there’s someone inside. I see two cars in the parking lot.

The doors are locked, so I take a step back and open them with my boot. The right door flies open. All the glass shatters on the left one, and it bends, but the bolt keeps it from caving in.

I push my way into the bar and look around. Two guys come running out of the back and try to turn around as soon as they see me. I’m on them before they have a chance. I grab them both by the back of the neck, spin them around, and throw them on the floor hard enough to knock the wind out of them.

“Was it either of them?” I growl, slamming a boot on the back of the first employee so he lifts his head.

“No!” Sarah squeaks out. “It wasn’t them!”

I hold the first guy down and yank his friend back to his feet. My hand closes around his throat and I lift him until we’re eye level, which leaves his toes dangling in the air.

“Someone who works here tried to roofie my friend,” I snarl. “Who works late, around closing time, and likes to take advantage of pretty girls?”

“I don’t know!” the guy gasps through his clutched throat, his face turning red. He tries to kick at me, but it doesn’t budge my frame.

“Wrong answer.” I tighten my grip on his throat. “Think harder.”

“I really d-don’t know, man!” he chokes.

“It was Bill Clark!” the guy below me yells. “Bill! He works late! He always tried to pick up girls right before closing!”

“And if they aren’t interested, he puts something in their drink?” I question, grinding my boot into the guy’s back.

“I don’t know! I-I mean, I know he bought something from one of the guys who comes in here, but I don’t know if he actually used it!” he squeals.

“Which one of you would like to go into the back and get Bill’s address for me?” I ask, lowering the guy I’m holding until his feet touch the floor and he can breathe. “If you try to call the cops, there won’t be anything left of you when they get here.”

“I-I’ll do it!” the guy I’m holding gasps.

I hurl him toward the back room, but keep my boot on the one under me. I lighten my foot, because he was forthcoming with information. That allows him to breathe a little easier.

The other employee returns with the address. It’s hastily written on a torn piece of paper and the hand that offers it is trembling so much I have to snatch the paper out of it.

“Don’t let people do that shit, boys,” I say, removing my boot from the back of the one I’m holding down. “What if it was your sister, hmm? Would you be okay with it? I bet one of you has a sister, right?”

I stare them down with a cold glare as the one on his feet nods. His friend shakily stands up beside him.

“Y-yeah,” he says.

“How old is she?” I lean toward him, my jaw tightening.

“Sixteen,” he whispers.

“How would you feel if she walked in here one night, maybe in five years when she’s twenty-one, or tomorrow with a fake ID,” I say, leaning even closer so he can get a good look as the rage behind my eyes.

“Would it be okay for you to know that there’s a guy working here who might put something in her drink? ”

“N-no, sir,” he shakes out.

“Then don’t let it happen again.” I straighten up and turn away. “Don’t worry about the door. Someone will be along shortly to repair it. You call the cops, and you’ll see me again. You don’t want that to happen.”

I leave the bar carefully, so I don’t knock Sarah out of the way. I fire off a text message to an associate who handles shit like this and look around. No sign of cops. But someone will notice the door soon. I hurry to my SUV and open the back.

“What are you doing?” Sarah asks when she catches up to me.

“Grabbing a sign,” I growl, yanking one out that says Under Construction.

I don’t smash as many doors as I used to, but we cover our tracks. A smashed front door on the strip is a problem. One with a sign in front of it isn’t. I put the sign down by the door, then return to the SUV and open her door.

“That’ll cause less attention. Let’s go.” I usher her in and when she moves slower than I’d like, I grab her hips and put her down in the seat.

She immediately grimaces and leans away. “Ow!”

“Sorry, shit. Sorry,” I mutter, slamming the door.

I spanked her. Her ass will feel that for the rest of the day.

“Didn’t mean to hurt you like that, Sarah,” I sigh as I get into the SUV and crank it up. “I don’t think those two assholes will call the cops, but you never know. We do need to hurry.”

I’m not scared of the cops. Plenty of them are on the Morandi family payroll. But sorting it out takes time. Sometimes, it requires a lawyer. I don’t have the patience for that shit.

“It’s okay,” she says, pulling out her vape and taking several puffs. “Yeah, this is all totally fine.”

I get back on the strip, punch the address into my GPS, and head in that direction. Once we’re on a back road, I fish a cigarette out, roll down the window, and light it.

“Remember, you actually get to use this on your podcast,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

She’s not used to this like I am. But damn if I haven’t missed it.

The rush from doing something other than following Erica around.

That job was fucking boring. Truthfully, if she’d tried to recruit me for the coup, I might have been excited about getting my hands dirty.

I would have declined, but it might have been the most exciting thing to happen to me in months.

“What happened back there…” Sarah’s face tenses up. “That wasn’t just about me, was it?”

“Today it is,” I mutter, taking a deep drag from my cigarette and blowing the smoke out the window.

“Yeah, but no, Boyd.” She shakes her head. “I’m not buying it. You just met me yesterday.”

Fuck. Too strong. Again . And she’s right. This is a part of me that nobody unpacks. The people who could, would never bring it up. I mentally bend the boundary until it breaks.

“Can’t put this on your… podcast.” I tense up a little. “Got it?”

“Yeah,” she says, nervously taking a hit of her vape.

“My sister,” I growl. “Right before Massimo’s first wife got murdered, she went into a club and had a drink. Woke up on a Bratva cargo ship.”

“Oh, fuck!” Sarah’s eyes widen and she swallows hard.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “I tore apart half of Russia to find her, but the girl I brought back… she wasn’t the one who left. She, um, killed herself.”

“Boyd… Oh, my goodness! I’m… I’m so sorry!” Sarah’s lip quivers with every word.

“Yeah,” I say again, taking another drag from my cigarette.

It’s never a good idea to try to unpack me.

It’s like opening Pandora’s fucking box.

One as big as I am.