Run Rose Run(63)

Ruthanna gave a great, braying laugh, and then she pointed a long pink nail at him. “Number one, that’s a load of BS about girls. Number two, you’re not that nice. And number three, I’ve got a job for you that’ll help you prove exactly how not nice you are.” She stepped closer and jabbed the nail into his chest. “You’re going to talk to Mikey Shumer and find out what he knows about that black truck.”

Ethan exhaled slowly. So this visit wasn’t really about his argument with AnnieLee after all.

He knew Mikey Shumer—or knew of him, anyway. Mikey took talented, unknown singers and shaped them into hitmakers, skimming as much as he could from every check along the way. He drove a Mercedes-Benz SL65 AMG that cost upwards of two hundred grand, and he owned a fleet of vintage Mustangs and a penthouse condo in the Gulch. Meanwhile, his newest artists struggled to make rent, and he’d run at least two other managers out of town with threats and harassment. Ethan had encountered Mikey only once, but he knew him instantly for the kind of man who’d buy you drinks at a bar and then have you beaten to a pulp in the parking lot if it suited him.

In other words, this wasn’t going to be a job Ethan would enjoy.

Ruthanna waited with uncharacteristic patience for him to say something.

Ethan picked up the rag and the guitar and started polishing again. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go see him tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Ruthanna said. “I knew I could count on you. Just…be careful.”

“If he’s scaring AnnieLee, he’s the one who’s going to need to be careful.” Angry as Ethan was at her, he didn’t want anyone messing with her.

“See? I knew you were the protective type,” she said.

“You know just about everything, don’t you?” he said.

Ruthanna flashed him a brilliant smile. “I’ve been around the block once or twice.” She turned to go. “And I meant what I said about that song you were singing. I think it’s got real potential.”





Chapter

53


Sir, you can’t go back there,” the secretary called, but Ethan was already striding down the office hallway, looking for Mikey Shumer. He was almost to his door when two of the biggest men he’d seen since the army materialized out of nowhere to block his path.

He pulled up short, sighing. He should’ve known this wouldn’t be easy.

Ethan took a step backward, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. “I’m here to see Mikey Shumer.”

“Mr. Shumer’s busy right now,” the mustached one said. His face looked as if it’d been carved from granite.

The bald man, who was shorter, just as muscular, and ugly as a box of armpits, said, “Gotta make an appointment, pretty boy.”

Ethan hated being called pretty boy even more than AnnieLee hated being called little, but he pretended he hadn’t heard. There was still a chance that this interaction would end well. “I need to speak with him now.”

“That’s not possible,” said Baldy.

“Real sorry, bro,” said Mustache.

Ethan felt his hands clench into fists. He was coming up on the point of no return, and though he’d wanted to keep things civil, he wasn’t leaving without talking to Shumer. He said, “I don’t think you’re sorry, and you definitely ain’t my bro.”

“That’s it.” The bald man slapped his enormous hand around Ethan’s biceps and tried to shove him back in the direction he’d come, but Ethan shook him off. Mustache made to grab his other arm, but Ethan was done being touched by these goons. He swung at Mustache. The blow glanced off his jaw, but the attack took him by surprise, and he stumbled backward. The bald one reacted quickly, shooting a straight jab at Ethan’s face. Ethan ducked, coming up again and bringing an uppercut from way down low to connect with Baldy’s chin. Ethan’s knuckles exploded in pain as he heard the man’s teeth snap together. His head went back, he wobbled for a moment, and then he was on the floor.

Again Ethan faced Mustache, who was wary now, dancing around like a boxer. Big guys like these weren’t used to being hit. But Ethan didn’t have the time or inclination for a boxing match. He lunged forward, grabbed the man by the back of the head, and yanked Mustache’s head down as he brought up his knee. Blood from the man’s nose soaked Ethan’s jeans.

The fight was over after that, and Ethan burst into Mikey’s office, watching as the manager’s face twisted under a barrage of emotions: disbelief, fury, and a grudging admiration.

“What the hell?” Mikey said from his chair behind his desk.

“They came at me first,” Ethan said. He rubbed his sore knuckles. “I hate fighting, so I got it over with as quick as I could.”

Mikey gave a low whistle. “Do you know the kind of retaliation I’m capable of?”

Ethan said, “I do,” and left it at that.

Mikey looked down at his fists as if he was wondering if he should give them a go. But instead he cracked the top of a Red Bull and took a long drink. Then he said, “You must be a fighter.”

“I boxed in the army,” Ethan said.

“Class?”

“Middleweight.” Ethan marveled that they suddenly seemed to be having a normal conversation, as if there weren’t two giants in the hallway that Ethan had personally KO’d because he wanted to speak with Mikey without an appointment.