White Knight (Dirty Mafia Duet, #2)(8)

Bohannon’s lips quirk up in a smile. “Grow up at the bottom of the food chain in Hollywood, and you learn a hell of a lot about how to keep shit quiet. You need any tips, I’m here.” As if giving tips, unwarranted advice, and assistance is his hobby, he waits for me to respond.

I think of how I deliberately forced the idea of a relationship with Memphis to protect her from my father. “Too late for that.”

Bohannon studies me as he takes a drink. “Something’s not right. I have a feeling I know what it is, but given the situation, I think it’s best we both let it lie for now.”

Having a conversation like this, in the club, is bad for both of us, and he clearly knows it. But I would bet my Chevelle that he somehow has seen through Drew’s disguise . . . which means things are even more perilous than I realized.

Who else knows? Who else will figure it out? Figure her out?

“You’ve been coming here a long time, Bohannon. I appreciate your discretion. Whatever you’re concerned about, I’ve got it covered. You have my word.”

I place my palms on the table and rise, but he stops me halfway.

“If anything happens to her, I won’t let it go, Freeman. Understand me?”

Gripping the edge of the tabletop, I look him straight in the eye and give him what I know is the absolute truth, despite everything. “The only way something happens to her is over my dead body. That happens, feel free to step in and raise hell.”

Despite the anger and betrayal simmering inside me, there’s also a sliver of something urging me not to give up on Memphis. I may have inherited a newfound penchant for revenge from my father, but every other part of me that matters came courtesy of my mother and her soft heart.

Bohannon gives me a nod that carries the weight of his respect, and I walk away from the table in search of Memphis. She’s not in the main area of the club or the kitchen, so I check the break room. She’s just coming out of the ladies’ room, and squeaks in shock when she sees me standing in the doorway.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me.”

I stare at her, with her ten pounds of makeup and colored contacts and wig, and I want to strip it all away. The restrictions that keep me from doing exactly what I want chafe like rusty chains.

“We’re leaving after the midnight meeting. You’re coming home with me. Understand?”

Her throat works as she swallows, and her eyes widen. But rather than protest, she nods slowly.

There are a dozen—hell, a hundred other things I want to say to her right now, but I promise myself I’ll bide my time and get my answers. Every. Last. One.

“Keep up the good work, Drew.”





7





Memphis





If it were news, I would report on today as the most awkwardly uncomfortable workday in the history of workdays.

Cannon stalks me like a predator after its prey. On more than one occasion, I catch myself vividly picturing the interrogation techniques he’ll employ to get the truth out of me. Or I just have a really active imagination when it comes to all things mob-related . . . and Cannon.

Either way, I spend hours walking on eggshells and trying to be the very best server I can possibly be. Tanya calls to tell Letty they hit traffic on the way there and the rehab center needs her to stay for a mandatory intake family counseling session, so she and Warren won’t make it back until after midnight. I don’t envy Letty as she goes to deliver the message, but Tanya’s decision not to call Cannon himself makes her more human to me.

I walk around the club like a live wire, jumpy and full of pent-up energy, serving bankers, CEOs, and a famous rapper turned producer. With each hour that passes, one would assume that my anxiety about being alone with Cannon would grow and grow, but it doesn’t. I’m ready. I’ve been dying to come clean and get this burden off my shoulders, and I wish I could do it sooner rather than later.

Although, if I think about it, maybe it’s a good thing he’s had more time to calm down, because earlier today, I wasn’t entirely certain I was going to be walking out of that construction site at all.

By the time midnight rolls around, all my nervous energy has burned off and I’ve given up on caffeine keeping me awake. I’m still upright due to sheer force of will. I just wish I’d been sharper, because then I would have gotten the hell out of the way when the Rossetti family contingent marched into the club after all the other guests had been politely ushered out.

“Damn, girl. That ass is thick.” The voice comes from behind me.

Startled, I spin around with greasy chills skittering down my spine. The leering dark eyes of the crown prince of the Rossetti family, GTR, lift to my face after pausing on my breasts for a solid count of three.

“Excuse me, do you need me to show you to the conclave for the meeting, sir?”

He sucks his teeth and rolls a toothpick to one side. “Sir. That sounds just right coming from you. What do you say you and me get out of here after, and I’ll let you call me that somewhere more private?”

I paste a polite smile on my face as I extend my arm in the direction of the room where the meeting is taking place, but before I can say anything, a large source of heat appears at my side.

“Meeting’s this way, GTR.” Cannon growls the statement.

GTR is still leering at me with those dark, dead eyes when he replies. “I know where the meeting is, but I’m more worried about the entertainment.”