Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths #3)(76)
“Girl,” Trent—Kacey’s boyfriend and a permanent fixture in the Ryder household—announces with a smirk, adding in a “hey, Cain,” though his focus doesn’t leave the intense one-on-one boxing round with Nate.
“Trent.” I like Trent. I didn’t like him so much when I found out who he really was, when everything about my bartender and Storm’s best friend—Kacey—came to an ugly, explosive head. To this day, I thank God I didn’t feel the need to have a background check done on him. If I had, I would have kicked his ass out of my bar.
And probably beaten him to within an inch of his life.
Dan casually leans over to flick Trent’s ear for that comment before shaking his head. “God help me if it’s another girl. I’m drowning in estrogen.”
“Get a dog,” Nate suggests, followed by a deep shout of “yeah!” as Trent’s player hits the ground in an exaggerated knockout screen shot.
“Why?” Ben snorts. “Storm will just have his balls cut off for humping everything in sight. Then, you’ll still be surrounded by estrogen, plus you’ll be stuck picking up a four-legged eunuch’s shit twice a day for the next ten years.”
Dan shoots a crooked grin his way. “Maybe not. Storm hasn’t had you fixed for humping everything in sight yet, mate.”
Another round of snorts and chuckles fills the room and I’m reminded of how much I’ve missed hanging out with the guys outside of Penny’s. I’ve just let myself get too wrapped up with all things club-related lately.
I need to get a life. Ideally, one that includes Charlie.
“A drink?” Dan offers, already reaching for the bottle of Rémy that he knows I prefer. Normally, I’d never accept any of my friends catering to my expensive taste, but Dan and Storm can easily afford it and Storm won’t have it any other way.
“How’s the club doing these days?” Dan asks as he hands me a filled glass. “Ben told me about the metal detectors. You’ve got more scum coming in, now that Teasers is closed?”
“Yeah . . . it’s an investment, but it’s worth it.” I take a sip of my drink.
He nods his head slowly, a curious look passing over his face, and I wonder where this conversation is headed this time. Conversations with Dan about the club tend to head in one general direction.
His voice lowers to say, “Starting to hear rumblings of someone new in Miami. From up north, bringing in pure street-grade heroin. Not one of these idiot gangbangers who we can usually take down in a few weeks. An organized operation. This could be big. They expect it’ll lead to a turf war with the cartel.” Dan studies me closely with his next question. “You haven’t seen or heard anything?”
This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. I’m not the only one who had a background check done. After Storm quit Penny’s, she admitted to me that Detective Dan had made inquiries and pulled some favors, suspicious of me. It didn’t take him long to dig up my past. I may have—miraculously—avoided a criminal record for my own crimes, but I’m still tied to an ugly paper trail as it relates to my parents.
I was only involved in the drug and prostitution scene by relation. I guess good ol’ Daddy didn’t think mixing me up with that side of the family business was a smart move, when he could make so much money off my fighting. Dan’s not stupid, though. He’s seen his share of that world. He knows it’s not built in silos—separating the dealers from the pimps from the thieves from the murderers. He knows that I’ve made all kinds of connections, whether I meant to or not. Hell, I still get approached by bookies once in a while for a big-ticket fight. Ten years later, all the way in Miami! And then there’s the fact that I’m in the business that I’m in, where I’m constantly approached with illicit propositions.
Dan knows I could find out, if I wanted to get involved. If I wanted to risk being labeled a police informant, basically painting a target on my chest and putting everyone around me at risk.
“I haven’t heard a thing, Dan. And you know those scumbags are not coming anywhere near Penny’s. That’s why I have the security that I do. That’s why I’m selective with who I hire.”
Dan nods his head once. “I know, Cain. But I told the guys I’d ask, anyway.” With a heavy exhale, he quickly changes the topic, his tone lightening up. “So, tell me about this new dancer at Penny’s.”
“The one that’s got Cain choking the chicken in his office every night?” Ben hollers, while furiously clicking keys to pummel Nate’s player in the face. “Uh-oh. Look! He’s pitching a tent already. ”
“Fuck off, Morris,” I throw back with an annoyed chuckle. “I’m not . . .” I close my eyes and heave a sigh. There’s no point defending myself. We’re not at Penny’s. That means the gloves are off and the jackass is just getting warmed up. Thank God he doesn’t know about last night.
“That’s how it’s done!” Ben shouts, tossing the controller at Nate’s broad chest. “I mean, seriously, Cain . . .” Ben now turns to give me his undivided attention, shaking his head. “Such a travesty. You don’t deserve to own a club. Fuck, you don’t deserve to own a dick!”
I know Ben’s just shooting his mouth off for entertainment purposes. We’ve had more than a few frank drunken-Ben conversations in the past, where he expressed his undying admiration for me for not taking advantage of my position.