NICHOLAS
Farrell sits down in his home office, his woodsy aftershave so strong it wafts across his desk and settles in my nose without even breathing.
His silver hair is slicked back, longer on the top and cropped short on the sides, and he’s staring at me with dark, calculating eyes, his tattooed fingers running along the bottom of his jaw. He’s swiveling back and forth in his chair just slightly. Over and over again he repeats the motion, a creaking sound imitating the clicking of a clock.
This is a common tactic. The silence. The staring. The contemplation while I sit in the hot seat and wait for whatever it is he called me in here to say. It’s all meant to intimidate, but none of it’s worth a damn. You need to fear someone for their tactics to work and while it’s undeniable that Farrell Westerly is a dangerous person, I’m not scared of him.
He should fear me.
So if he wants to sit here in silence, I’m game.
I cross my leg over the opposite knee and tap my fingers on the arm of the chair, waiting patiently until he’s had enough.
Finally, he speaks.
“I heard about what you did to Tony.” He steeples his fingers beneath his chin. “You got anything to say to me about that?”
“Yeah, I should have hit him harder.” I shrug.
Farrell’s lips twitch. “You know he’s the little cousin of one of the capos for the Cantanellis. You could cause me a lotta shit by running around and making them bleed.”
“All due respect, Skip… you walk around letting people, regardless of who they are, sell you fake rocks and disrespect you in your own club? That don’t sit right with me.”
“No?” he asks.
“No. Fuck that guy. He should be kissing your feet for not putting a bullet in his dome the second you realized what he did. And I’m not an idiot, regardless what your goon Liam may think.” Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees, maintaining our eye contact so he knows how serious I am. “I weigh the options of everything I do. Antonio Cantanelli, an Italian, in your club?” I shake my head. “He ain’t no problem. His cousin would kill him first for stepping foot in Kinland.”
His brows rise and a grin cracks across his face. “You gotta lotta brass, kid. I like it.”
He stands up, walking around the desk and resting against the lip, his hands sliding into the pockets of his gray suit pants. He pulls out a Black & Mild and slips it into his mouth, grabbing a matchbox from the corner of his desk and lighting the end. The smell permeates the room immediately, making my stomach turn.
I fucking hate that smell. It reminds me of my mom’s boyfriend and all the shitty memories that come with him. The man never went anywhere without a Black & Mild dangling from his pockmarked mouth.
“You remember Evie?” he asks, staring down at the lit match.
My heart jolts, the nausea growing stronger. Wish I never did.
“Briefly. Not really a social bird, is she?” I grin.
He chuckles, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “She’s a different breed, that’s for sure. Nothing like my Dorothy. But when it comes down to it… no one else I’d rather have by my side than her.”
My brows lift, and my muscles tighten, anticipation making my nerves sing. I’m not sure what he’s about to say, but whatever it is feels important.
“That good of a daughter, huh?” I joke.
His tongue runs over his teeth as he stares at the cigar. “I don’t know if those are the words I’d use.” He taps his temple, ash dropping to the floor. “She’s smart as hell. The most stubborn woman you’ll ever meet, but those brains she’s got? As good as gold.”
I sit forward. “You got her running shit around here?”
His gaze sharpens and he snaps his head up to me.
My stomach flips. Stupid question. Too nosy.
“She does whatever the fuck I tell her to do.” He points at me. “And so do you. You work for me now, understand? No more of this petty theft bullshit. I can give you money. Real money… but you gotta do business my way. That means I say jump, you ask how high.”
I nod, swallowing. This is exactly what I need.
“And calm down on the fucking questions. Jesus, you’re like my mother, may she rest in peace.”
I smile. “My bad, Skip. I’ve got an inquisitive personality.”
He grunts, puffing on his cigar again then moving to scratch his bushy eyebrow. “Evie’s doing rounds the next few weeks for me, taking over some errands while my usual guy is out.”
My insides jump in genuine surprise. He’s having Eveline doing runs?
He purses his lips. “You’ll go with her. Be her muscle, have her back, and continue learning the ropes at the same time. Got it?”
Dread sinks into my stomach, even though this is exactly what we’ve been waiting for.
It’s just ever since she snapped on Liam, I’ve done my best to avoid her. I have no room for a distraction like her, and she fucks with my head. Physically, I’ve never wanted to throw someone down and fill them with my cock more, but mentally, she fills me with disgust.
I will never understand how someone can be so embroiled with putting drugs on the streets and sleep peacefully at night.
Fucking filthy street rats, all of them.
But going out on errands is exactly what I need to be doing to gather information. So while originally we thought Dorothy was my in, maybe it’s Eveline instead. And I’ll have to do whatever it takes to come to terms with that.
“Get in and shut up,” Eveline says as she walks by me, her flowy black skirt swishing at her knees and those same thigh-high boots on her feet.
“How can you even drive in those?” I ask, sliding into the passenger side of her Range Rover.
She sighs, running a hand down her face. “Shutting up usually includes less speaking and more silence.”
I reach over, clicking the seat belt across my chest. “I have the right to ask questions. You’re in charge of my life right now.”
She scoffs.
“I’m serious. What if we crash because your tiny feet in those ridiculous eighteen-inch heels can’t feel the pedals?”
“They’re six inches.” Her eyes drift to my lap as she starts the car. “But I’m not surprised you’d exaggerate.”
“I think we both know I don’t need to stretch the truth, sweetheart.”
She laughs. “Sure.”
“What’s that mean?” I frown.
She stays silent, her eyes on the road as she pulls out of the long drive, ignoring the security guards at the gate and turns onto the main road.
Irritation sticks my insides like mosquitoes.
Who the fuck has she been with that’s bigger than me?
“Don’t think too hard, you’ll hurt yourself,” she quips.
“Where are we going anyway?” I change the subject, resting my arm against the car door.
“None of your business.”
“Your dad seems to think it’s my business.”
She side-eyes me. “Yeah, well, my dad isn’t known for his decision-making skills.”
I lean in. “Then what is he known for?”
“Fishing for information again, stalker? What are you, a cop?”