I doubt very much she’d handle me going out on task for the Barber of Brooklyn, though.
“Zeth, you and I both know this sedentary life you’re leading isn’t what you were built for. You’re a cutthroat, just like I am. I’m coming for Seattle. You must have known someone would eventually. I’m laying out my cards here and now. New York is where the throne of my empire rests. I can’t be in two places at once. I need someone to run my west coast operations, and I want that someone to be you.”
“I have no interest in being your understudy, Roberto. Absolutely no fucking interest whatsoever.” The guy is crazy if he thinks I’m putting myself into yet another position like I was in with Charlie. You don’t climb out from underneath the shit heap only to voluntarily climb back under again.
“I can understand your reluctance, Zeth, I really can. But you are a very dangerous individual. If I place someone else in charge over there, I wouldn’t be able to allow a man like you to be operating in the same district. It wouldn’t be smart business.”
“I’m not operating. I run a few fights and broker a few deals. You don’t need to concern yourself with what I’m doing, Roberto. I’m none of your fucking business.”
“And what about the lovely young Ms. Romera? Will she end up being my business? I fear she will if we can’t find a way to make both of us happy right now.”
Sloane sits up, clearly having heard her name. She looks mildly concerned, which makes my blood boil. Who does this guy think he fucking is, threatening her to get his own way? I won’t allow it. I will burn down his whole fucking New York empire before I let that happen. “You don’t say her name. You don’t ever say her name,” I growl.
“Don’t forget who you’re talking to right now, boy. I’m bigger and I’m badder than Charlie Holsan ever was. When I offer someone a title within my organization, they fucking jump,” he spits. “And this isn’t just any old title. I’m offering to make you the motherfucking king of the west coast. You’d be answerable to no one but me. You need to think about this for a couple of hours, Zeth. Bear in mind, I don’t make these kinds of calls personally very often. It’s unlikely I’ll be making another one. You should also bear in mind that I am not someone to be fucked with.”
I laugh, and it feels raw in my throat. Caustic, poisonous laughter that gives away what I think of his threats before I can put my thoughts into words. “I vowed after Charlie that I would never be answerable to anyone ever again. And I won’t. I don’t want to be the king of the west coast or anywhere else for that matter. And something you should bear in mind, Roberto? I am a dangerous individual. And people don’t usually live to tell the tale after fucking with me either.”
Chapter Thirteen
Mason
Wanda wouldn’t let me take Millie to school this morning. Said I’d terrify the poor kid if I showed up bloodied and bruised the way I am. I don’t know what she thinks I’m going to do between now and the end of the day to fix the problem—as far as I know, cuts and scrapes take a little longer than an afternoon to heal—but there you go. She sent me on my way, and a part of me felt guilty about heading straight to work. I felt even guiltier when I realized I was singing in the car.
Mac nearly drops his coffee when he sees me. “Holy fucking hell, boy, what happened to your face?”
“Fought at French’s,” I mumble through my split lip. No point in lying to him. Mac knows everything, has his finger in so many pies. Wouldn’t surprise me if he actually made some money off my ass last night somehow.
“So you’ll fight in a stinking basement but you won’t earn three times the money driving a car across the city for me, is that it?” he says.
“Pretty much.”
“Well, whatever. I hope the other guy looks worse, I guess. Though, I don’t see how that would be possible.”
The morning goes fast. I can’t wait to head over to the gym after work and train. I need to stretch out my muscles, make sure I don’t completely lock up. If I want to fight again in six days, I have to make sure my whole body isn’t completely jacked from not doing anything with it.
I spend the day working on Kaya’s beater of a car. The old Chevy is fucked, needs scrapping entirely, but I just do what I’m told and go about fixing the damn thing. Late in the afternoon, when I jump in to turn the engine over, the interior smells just like she did yesterday—like flowers and jasmine. My dick stirs in my pants at the scent. So fucking inappropriate. I’m not supposed to be thinking about her let alone fantasizing what it would be like to be on top of her, to feel like I’m wrapping myself around her, slowly pushing myself deeper and deeper inside of her.