I’d perfected intimidation. And I’d mastered the act of the perfect calm…
His eyes widened, and for the first time since the night Bailey killed Pauly, I saw the fear. And I loved every second of it. Hell, I thrived on it. “You got something to say?”
He tried to push me off him, but I held my ground and pushed the barrel harder against him. “You better say it.”
“I don’t know where the fuck the girl is or where you’re hiding her, but I sure as hell know it’s not in the fuckin’ river with Pauly’s shoes. I know, DeLuca.” His eyes thinned to slits. “I know what you’ve done. I just need proof. But I’ll fuckin’ die before I let a brother’s death go unpunished.”
“Then prepare to die, PJ, because you’re fuckin’ insane. And you won’t find shit. And even if you think you have, I’ll fuckin’ kill you before—”
Tiny’s hand landed on my shoulder, interrupting me. “Boss,” he said, attempting to pull me away.
Jerry walked back out from the storeroom. “My little girl will be here soon. I don’t want her seeing this shit.”
“No problem,” I said, letting go of PJ’s collar and helping him to stand upright. I brushed down his clothes for him. Then I reached into my pocket, pulled out some cash and dropped it on the counter. “My apologies for the inconvenience today, Jerry. I hope this little altercation doesn’t ruin any future business relations.”
“Not at all,” Jerry answered, already busy counting the cash.
“Benny’s gonna hear about this bullshit,” PJ shouted after me.
I turned swiftly, my gun whipping the side of his face. I released it, knowing if I didn’t, I’d put a fucking bullet through him. My fist landed on his jaw first, and then his nose and everything after that was a blur.
“Enough!” Tiny shouted, pulling me off PJ. “That’s enough.”
I paused mid-movement, watching the blood spew from PJ’s nose. “You’re done,” I told him, picking my gun up off the floor.
He cursed under his breath but didn’t say anything else. Tiny led us both out of the deli and practically shoved me into his car. Once he was seated, he turned to me. “You lost it, Nate. You never lose it.”
“Maybe it’s time I start.”
16
Bailey
When Nate got back, his mood had switched. He came into my room, asked how I was feeling, and when I told him I was fine, he nodded once and left. A moment later I heard him in the kitchen, slamming the cabinets.
Slowly, I got out of bed and tiptoed down the hall, stopping in my tracks when he came into view. His palms lay flat on the counter, his arms outstretched and his shoulders tense. His roped muscles popped out from under the sleeves of his T-shirt as he let his head drop forward, his eyes focused on the bottle of whiskey in front of him. I watched, transfixed, as he stood there, unmoving.
After what felt like an eternity, he heaved out a sigh and straightened up. “You coming?” he murmured, facing me.
I jumped in my spot, then composed myself enough to put one foot in front of the other.
“I’d offer you a drink, but I don’t think you should. You know… just until we find out what caused last night.”
“Okay.”
He reached for the bottle, and that’s when I saw it; the blood on his knuckles. Without thinking, I lifted his hand with both of mine so I could inspect it. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly, pulling out of my hold.
“Was it about me?”
“No, Bailey. It was about me.”
And even though I knew he was lying, Tiny’s words from earlier came to mind. Instead of pushing him like I wanted, I changed the subject. “I’m sure I can have a small sip,” I said, jerking my head toward the whiskey. “Just a taste.”
He arched a single eyebrow as if surprised by my words. Then he shrugged. “Just a taste. Can’t hurt, right?”
I nodded and sat up on the counter. As he reached up to grab the glasses, the bottom of his shirt lifted, exposing the bottom of his naturally tanned stomach. There was something about the way his boxers—ones I’m sure I’ve worn at some point—peeked out over his jeans, hiding the beginning of that V that led to…
“Bailey?”
My eyes darted to his. “Huh?” Then I dropped my gaze to hide my blush. I knew he’d caught me staring, and there was nothing I could do about it.
“You want whiskey or something weaker?” he asked, but I could hear the amusement in his voice. At least I was doing what Tiny had asked.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” I said, ignoring the pounding of my heart while I tried to muster the courage to stay put, to not run into my room and shut the door.
He used his uninjured hand to pour us each a glass. “Just taste it,” he said, handing it to me.
There was barely anything in mine. I eyed it curiously before lifting it to my nose to smell it. It smelled fine.
“Wait.” He covered my hand. “Have you had alcohol before?”
I shook my head.