“It is,” she said.
Morgan crossed her arms in front of her chest. She hated a bully. Anger always roiled up inside of her every time she came in contact with one, along with the burning desire to put them in their place. But even she had to admit she might have gone overboard with this one.
There were bullies, and then there were dangerous criminals. Morgan had a terrible feeling she knew which column this guy fell into.
And she’d just poked him with a stick.
But if she was in over her head, then how deep was Gregg?
She glanced over at her brother. His head was hanging down between his shoulders. She had no doubt she was going to get an earful later. That was fine. He’d get one right back.
“I will be sure to remember that…and you, Miss Kincaid.” A chill ran up Morgan’s spine. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure she wanted this guy remembering her.
Of course, she didn’t want him in her club either.
Every eye at the table was focused on her, each stare practically dripping with malice. Morgan straightened her shoulders, refusing to show fear. It was all an act. She was terrified, but she didn’t want these guys to know it. The whole crew reminded her of a pack of predators, hunting together, looking for the first sign of weakness before they pounced.
So how the hell was she going to get back to the relative safety of her office?
Morgan started as a heavy hand fell on her shoulder. She spun around and breathed a sigh of relief to see Ty standing there.
“Sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt, but we’re all out of Stoli, and I couldn’t find any in the backroom.”
“It’s on the second shelf from the top.”
“I could really use your help finding it.” His gaze narrowed just a sliver.
“Of-of course,” she said, feeling like an idiot. The guy was trying to give her an out. She had no idea why, but she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Thanks,” he said.
Morgan glanced back at the row of steely faces staring at her, and nodded. It was the best she could do to try and save face.
Ty kept his hand on her shoulder the rest of the way back to the bar. It wasn’t until they’d reached the backroom, and the lights switched from dim and moody to bright and fluorescent that he pulled it away.
“Th-thank you.” Morgan forced the words through the flood of embarrassment clogging her throat.
Ty kept walking toward the storage room. “For what?”
Morgan narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. Was it possible that he didn’t know that he’d saved her ass back there…possibly literally?
She opened the door. A neat row of Stoli bottles glistened in the overhead light on the second shelf from the top.
Just where she’d said they’d be.
“Oh,” Ty said walking past her. “Can’t believe I missed those.”
He tucked a bottle under his arm and strode back into the hallway without looking her in the eye.
Yeah, she couldn’t believe it either.
Chapter Four
Another day, another episode of slamming her laptop closed in frustration.
Morgan was getting sick of this routine, but there was no denying it. Some other source of revenue was making its way into the club’s accounts. And after last night’s confrontation with the Russian mystery men, Morgan was willing to bet she knew where the money was coming from.
The thought sent a chill through her.
No wonder her brother had been too ashamed to look her in the eye last night. She had a terrible feeling he’d managed to get them involved in some very serious shit. Money laundering. The Russian Mob. Gregg was lucky the damned feds weren’t knocking down their doors right now.
Not that Gregg would ever admit to anything. She loved her brother deeply, but they were very different people. Gregg cared about money and status. His deepest desire had always been to be somebody. He would never give that up on his own.
On top of all that, he was one hell of a coward. Gregg had been avoiding her all day and ignoring her texts. If he couldn’t stomach facing her, how was he going to stand up to the mob?
Morgan stared down at her closed computer for a long time before she finally mustered the courage to open it again. Before she could talk herself out of it, she typed San Francisco Russian Mob into the search engine.
The Bratva.
Page after page of horrible things they were responsible for popped up on her screen. Pictures too. Photos that made the blood drain from her face. Images of people who had crossed them.
“What have you done, Gregg?” Morgan muttered to herself as she scrolled down the screen. How was she ever going to get him out of this mess?
Or herself? Everything she had was wrapped up in the club. She’d poured the last year of her life into this place. She’d bet her whole future on it.
All because Gregg had convinced her to.
Of course, he’d left out the part where he’d made the place a success by funneling dirty money through it.