Page 76 of Her Ruin

Don’t be a dick

I’d sent it before I thought. “Ah fuck.” The phone buzzed, and I ignored it, going to the closet and getting ready for the day.

Black pants, black shirt, black waistcoat. I grabbed the suit jacket, ran my hands through my still damp hair, and headed down to the club. I exhaled, trying to shove her out of my head.

I built my empire from scratch. It depended on precision and discipline, and distractions were a liability. I knew that. What I didn’t seem to be able to stop was seeing her every time I closed my eyes. Those defiant hazel eyes and the way she fought against being controlled. The look in her eye as she sucked my cock, knowing in that moment, she had me in her complete control.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I pushed the office door open and should’ve known my best friend was already at my desk.

“If you’re offering?” Rye piped up as I closed the door behind me. He looked me over once and then went back to the laptop. “You look…messy.”

I felt messy. I felt…uncontrolled.

“I told you that you didn’t want to dip into that,” he murmured, his voice heavy with disapproval.

I took the seat opposite him, saying nothing as I opened the chilled bottle of water he’d left for me. I drank half the bottle down.

“What do we have today?” It was no use hiding anything; he knew me as well as I knew myself.

“We have a meeting with a new vodka rep for the strip club in Chicago,” he told me, saying nothing more about Isla. He’d said his “I told you so,” and we moved on. “Angelo is pressing for the distribution thing we talked about last night?—”

“He only proposed it last night,” I snapped. “Why the fuck is he pushing?”

Rye looked up, grinning. “Why is the pusher pushing?” he mocked lightly. “Gee, I dunno, Zayn, maybe because his boss is a fucking drug dealer.”

“Oh, fuck off.” I stood up, turning my attention to the security monitors. I made a “carry on” gesture. “What else?”

“All booths are booked tonight,” he carried on smoothly. “Some big players in three of the booths. We need to be on hand to be seen and to serve.”

I nodded. “Of course.” Checking my watch, I rolled my head. “The lower-level club ready for tonight’s fight?”

“Yeah, the needs-to-know know it’s invite only.”

“Good.” I flicked through my phone, reading a text Rye had sent earlier. I looked up at him, seeing him failing to hide his smile. “No.” I fixed him with a deadly glare, and the bastard started cackling. “Fuck you, I’m not going to have a fucking meeting with Danielle Castor at the strip club she almost burned to the ground!”

“You should have given her a raise,” he told me, leaning back in his chair. “She was very put out.”

“You should have kept your dick in your pants and your nose out of her supplier’s coke.” When I tossed my phone at him, he caught it. “How the hell did she get a brewery rep job?”

“She knows how to sell a product,” he said with a wistful sigh.

“Yeah, you’re three years clean, remember that,” I scolded him. “I’m not going through another rehab shit show with you.” I headed to the door. “Cancel that fucking meeting,” I snapped over my shoulder. “I don’t give a fuck what she offers as an incentive. Tell them to go fuck themselves.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Rye quipped behind me, not in the least put out at my reference to his past drug habits. “Hey, Zayn!”

Halfway out the door, I looked back at him. “What?”

He batted his eyelashes at me. “You know you would go through it with me again.”

“Fuck you.” I closed the door on his gleeful laugh. Truth was, I would. He just didn’t need to rub my face in it.Dick.

Heading down the stairs to the lower club, I steeled myself for the night ahead. Business wasn’t going to wait for me to catch up. Control was my currency, and I controlled everything in the empire I had built.

I grew up in Gracemont, but I left when I was seventeen. I didn’t graduate from high school because I was uninterested in what was taught there. I got my education on the streets, and I got a better offer than clocking in daily to a school that held no appeal for me. My dad left my mom, moved to New York, and took me with him for one reason only; he knew I was making money as a street fighter. He also knew I was good because I always kept a cool head.

I knew when to win and when to take a dive. Illegal fighting didn’t give a shit if you bet on yourself. I always bet on myself, win or lose. When I knew I was to lose the fight, I made sure I didn’t place the bet. They might not care, but they also didn’t want to be insulted. I was careful.

Everything was a game.

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