Page 99 of Her Ruin

“Like you were when you were willing to sell yourself for your next hit?” It was a low blow. Really fucking low, but my anger was barely contained.

Rye glared at me. He hated being reminded of how weak he had been when he was craving his next hit. “For that jumped-up, pretentious prick, you bring me that low?” He pushed himself out of his chair. “Fuck you.” He turned away from me. “Fuckyou, you fucking prick.”

“Rye.”

“I said fuck off, Zayn.”

“Rye!”

He turned at the cold command in my voice. I gestured to the screens. “Lock your shit down. We’ve got SWAT in Elixir.”

Rye gaped at the screens and then burst into action. Our office was wiped. The laptop was set in its hidden panel. The backup footage of the clubs was offloaded and untraceable.

It took five minutes, and then both of us opened the door to the armed officer who was pointing a gun at our faces.

“Well, that never gets old,” Rye said with a grin as he looked the officer up and down. “You lost?”

“We have a warrant to search the premises.”

“Of course, you do,” I said, leaning against the door. “Turn around, Officer, we’ll follow you down.” He hesitated, and I motioned to the stairs. “They’re quite narrow,” I carried on. “Promise not to push you. Rye?”

“No promises from me.”

I grinned. Crazy bastard.

We ended up going back into the office, then we left again, and the officer followed us down. Ridiculous, but we complied. In Elixir, the club was lit up at its brightest, and despite the sound of protest, Rye swiped a bottle of Scotch and two glasses, and we sat our asses down and drank as the police raided my club.

Detective Mick the Prick sauntered over to us sometime later. We were playing snap. I have no fucking clue where Rye produced the cards from, but it was fun and made the officers set to watch us confused but relaxed.

“Mick, I thought you’d be here.” I took a drink, not looking up from the cards.

“I wish I could say it was good to see you,” Mick said, swiping the cards off the table, and Rye turned to glare at him. “Last time I saw you, McCabe, you looked more like the scum you are.”

“Inflammatory,” I murmured. “Last time I saw you, I was sure you’d have died of that cancer eating your liver.” I ran my gaze over him slowly. “Jaundice is not a good look on you.”

He grinned, and I saw the hate in his eyes. “We have a warrant to search it all.”

“No point in only searching half.”

“Are you resisting arrest?”

I sipped my Scotch. “Am I being arrested? For what? Losing at snap?”

“You’re a drug dealer.”

“Nope. Too cliché.”

“You’re a sex trafficker.”

I grinned. “Nah, sounds like a lot of congestion.”

“You’re a murderer.”

“Meh, who doesn’t like a good steak? Unless it’s vegans, like you.”

He leaned forward. “You are a lying piece of shit.”

I leaned into his space. “Takes one to know one.”

---