Page 11 of Vengeful King

So tonight, I focus on the club. I do my rounds and check up on shit; I’m the one that has to take care of things here. It’s my place, mostly, and I’m in charge of making sure the business is run right. It’s my job. So I do it, and I do it well.

Chris is at the bar, working his usual shuffle. He’s been here since my parents were here; he’s about forty, but he looks barely thirty. He’s in shape, a mafia man by blood. He’s survived tragedy and horror for a few generations. Now, he works for me. Like he did for my father.

“How is it?” he asks, flipping a bottle in hand, not even looking up.

“Business as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. And you?”

“Same. But the night is young.” He winks, then slides a glass down the bar toward a man sitting at the far end. “If it isn’t busy, perhaps it’s a good time to take a rest, no?”

I appreciate Chris’s attention. I know he cares about me and my brothers; he’s known us since we were young. But I’m not going to show how worn down I am right now. I’m the boss. I have a reputation to uphold.

I shrug. “The night is young. Like you said.”

“Well. Tell me if it’s the usual, right?”

I nod. I don’t usually drink when I work, but it’s starting to sound like a good idea.

The club seems quiet tonight—or as quiet as it gets. I see familiar faces, business associates and family. Nothing is different.

Except for one thing.

I realize it when my eyes land on the hallway at the back, the place I came from when I started doing my rounds. It’s the entrance to the offices, where Adams is posted to keep the drunkest patrons from wandering back.

There’s a woman with him.

I can tell they’re arguing. I can also tell she isn’t drunk; her posture is perfect, poised. Or maybe she just holds her booze well. You can never tell from this far.

I make my way toward them. I’m not excited about breaking something up this early in the night, but hopefully she’s just lost. Hopefully she won’t cause a scene. That’s the last thing I need right now. I don’t have the patience.

When I arrive, I step up beside her shoulder, hands in my pockets.

“Is there a problem here?” I ask.

The woman turns to look at me; her eyes widen when she sees my face. I’m used to that reaction from women and men alike. I know what kind of man I seem like. I know when she sees me, she can hear the unspoken words:fuck with me and I’ll kill you.

It’s unintentional. I resort to killing as a last option; I believe my family is smarter than that; I’m smarter than that. You can’t blackmail a dead man.

But it helps to be feared. Most of the time.

Adams shakes his head. “I was keeping this woman from entering the restricted area.”

“I want to be a dancer,” the woman blurts, before I can say anything. Her voice doesn’t shake. She says it matter-of-factly. Confidently. “That’s why I’m here.”

I frown. I’m not in the habit of letting random women apply for work here, but she’s got the body for it, and she’s clearly bold. Besides, we just had to fire a woman Connor once fucked, a woman who caused a scene. There’s an opening for someone new.

“Stick around until the end of the night,” I finally say. “I’ll audition you then.”

She nods once. She seems almost dazed, as if she didn’t expect a yes. But it’s not like it’s ayes,yet. I’m about to turn away when she finally opens her mouth to speak again.

“Thank you. I’m Kate. Winters.”

I pause. It’s interestingly forward of her to say anything else to me. Maybe she doesn’t know who I am.

“Lachlan O’Reilly,” I say.

She nods. So she does know who I am; I just confirmed it for her. Interesting.

I leave her there, giving Adams a sharp nod. I appreciate him being thorough, and I’m glad I had a chance to meet this Kate Winters. First impressions are important to me, and she seems to have a handle on her shit. At least at first glance.

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