Nash had expected the number of handlers waiting for him at the security checkpoint outside Phillip’s warehouse. What he hadn’t expected, however, was for the doors to be open and an escort waiting for him in a Hummer. He slowed his borrowed Harley down at the sight of two bulky assholes in the front seats, different from the men who’d taken him downtown today—they were probably dead, considering they’d let him escape.
He brought the bike to a stop nearby, set one foot down to stabilize himself, and then raised his visor. Once he and the driver had locked eyes, he was waved onward. When the Hummer pulled out in front of them, he popped his visor back down with a sigh and followed them deeper into the gated complex. Various abandoned cars sat scattered around him, with the warehouse in the middle of it all, no lights to speak of. The Hummer headed for a two-door garage, and even though a sinking feeling took hold of him the second he started to follow, Nash did so anyway, knowing he had to do what he had to do.
And that was why when he was jumped by two guys, not the ones driving the Hummer, as soon as he turned off Micky’s bike, Nash just let it happen. He let them take the drugs, putting up a believable amount of fight until he let them subdue him. It wasn’t as if they were chumps or anything; they’d taken advantage of his distraction with the bike to get the upperhand, and if Nash wanted to fend them off, he would have had to fight like hell to do so against both of them.
What he didn’t appreciate was the hood. A cloth bag was thrown over his head the second one of those jokers got his hands behind his back, and he was led roughly out of the garage to somewhere he didn’t know. The air was different. The sounds were different. They were inside suddenly, but not the warehouse. No, the warehouse made him feel empty. Even with the hood covering his face, Nash felt confined suddenly, like there wasn’t enough air for everyone in the room.
“Mr. Reeves,” Phillip Crest’s voice sounded suddenly, breaking the tension like a pin popping a balloon. “I was beginning to think I’d have to hire a hit on a person I very much like.”
Someone yanked the hood off and shoved him into a hard wooden chair. Nash found himself facing a desk, behind which sat the man of the hour. As he’d suspected, they were in a small office cluttered with papers and books and rifle parts and bags of white powder. Not exactly the most organized crime boss Nash had ever seen.
“And by someone you very much like, you mean Eliza?” he asked gruffly, feeling his blood starting to boil just at the thought. When Phillip nodded, he did his best to give no reaction, knowing that she was completely and utterly safe for now. “Well, maybe you just shouldn’t kill her.”
“But you were misbehaving,” Phillip crooned, leaning his elbows on his desk, totally ignoring the grunt who deposited Nash’s grocery bag of drugs beside him. “You slipped your leash and went for a walk. Bad dog, Mr. Reeves. Bad dog.”
“I just needed to make sure Eliza’s dad was okay,” he insisted, shifting in his chair. They hadn’t tied his hands this time. That was a mistake. “She’d never forgive me if I didn’t.”
“That’s presumptuous of you.”
“It was presumptuous of you to tell me you had her when you didn’t,” Nash countered with a raised eyebrow. Phillip studied him for a long moment, then chuckled.
“I suppose we should have added a tighter chain,” the man said, sighing. He then leaned forward and met Nash’s eye, holding the stare unflinchingly. “Just know that wherever you put her I can get her. She isn’t untouchable, even if you stored her at that pathetic Steel Phoenix bar you all own. If you fuck with me again, I’ll splatter her brains on the wall of her bedroom and blame it on you.” When he didn’t respond right away, Phillip leaned back in his high-backed leather chair and remarked, “Do you understand the gravity of that promise, Mr. Reeves?”
“I’m not an idiot,” Nash bit out, and Phillip laughed.
“That’s still to be determined.”
Nash’s teeth dug into the meaty inner part of his cheeks, but he said nothing, not wanting to be dragged into a ridiculous game of cat and mouse here. Phillip liked to hear the sound of his own voice—and Nash wasn’t up for playing today.
“Any trouble finding the place?” Phillip asked after a lengthy pause had settled. Nash shrugged. “Anyone follow you?”
Flashing red and blue lights danced across his mind, but he shook them off. “Nope.”
“Well, I can’t exactly say that I trust you, but for the sake of our conversation’s progress, let’s just say your answer satisfies me.”
“Great.”
They stared at one another again, two combatants ready to pull the trigger at any moment. Behind him, Phillip’s goons shifted uneasily.
“Let’s get things moving then,” Phillip mused, sitting up a little straighter and clapping his hands together. “Let’s see what you brought me, shall we?”
He set the grocery bag in front of him, then nodded to it when Nash shifted in his seat.
“What? You want me to whip it out?” Nash asked. His question was met with amused silence, and he stood with a heavy sigh to dig into the bag. Moments later each bag of laced cocaine was set out before Phillip, and he took the cloth grocery bag away and tossed it behind him. “Satisfied?”
“This doesn’t seem like the amount I asked for,” Phillip told him after a moment, “but I guess it’ll do for now.”
“Great, guess I’m done here—”
“Sit,” Phillip ordered, and his goons physically blocked Nash’s path to the office door. Rolling his eyes, Nash did as he was told, discreetly shuffling his chair a little closer in the process.
“Look, I don’t know what else you want from me, but—”
“Relax, Mr. Reeves…” Phillip grabbed the nearest bag to him and opened it. “I just want to make sure this is as good as the last stuff you brought me. After all, you were gone a very long time today.”
“It’s from the same supply,” Nash insisted, his hands curling into fists. Phillip gave some kind of grunting noise in acknowledgement, then cleared off a space on his desk to set out a line of white powder. The room descended into an uneasy quiet, the only sounds coming from Phillip as he snorted up one line, then another, then a third. When he was done, he all but fell back in his chair and gave a cry of ecstasy.
“That,” he growled, as he wiped under his nose, his pupils probably the size of quarters, “is some excellent cocaine, Mr. Reeves. You Phoenixes really do have an in on all the top-brand shit in this town.”
“We’ve been doin’ it a long time,” Nash mused. “We know how this business runs. You know, where to find the best shit in town. Hell, probably in the state.”
“I think that’s a little…” Phillip trailed off and let out a relaxed sigh. “That’s a bit of bragging, Mr. Reeves. No one likes a man who brags.”
“I guess no one gives a shit about you then, right?” Nash asked, mouth curving into a smirk when Phillip’s eyes snapped open and glared at him. “Besides, it’s not bragging if it’s the truth. The Steel Phoenixes are on the top of their game here. They know what they’re doing every step of the way.”
Phillip gave a great braying bout of laughter before saying, “Not when I started killing them.”
“Yeah, that tripped us up a little,” Nash agreed. “I mean, it took me months to even catch wind of you. Hell, you had me stuck on the dean for a long time. I gotta give credit where credit is due.”
The compliment seemed to pacify him. “That you do.”
“But see, the thing about being the most established gang in the area, the one that knows where to get all the best shit, is that we also know what to do when assholes like you try to muscle us out.”
“I didn’t muscle you out,” Phillip hissed, sitting up and leaning forward across his desk, high as a kite. He should have been wired, but the sedatives were probably starting to kick in. “I fucking annihilated you. I bested you. I slaughtered all your little worms, squashed them into the wet pavement after the storm, and I won’t stop. This city will be mine before the month is out.”
Nash watched the man blink hard, as if finally realizing this wasn’t the high he was used to. All he needed to do was keep him talking a little longer—until the sedatives knocked him straight out.
“Is that so? Care to tell me how you plan to eliminate a Blackwoods institution like the Steel Phoenixes?”
“No,” Phillip snapped, this time sounding a little more sluggish. “Why the fuck would I… Why would I… You don’t get to…”
“You okay, boss?” one of the goons asked, as Phillip placed a hand to his forehead. “You need some water or something?”
“Maybe a pillow,” Nash suggested, “because when the tranqs kick in, his head is going to hit that desk hard.”
Nash acted in the stunned silence that followed. Lunging forward, he nailed Phillip Crest as hard as he could in the face with his fist, knocking him back into that fucking pretentious high-backed chair, his eyes rolling back in his head. The hit felt good, but there wasn’t much time to bask in the glory, not when he was about to be jumped by two muscled goons.
“I’m wearing a wire,” he shouted as they descended upon him, Phillip only barely conscious. “I’m wearing a wire that the police just attached to me on my way here. They pulled me over and instead of giving them the drugs, I’m giving them you, Crest…”