Chapter 27

Greyson

The briefcase with the money was on the floor between my knees as Meek drove. The radio was off, and the only sound was the hum of the tires on the asphalt. Meek looked over at me every now and then, and I knew there was something he wanted to say. I hadn’t spoken a word since getting in the car. I had simply handed him my phone with the text message with the drop off address, and Meek had pulled out of my driveway to get me there.

Finally, Meek spoke. He chose his words carefully. He seemed worried that one wrong thing might set me off. He was probably wise to think so. I was furious. I was also terrified. My whole body felt like it was ready to snap into action at any moment. The adrenaline pumping through me was maddening.

“I still don’t think going in there on your own is the smartest call. There’s no way to send for help if something goes wrong.”

I looked over at my friend. His forehead was creased with worry, and beads of sweat were forming at his hairline. “I know, but it’s the only option I have. I can’t play games with these guys, Meek. They just want their money.”

“They want whatever they can take, boss.”

I agreed with his statement. They could take anything and everything they wanted. Just not Skylar. She was off limits.

The address that had been texted to me directed us outside a massive, gated property. Meek pulled the car up to the gate and put it in park. “I guess this is where I’ll wait.”

“Yeah,” I said, shooting him a glance that I hoped looked more confident than I felt. “Thanks, Meek. Everything will be fine. Just stay here. If I’m not back in half an hour, call the cops, but don’t come inside. Got it? The casino is yours if shit goes sideways in there.”

Meek blinked at me.

“We’re family, right?” I said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He gave me a small nod. “Family. Now go get your girl.”

I got out of the car, grabbed the briefcase, and walked to the gate while feeling Meek’s eyes burning holes in my back. I paused when I was in front of a camera. A number pad was beneath it. I pressed the button that said “enter” and stared up at the camera.

“You have the money?” a tinny voice asked through a speaker on the number pad.

I lifted up the briefcase for whoever was watching me on the monitor to get a better look.

There was a loud buzzing sound, and then the gates slowly opened. I walked through them without looking back at Meek. I made my way up a driveway with a steep incline until I reached the top of the property.

A massive white mansion stood surrounded by palm trees. It looked more like it belonged in California, with dark-framed windows and a Spanish feel to it. I admired the architecture for a moment before I spotted the two goons in suits waiting for me at the front door.

One of them, the tallest, opened the door and stepped aside to let me inside. “Mr. Kline,” he said, before dipping his head and closing the door behind me.

I found myself standing in a grand foyer with shiny white marble floors. Above my head, three stories up, hung a glittering crystal chandelier that caught the light of the sun coming in through all the windows. Bright columns of light bounced around on the ceiling. It was a magnificent place.

Someone cleared their throat nearby, and I tore my eyes from the spectacle above my head.

Luccio Bravo was coming down a long hallway to meet me. He was flanked by four of his men. All wore ear pieces and matching black suits. Their hair was cut in the same buzz cut style, making them look more military than mob.

Luccio was wearing a white suit. It wasn’t as form-fitting as the black pinstripe one he had been wearing the last time we met. His blonde hair was slicked back, as per his usual style, and several gold rings winked on his fingers. This was the mobster version of himself. The version that lay dormant during the day in Las Vegas.

“Mr. Kline,” Luccio said. “I am pleased to see that you have come to your senses. I do apologize that it came down to this, but you see, a man must do what he must do. Now, give me my money.”

One of his guards stepped around him and approached me. I handed him the briefcase. The guard opened it up and presented it to Luccio, who picked up one of the bundles of cash and tossed it in his hand. “I’m impressed by your resourcefulness. Not many people could make this kind of money appear so quickly. And in cash. Nicely done.”

“Where is she?” I asked, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. I failed.

Luccio arched an eyebrow. “It’s a little early for you to be making demands.”

“I brought you the money. I’ve played my part. Now let them go.”

Luccio laughed at me. He doubled over and slapped his knees. His men all looked at one another to decide what the proper course of action was. Soon, all of them were laughing and jeering at me. It only added to my fury. They were toying with me.

“Oh my, Greyson, you seriously underestimated me, didn’t you?” Luccio asked, walking slowly across his pristine marble floors toward me. “Did you think it would be that easy? After everything you put me through to get you here, you think I would just, what, let you go?”

“I was hoping you would keep your word,” I said evenly.

Luccio cracked a wicked grin. His gold tooth flashed. “Hope is a strange thing to depend on. Men like us,” he gestured back and forth between our chests, “are above such petty things. If we want it, we take it. There is no place for hope here.”

Meek’s words were ringing in my ears. “They want whatever they can take, boss.”

So fucking be it.

I stepped in close to the mob boss’s son. Luccio held his ground, but his guards all stiffened around us. He was taller than me by a few inches, but I held his gaze. “You and I are nothing alike. You are beneath me and always will be. Do you think you’ve managed to intimidate me? You think I’m afraid of you? I’m only here because you made this personal. You had to scrounge up a backup plan to get me here. You’re a joke.”

Luccio’s eyes narrowed. “You think so?”

I didn’t answer him. I stayed where I was, ready for whatever came next. If it was going to get violent, then so be it. I wasn’t going to back down from him. I had learned a thing or two from Meek. I never thought I would be using them against a mobster, but the time for wonderment had passed. I was in this now, and Skylar needed me.

“Hold him,” Luccio commanded.

All at once, the foyer exploded with sound. Luccio’s guards rushed me, and an angry yell reverberated up to the ceiling. It took a moment for me to realize the sound had come from my mouth.

As Luccio tried to back away so his men could grab me, I seized a fistful of his jacket and yanked him toward me. He slid across the marble floor to me. I wound back with my right fist and landed a hit right across his jaw. I let him go as soon as my knuckles made impact, and he fell sideways across the floor where he lay perfectly still for a solid five seconds before he looked up in a daze.

By then, his men were on me.

I lost it. Luccio was stumbling to his feet as I ducked out of the swipe of one of his guards. I went in low and landed two punches in the man’s gut before one of the other men kicked me in the back of the legs.

I landed heavily on my knees. Sharp pain jolted up my legs as the men rushed me again. Two got hold of my arms and pinned them behind my back. I struggled to break free and was very aware of the fact that things were about to take a very bad turn for me. I was on my knees in front of a mob boss that I had just sucker punched. It probably couldn’t have gotten any worse.

Luccio was on his feet and had removed his jacket. He handed it to one of his guards, who draped it over his thick arm and watched me with amused eyes. Luccio wiped blood from the cut on his lip. He must have bitten through it when my fist collided with his face. Then he proceeded to slowly roll up the sleeves of his shirt.

“You know,” Luccio said. “For some bizarre fucking reason, I kind of like you. I can’t predict what move you’re going to make. It’s exciting. Men don’t usually take risks like that with me. Usually, they just keep their heads down and do as they’re told. But you? You keep it interesting, Greyson. Very interesting.”

The guard holding my right arm clutched a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back.

“But liking you isn’t enough of a reason not to punish you. And I must say, I’m really going to enjoy this. It will be so much more fun than spending your money.”

I watched as he removed his rings. He took his time about it and made a show of dropping each one into the open palm of the guard who held his jacket. Each ring jingled against the others when it landed.

Finally, his hands were free of jewelry. He turned to me and looked up at the men holding my arms. “Don’t let him go,” Luccio ordered. “And let’s try to enjoy ourselves, shall we, gentlemen? It’s been a while.”

I gritted my teeth and braced myself for what was about to happen. Movie scenes of bloodied men being left in dark alleys after being pulverized by criminals raced through my mind.

Luccio wound his clenched fist back.

His first hit slammed into my ribs and drove all the air from my lungs. I was winded when he hit me again, right in the gut this time. Had I not been held up by his goons, I would have pitched forward on the marble.

As I tried to suck in a breath, his fist hammered into me again. I gasped for air but refused to show him the pain I was in. I clenched my jaw and waited for his next strike. The guard holding my hair craned my head back farther.

Luccio was laughing. The sound of it echoed all around us. Then his eyes met mine. His fist was in the air. He leaned into the punch, putting as much power behind it as he could.

His knuckles cracked against my cheekbone. He let out a bellow of pain as the guards gathered me back up. I shook my head, ears ringing, head pounding. Everything still felt off balance, despite being held up on my knees. The one guard had released my hair and was asking Luccio if he was all right.

“Of course, I’m not all right!” Luccio shrieked. “He just broke my fucking hand!”

“Well, sir, you broke your hand on his—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Luccio barked, cradling the hand that had apparently broken when he struck me. I assumed he might have a broken knuckle or two.

I leaned over and spat blood on his white marble floors. Luccio glared at me.

“Come on,” I said, my mouth filling with blood again. “Is that all you’ve got?” I spat more red saliva on the marble, and with it came one of my molars from my top row of teeth. I ran my tongue over them to discover which one was missing. This would be fun to explain to my dentist.

“Bruno,” Luccio practically screamed, pointing at the man holding his jacket and rings. “Do your worst.”

Bruno put all of Luccio’s things down in a neat little pile. Then he came and stood before me. “Nothing personal,” he grumbled in a low voice. “Just business.”

I jerked at the hands pinning my arms behind my back. They tightened their grips to hold me in place. I glared up at the man called Bruno as he slipped a hand in his pocket. When his hand appeared again, he was wearing a set of brass knuckles.

The front door opened.

All of us froze and turned to look at the man walking inside. He was older, maybe in his sixties, and walked with a sense of purpose that told me he was important.

The men surrounding me all bowed their heads, all save Luccio, whose lips peeled off his teeth in a snarl as the man came to stand in front of me. I found myself staring at his back. He was wearing a cream-colored suit, just like Luccio, but his was not speckled in blood.

“Luccio,” the man said. “You and your boys will meet me in the dining room.” He turned back to face me. “I am terribly sorry about all of this, Mr. Kline. You have my sincerest apologies. Release him, you buffoons.” He gestured at the men still binding my arms behind my back.

They released me, and I swayed on my knees for a moment.

Luccio took a step forward. “This is my business to handle,” he said. “He owed me a large sum of money and refused to pay it. I had to take matters into my own hands. He knew what would happen if—”

“Silence,” the older man said, raising his hand. “I said you will meet me in the dining room. Wait there for me.”

Luccio shot me a dark look around the man in front of me. I spat more blood on his floors. Luccio snarled as he turned and walked away down the hall he had come from, his men following close behind.

The older gentleman turned back to me as I was getting to my feet. He watched me wipe blood from my mouth and cheek, and then looked to the open briefcase of money lying open on the floor.

“Your money is still yours,” he said. “Luccio is my son. He does business in a most unprofessional manner. I am sorry you were dragged into this. You don’t, by chance, happen to remember me, do you?”

“Remember you?” I asked, wincing against the pain in my ribs. “No, but I know who you are. Don Bravo, right?”

The man chuckled and nodded. “Yes, that is me. We have met before, Greyson. You were just a boy then, but I remember you. I helped your father open his casino back in the day. A good man, your father. Wanted the world for you. He’d be proud to see you now. Quite proud. Much prouder than a man whose son had just beaten an undeserving business owner who had no way of defending himself,” Don Bravo added under his breath.

“I’m not going to disagree with you,” I said. “Your son is an asshole.”

Don Bravo chuckled again. “He is, isn’t he?” The mob boss of the Las Vegas criminal underworld took my arm and led me across the foyer to a plain door with iron fittings. “Please do not worry yourself over Luccio anymore. I will be handling him. Your business is safe. Neither me nor my men will ever show our faces on your property again, if you so wish.”

“I’m not opposed to you paying me a visit if you want,” I said, meaning it. “You can gamble for free for all I care for saving my neck.”

Don Bravo patted my shoulder. “I am just sorry I could not be here sooner. Much to do when you are me, I’m afraid.” He pushed a key into my hands. “Third door on the right, son. Get yourself out of here. It will not be a pleasant place to be much longer.”

I took the key from Don Bravo and opened the door to descend a set of winding stairs into the basement of the mansion. My knees were throbbing, my ribs ached, and overall, it felt like I had just been hit by a car. But I was alive, and I was about to get the hell out of this place.