Tibbs glanced at me over his shoulder, tossing me completely under the bus on yet another subject I didn’t want to talk about.
Mack’s ex-wife, Melinda, was a psychopath. Crazy beautiful with the kind of vibe that would make you want to cup your balls whenever she was around. And, because Presley hadn’t been my only lapse in judgment last night, I’d had the fucking displeasure of talking to Melinda at the bar when we’d all been hanging out at Diablo. Who knew heading to Presley’s club would have turned into such a shitshow. Still, even with the facetime I’d endured with Mack’s crazy ex, couldn’t say I’d regretted it.
“Spill it. What did she say? And don’t try and tell me it was nothing because you’re terrible liars.”
“So, I saw her at the bar,” I admitted, figuring one lie was hard enough to keep. “I swear I didn’t say anything, but she walked up all the same and offered to buy me a drink.”
“And . . .?” Mack waved his hand, urging me to continue.
I blew out a breath. “And . . . to suck my dick.”
See, complete and utter psycho because there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d put my dick anywhere near her mouth. Even if I didn’t have a hard-on for Presley. Fuck, she’d been looking at me the entire time too. Her eyebrow arched as she smirked, waiting to see how I’d answer. And not that I’d ever admit that to Mack, but it had been kind of hot. Presley, I mean, not Melinda who was clearly a tragedy I wanted no part of.
“Chief, I told her I wasn’t interested. And I’d never—like ever—go there. But before she left, she told me to give you a message. And either you call her back and give her what she wanted, or she was going to make your life a living hell.”
He shook his head, giving us not much else other than, “I’ll take care of it.”
“So, what does she want?” I pressed him a little more, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Nothing she can get from me.”
Mack wasn’t talkative at the best of times and made it clear the topic of Melinda was closed. And considering I had a subject of my own I didn’t want to discuss, I had to respect the guy.
Jesus.
What the hell was with Presley anyway? Telling me to take my apology and good intentions and shove them up my ass. And that fucking crack about my mother? I was both angry as hell and irrationally turned on.
I’d been so lost in my crazy internal tug-of-war, I hadn’t even noticed when we’d pulled up to the apartment I shared with Tibbs in Hell’s Kitchen. Because in addition to him being my best friend, he was also my roommate. Which would make it easier for him to kill me in my sleep when he found out what I’d done with his sister.
Yep.
That would be fun.
Deciding texting her wouldn’t be enough, I grunted goodbye to Mack, getting out of his truck and fisting my keys.
“Where are you going?” Mack eyed me suspiciously.
Shit.
“I’m not looking for him, I swear, Chief. Just want to go kill some time or something.” I shrugged nonchalantly, not wanting to complicate things. Easier to omit the truth than to out-and-out lie, and I wasn’t saying shit until I’d spoken to Presley.
“You going too?” he asked Tibbs, the excuse he couldn’t come, ready in my throat
Wasn’t the kind of thing I wanted to do with an audience, least of all her brother.
“Nah, I’m going to call it an early night. That six a.m. alarm sucks balls.” Tibbs waved goodbye, the sigh of relief coming out fast. “And if you bring anyone home tonight, try and keep it down.”
Yeah, there was no danger of that.
I nodded, waving them both goodbye as I got into my car. The Mustang roared to life as I tossed my phone on the passenger seat—the offending message still fucking displayed on the screen—and pulled away.
Presley didn’t get off work until two, sometimes three, which meant I knew exactly where to find her. And while she could totally blow me off, I wasn’t going to let it slide like I had those choice words she’d texted me.
I’d been a decent guy for fuck’s sake, why the hell was she fighting me on this?
Diablo was in Midtown, so it would have been faster to walk there than take my car. But other than the questions it would have raised had I gone for an evening stroll, I liked the idea of having my wheels so I could drive her home. Sure, she’d told her brother she was going to be hitching a ride with someone else, but I had a hunch our conversation wasn’t going to be a three-minute chat at the bar. Probably best we had it in private, even if that meant I was going to be tired as fuck for my shift tomorrow. Still, sometimes that shit couldn’t be helped.
The employee parking lot was around the back, my Mustang pulling in alongside the cars of Presley’s various staff. She didn’t own the club, but she might as well have. The owner was some big high roller from Hong Kong who pretty much gave her the keys and told her to have at it. Not that the dude hadn’t made back his investment and then some, Diablo turning into one of the hottest clubs in the city under Presley’s control. And regardless of how beautiful she was, there wasn’t a person alive who could deny she was one hell of a businesswoman.
The noise spilling out into the parking lot was minimal, the thick walls containing both the music and whatever else was going on inside the club. And had I not been fairly familiar with Diablo and its layout, I might have totally missed the small side entrance the staff used.
My hand yanked on the door, pulling it open to be hit with a wall of sound. The entrance was obscured by a partition, hiding it from the general public and giving me a minute to adjust before being assaulted with the rest of the activity from the club. Not that it mattered, I hadn’t even made it two feet before some asshole grabbed me by the shirt.
“Hey, it’s me, Leighton.” I raised my hands, recognizing it was one of Presley’s security goons. They weren’t so much as a crew as they were a small army, all of them close to seven foot and made linebackers look like they needed to hit a gym. “I just parked out back.”
He brought his face in closer, checking me out before releasing the grip on my shirt. “Should have come in the front. You were ten seconds away from getting put through a wall.”
Yeah, no shit.
“Noted. I’ll remember for next time.” I straightened my shirt, wondering if the guy wouldn’t be in a better mood if he laid off the steroids. “Presley around?”
“She is. Wait at the bar.” He pointed to it, in case I was blind or stupid and couldn’t locate it myself.
“I’ll just go to her office.” I tipped my head to the opposite direction. Assuming if she wasn’t on the floor, she was at her desk. And I’d found my way in there with Tibbs at least a dozen times. Probably for the best if she was there too, the conversation we needed to have, not for public consumption.
He shook his head, taking a step closer and folding his arms across his chest. “I said, you’ll wait at the bar.”
And as much as I wanted nothing more than to prove to the asshole that I wasn’t some dumbass who couldn’t handle himself in a fight, I hadn’t come to Diablo to cause a scene. Not to mention that if one of the staff called in the brawl, I’d have NYPD crawling up my ass and have a lot of explaining to do. Best to avoid that, at least in the short term.