Not having the patience to chase the fucker down, I lunge over the desk, planting my foot in his chest. He staggers back against the wall, his arms splaying wide as he tries to regain his balance. Thinking of the girls the fucker has used as if they’re nothing, I throw the first punch, the crack of his nose offering me zero satisfaction.
I couldn’t give two shits about the money, but knowing I can’t return without it, I growl, “You’ll pay right now, or I’ll kill you.”
The fucker tries to give me another pleading look. Grabbing hold of his bleached stained shirt, my fist connects twice more with his face before I give him a look filled with warning. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
I wait three seconds, then pull back my arm, and it has him squealing, “Left drawer! Left drawer!”
Shoving him hard against the wall, I stalk to the drawer, and opening it, I find a cash box. “The fucking key.”
He scrambles to retrieve it from his pocket, holding it to me with a trembling hand. Ripping it from his grip, I unlock the box and take all the cash from it.
“I only owe two thousand, four hundred,” he starts to protest.
Judging by the stack of dollar bills, it’s easily over five thousand. “Consider the rest interest.” When he opens his mouth to protest, I shove him up against the wall and deliver a brutal punch to his side that has him crumbling like a sack of shit the moment I pull back. “Don’t fucking show your face again at the parlor.”
Stalking out of the office, I shove the cash into my pocket, feeling a glimmer of relief that I at least got to beat up one of the fuckers raping the girls.
But the relief isn’t nearly enough to make a dent in the guilt.
When I climb into the car, Joseph glances up from the back seat. I pull the cash from my pocket and hand it to him.
“You kill him?” he asks.
Not even bothering to hide my emotions, I grumble, “No.”
Joseph counts the money then lets out a satisfied chuckle. “I knew you wouldn’t fail me.”
Starting the car, I ask, “Where to?”
“Jezebel’s. I want to rub the money in John’s face and celebrate.”
As I drive us to Berisha’s club, it’s quiet for a couple of minutes before Joseph says, “You’ll have two more tests before you become a made man.”
“What tests?” Fucking tell me so I can prepare myself for them.
“You’ll have to kill. You got that in you?”
Fuck. I knew it was a possibility but hoped it wouldn’t come to that. “Depends on who,” I mutter.
“Don’t worry. Whoever it is will deserve it,” Joseph chuckles as I park the car at the side of the club.
After climbing out of the vehicle, I ask, “And the third test?”
Joseph shakes his head. “Zef decides that one right before you get to meet the boss.”
Pretending to look curious, I ask, “Who’s Zef? And the boss?”
Joseph pats me on the back while we walk into the club. “I’ll tell you after you pass the second test.”
The moment Joseph lays eyes on John Berisha, he starts to laugh. Pulling the cash out, he slams it against Berisha’s chest. “Danny fucking over-delivered. Now you back off.”
Berisha checks the amount I got, then gives me a lazy grin. “Not bad. From now on, you collect outstanding debts.”
My eyes dart to Joseph, who gives me a proud grin, then he jokes, “You’re still going to drive me around. Don’t think the promotion gets you out of that.”
Letting out a chuckle, I mutter, “Of course, but this promotion better come with a raise.”
Berisha counts a thousand off then holds it out to me. I don’t hesitate taking the cash and shove it into my pocket.
Joseph gestures to the bar. “What do you want?”
“A beer.”
Letting out a snort, I’m given an incredulous look. “We’re celebrating, Danny.”
“Fine, whiskey then.”
We all take a seat at the bar, and the conversation starts to revolve around the club before it takes a dark turn to the massage parlors and brothels, making my guilt rear up. The drinks keep coming, and soon the sharp edge of guilt dulls.
At some point, I stop taking mental notes of what’s being said and drink to silence the heaviness swirling in my gut.
Chapter 13
JJ
It’s the middle of the night when I’m woken by a thumping at the door. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I throw the covers back and stumble through the dark apartment. I fumble with the lock, and when I open the door, O’Brien staggers into me.
Fear wakes me up like a lightning bolt, thinking he got hurt, but before I can try to switch on the light or say something, an incredible waft of alcohol almost knocks my breath away.
He’s drunk?