Worth Fighting For (Fighting to Be Free 2)

As we walked down the stairs, the music grew louder. Once in the club I looked around, taking in all the crowds of people. Carl, one of the security guys who stood at the bottom of my office stairwell and stopped people from going upstairs, dipped his head in greeting. “Boss.”

I stepped closer to him, motioning with my chin toward a table over on the other side of the club, barely visible through the hordes of people around me who were all having a good time and spending their hard-earned cash. The table was at the opposite end of the club from the DJ and the five-foot speakers that were mounted on the stage. It was currently occupied by six women sharing a bottle of the cheap house white.

“Carl, get that table empty for me, will ya? Give them a couple of bottles of champagne for their trouble,” I instructed. There were other tables free, but that one would be the best option—quieter, off to the side, but still within the thick of the club so Mateo would keep himself in check.

“Sure thing.”

“There’ll be some other security up in here in a bit. I have a meeting, so you just hang back and keep your eye on the crowds as usual. All right?” I instructed. Carl was just security, hired because of his massive stature, someone to prevent trouble in the clubs.

I watched him walk over to the table, flashing his best smile as he declared that the ladies needed to vacate the table because Mr. Cole himself needed it. I didn’t hang around any longer, but wove my way through the throng of people, skirting the edge of the dance floor, saying hello to anyone I recognized, politely refusing a couple of drink offers from regular customers who I should know by name, but didn’t.

“Want me to sit in on the meeting?” Ed offered, coming to my side when I finally made it to the coatroom.

I shook my head. “Dodger and I can handle it.”

I didn’t miss the disappointed twitch to his eye or how his jaw clenched. Ed hated that I didn’t let him get too involved in the organization; I was pretty sure he resented me for taking over Brett’s crew and bumping him way down the ranks. He was old enough to be my father, after all. It probably irked him to no end to have a boss almost half his age telling him what to do and demoting him. Too fucking bad.

His mouth opened, probably to protest and tell me again how useful he could be and that he’d like to be more involved in things, but that was when the door opened and the Salazar brothers, along with three of their crew, sauntered in.

Alberto entered first—tall, lean, and confident—striding toward me with his hand outstretched. I raised one eyebrow and looked down at his hand incredulously, then back up to his face, not bothering to reciprocate the polite gesture. He’d been selling on my turf; I hadn’t summoned him for polite gestures. After a couple of seconds, he obviously came to that conclusion too and dropped his hand to his side.

“Kid Cole, nice to see you again,” he greeted me, his native Mexican accent thick in his words.

I didn’t answer, just looked past him at his brother. Mateo didn’t stand as tall as Alberto or have his build, but there was something about him, maybe the way he carried himself, that put me at unease. I had always been skilled at reading people, and my gut told me that Mateo would rather kill me than look at me. There was just something off about him. If it weren’t for his brother’s influence he probably would have disrespected our boundary agreement a long time ago.

Mateo’s brown eyes locked on mine, a hint of amusement dancing there; a black teardrop tattoo at the outer corner of his right eye was prominent against his olive skin, as was the large spider tattooed on the side of his neck. When he reached up and scratched at his jaw, I saw the thin black lines inked like tally marks on the side of his left pointer finger—his trigger finger. Rumor had it each line represented a murder he had committed. I counted two sets of five and one single line there. It seemed he’d been busy since the last time I saw him. There had been nine there a couple of months ago when he’d pointed that gun at me.

Mateo didn’t speak, his lip curled slightly with disrespect as I looked him over, assessing whether I would have problems with him today. He was slightly twitchy, as usual, a by-product of his heroin addiction no doubt, but he looked like he was in control of himself.

I turned my attention back to Alberto. “Did you have to bring that with you?” I asked, jerking my chin at Mateo, ignoring the snarl and the string of Spanish expletives that were thrown at me from his direction.

Alberto shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Can’t trust him to be left alone,” he joked. I snorted a laugh. At least we were both being honest. I didn’t like Alberto and the way he practiced his business or peddled his cheap product, but at least he was honorable and, usually, true to his word.

“No weapons allowed in the club. If you’re carrying, then you can leave them here and collect them on the way out,” I stated, waving one of my security guards forward.

Mateo frowned, his hand going to the weapon under his brown leather jacket, but Alberto nodded and instantly reached inside his own jacket, pulling out a black semiautomatic and placing it in the tray the security guard carried over. His crew followed suit, putting their weapons in the tray. Mateo still hadn’t made a move.

I raised one eyebrow, pulling back my shoulders, daring him to make the move his eyes were telling me he wanted to make.

Dodger stepped forward. “If you prefer, you can go play with your gun in the car while the big boys have their meeting,” he suggested, his tone condescending. I grinned over at him.

A couple of seconds passed before Alberto turned to his brother, uttering something in his native tongue that I didn’t understand. Mateo’s jaw twitched in anger, but he removed his ivory-handled pistol and matching knife, placing them on top of the other weapons, his eyes filled with longing as he watched the guard walk off with them into the security office.

“Perfect. Follow me, then.” I turned without waiting and walked back through the double doors and into the main area of the packed club, heading to the table I’d requested Carl clear.

The waitress, a slim girl with golden-tanned skin and raven-black hair, came over almost immediately, weaving through the crowd and silently setting a bottle of whiskey and four filled glasses on our table before sauntering off.

I eyed Mateo, who was eyeing the retreating waitress. “Thought you’d been picked up yesterday,” I said, selecting a drink and taking a sip.

Mateo rolled his shoulders a

s his gaze met mine. “They didn’t have enough to hold me.”

I’d heard from my source inside the police that Mateo had been arrested for aggravated assault the previous day. From what I’d been told, it was an open-and-shut case with several witnesses to attest it was him who shoved a pool cue all the way through his opponent’s thigh because he’d lost the frame to him.

“Oh, really? Shame.” Was a fucking shame, too.

A cocky grin spread across his face. “Turns out the witnesses changed their minds about making statements.”

Alberto sat forward, cupping his glass between his palms. “Look, can we get down to why you asked me to come here tonight? All this pussyfooting around is just wasting time, and I’m sure both of us have better things we could be doing.”

Straight to business; I liked that. “Fine,” I agreed, turning my full attention back to him. “I want you to stay the fuck out of my clubs. The next time you send pushers into my place of business and disrespect me like that I’m going to bring down a shitstorm on you so bad you won’t even know what happened. You know your boundaries. We allow you to sell your shit on the city streets, within reason.” I leaned forward, looking directly into his eyes so he knew I meant every word of what I was saying. “If you cross the line again, I will take everything you’ve built and make it fall down around you. Don’t think I don’t know where you cook your shit up. One phone call and I can have people there in a matter of minutes to firebomb your labs to the ground. I’d like to see how you conduct your business then.”

His eye twitched while I said my piece. “Now, Kid, let’s be reasonable.”

I sat back in my chair, picking up my drink, watching him over the rim of it. “Reasonable,” I repeated. “So you think I’m being unreasonable somehow?”

He flinched slightly, his shoulders stiffening at the threat in my voice. He knew I could crush him in the blink of an eye. “Not unreasonable, no,” he backtracked. “I just think you’re not even considering how good a partnership between us could be.”

I had to laugh at that. “What exactly do I have to gain from joining forces with a liability like you two?” I poured another drink, shaking my head in amusement.

The hordes of people near our table were getting slightly rowdier now, a couple of the guys whooping and chinking their bottles in a toast. I glanced over, and almost instantly, a flash