CHAPTER2
Aiden
At noon, the strip club is an empty box of velvet and unlit neon lights. It’s hard to recognize without the men lounging by the front stage or the dancers on their podiums.
I know this place intimately. It’s mine, after all.
The place provides a perfect opportunity for illicit activity—though not the type that happens in crowded bathrooms with broken stalls, doors hanging half off. We aren’t in the business of pimping out our dancers or using them to slake our own appetites. We know how not to mix business and pleasure, unlike other families.
I take a sip of my drink. The whiskey is smooth, liquid fire racing down my throat. It has a spice to it, the kind that lets you know it costs double figures per glass.
Most things here are expensive.
I’m not a paperwork man. Iama man in charge, though, which means that I make it my business to see all the numbers. No one buys a single bottle before I see the price tag.
Not that we skimp on the alcohol. That’s where most of the budget goes.
“Perfect,” I murmur.
I’m not sure who I’m speaking to. Maybe it’s the specter of my father, standing in the darkened corners of the room, watching me examine the profits. He is the reason we’ve come this far. Why we were driven to succeed.
I take another sip of whiskey. Lachlan doesn’t mind when I make myself something from the stock. He might be the one leading the family, but he knows I have a specific passion for making us the best. He’s the level-headed older brother. I’m the one that chews the bone until it’s powder.
None of these numbers will bring my father back, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I’m not trying to raise the dead.
I’m raising a legacy.
Before I can take another sip, I hear voices. I know them immediately. Connor and Finn are hard to mistake. They’re young, and they also ended up with all the spontaneity and lack of control that Lachlan and I didn’t get.
I can already tell they’re both excited. God help me.
The door to the office swings open. It barely misses hitting the wall, and I resist the urge to chew them out for the damage they could have done.
Barely.
Connor is blond, with brown eyes and all the muscle in the world. He can intimidate people, but it’s mostly because he’s big and loud. Finn looks more like me. Dark brown hair, leaner muscle. His eyes are greener than mine, the blue in them blending like watercolor.
Whatever it is they’re talking about, they’re animated. I’m half worried Connor will knock over the whiskey I have on the table.
“Do you need something?” I ask, hoping they’ll leave if I humor them.
Connor doesn’t quite hear me. Finn does. He turns to me, waving a hand blindly at Connor to shut him up.
“Where’s Lachlan?”
I lean back in my seat, crossing my left leg over my right. “Out. Dealing with business. He should be back soon.”
“Now?” Finn is almost vibrating. I have no clue what has him so keyed up. “Shit. Meeting with a supplier?”
“Yes.” I don’t like how exuberant they are. When they’re like this, it means trouble. “What the hell is this about?”
“Whoa! Why the bad mouth?” Connor asks. He’s laughing. If he had his head screwed on right, he wouldn’t have talked to me like that. Whatever this is, it’s major.
I raise an eyebrow. “We playing games, now?”
Finn has his hands on his hips, like he’s debating how to tell me something. He looks clean, which has alarm bells ringing in my head. Finn being sober is like finding a four-leaf clover. You’d have to trample an entire field, and you’d get fed up before you came close.
Before Finn can spill whatever he’s hiding, the door opens again. At least this time, the wall is safe.
