Vengeful Matrimony | ✔️

Chapter 69

NICHOLAS

I rapped my knuckles on the bar top, drawing the attention of the bartender, whose gaze had been stuck on his phone for the last minute. He shoved his phone into his pocket, walking over to the counter.

"What can I get you?"

"Just whiskey is fine. None of that cheap shit."

I cut my gaze away from him for a brief second, studying the patrons in the bar as he fixed me my drink. There were only two men in here, and they were both old as fuck and drunk out of their minds. Good. It would be easier to clean up this mess. After hours of endless work gathering intel on Gregorio and his business associates, I was more than ready to get this shit done.

"Here you go," the bartender said, sliding my drink across the bar.

The glass stopped in front of me. I traced the rim with the tip of my fingers, wrinkling my nose at the weird stain on the bar top that looked like it hadn't been wiped down in weeks. Yeah, I was definitely sanitizing my car and scrubbing the shit out of my hands after this. Heavens knew what bacteria lurked around here.

A faint buzz in the back snapped me out of my musings. Right. I was here for a reason.

"Clyde Darwin. Twenty-six years old. Kindergarten teacher by day, and a bartender at a seedy bar by night. Peaked in high school, but unfortunately blew his football career with his knee." I pinned him with a smile that bordered on predatory rather than friendly. I couldn't care less, anyway. I wasn't here to chitchat. "Am I right?"

He stiffened temporarily. "Who's asking?" His hand slid down the bar top. I was ready to bet my newest McLaren that he was reaching for the phony gun he kept behind the bar to sometimes scare customers.

I chuckled. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Clyde. Pulling a fake gun on me. Really? I'm disappointed."

"Fuck you," he spat acidly. "Leave before I call the police."

I tsked, drumming my fingertips on the rim of the glass. "Down, boy. Let's cool down with the threats, yeah? For someone who has committed quite a lot of unanswered crimes, I doubt the police would be on your side if they found out."

Fear sparked in his eyes. Good. I couldn't work with fear. I fucking thrived on fear.

"What do you want?" He asked.

I sniggered. "Now, you're talking. I knew you were a smart man."

"What do you want?" He repeated through gritted teeth.

I slid off the barstool, rounding the counter. "Come out with me to the back."

"No!" He said firmly.

I slid my lazy gaze over to him as I walked past him to the exit I knew led to the dumpsters. What? I liked to be well-informed about a place before I stepped foot in it.

"It wasn't a suggestion, Clyde. Come with me."

"Who's going to man the bar?"

I shrugged carelessly, pulling the door open. "That sounds like a you problem," I said to him before I stepped out.

A guttural curse floated into my ear before I heard him move his burly self and follow me. A few seconds later, we were both staring at each other. Him with hatred in his eyes - what was fucking new? - and me with amusement.

I took out a packet of cigarettes from my pocket, holding one out to him. He turned it down with a shake of his head, and I slipped it between my lips. I lit up the cigarette, blowing a cloud of smoke into the night.