With You (NOW PUBLISHED)

chapter two

The last few weeks have been a fucking nightmare. The ice machine died. Twice. Half of the VIP furniture I order to replace the ones ruined by last week's bar fight was delivered to the wrong address. And for some reason, our waitresses seem to think that I could actually give a fuck about their personal lives.

Why the hell do I care that Cameron's boyfriend is a cheating, bastard? Or that Macie's friend came down with the flu? As long as the guests are happy and I'm free to come and go as I please, that's all I care about. I opened Haze to have a quiet place where I can handle my own shit. My real job. Privately.

In my environment where I control what happens. I didn't open it to spend my time worrying over other people's problems. I deal with enough problems as it is–mainly my father's. Problems like (fuck) this girl!

I inhale a sharp breath as one of my dad's current "problems" teeth drag along my neck. The action rips me from my thoughts. "Oh, sorry," her voice catches as she leans forward to push her chest in my face.

I roll my eyes and try to focus.

Damn, I almost forgot she was there.

"You're good," I lie, trying not to sound like a complete asshole, since I plan on fucking this girl tonight.

She pushes me back against the seat and straddles me. Her mouth slowly works its way up to mine. I can tell that she's really into this by the way that she's practically panting on top of me, but I can't think about that. I shift against the seat and adjust myself. The uncomfortable way she's practically choking my dick underneath her makes it hard for me to get into the mood.

"God, I want you so bad," she whispers, her hands sliding down to palm me through my jeans.

What the fuck did she just say?

I pull back and look at her. Her blonde hair and blue eyes, vaguely reminding me of someone I knew a long time ago, before I fucked up and ruined it all.

"Do you normally talk this much?" I ask. More so for the fact that, if she did, I would definitely need to invest in a good pair of earplugs down the road. That, or make sure to keep the music turned up loud enough to drown out the sound of her nasally ass voice. Nothing's more unattractive than a chick who doesn't know when to shut the hell up.

She obviously didn't see this for what it is—a transaction. It's the type of business arrangement that only guys like our fathers make in order to cover up shady deals they don't want hashed out in the public eye. Well, the first half of our meeting had been about that. This . . . this is purely a distraction. A way for me to pass the time, since Wes is forcing me to stay to establish my "presence" within Haze as its owner.

Why? I don't fucking know.

Everyone out there already knows who I am and who my father is. Shit, half of them are on his payroll. The not so secret, consigliere to the notorious crime boss of Dallas, Giovanni Russo. Guns. Drugs. Women. My father dabbles in it all. He's been on the FBI watchlist for as long as I can remember. On top of that, he's also the reigning leader on the ballot for shittiest father ever. I swear he only brought me into the business to keep me from turning him in—which I would have. Happily.

I squint my eyes when I see the curtain, shutting out the rest of the partygoers from our private space, shift, and Wes pops his head through it.

"Sorry to interrupt, but we have a situation out here." Of course, we do.

How could we not when most of the guests consist of blue-collar criminals and their white-collared bosses? Throw in the alcohol we're shoveling out, and I'm surprised that it took this long for something to happen.

"Hurry back," Katrina moans and rotates off my lap.

I tuck my dick up along the waist of my jeans and step out of the lounge.

"It's Devon," Wes says the moment the curtain closes behind me. Pointing toward the dance floor, I follow his finger and see the crowd gathering around Devon and a short blonde.

I hum amused. Yup, they're definitely readying themselves for a fight, which, with Devon, there's always a pretty good chance of that. That bitch loves the adrenaline high, almost as much as I do.

"Okay. And?" I raise my brow, waiting to hear how this is my problem. Even without a gag for Katrina, anything is better than having to mess with the shitshow that is Devon O'Brien. "Isn't this why you hired those jugheads, you call "bouncers" for?"

"Really, man? We both know, you're the only one who Devon will listen to when she's like this," Wes says, motioning for me to hurry. "Please."

Damn it.

He's lucky we're friends.

If it were anyone else asking, I'd tell them promptly where they could shove it.

"Fuck. Fine." I shake my head, tossing him a look over my shoulder as I yell, "You owe me though!"

I'm halfway through the crowd, when I can hear the gentle tone of blonde girl's voice. It's soothing and sweet, and in no way a match for someone hoping to hold their own against Devon. But the closer I get, I know there's more to it than that. The voice is oddly familiar in a way that I can't put my finger on but am immediately drawn to.

I feel my hands curl into fists against my sides as I step into the circle.

"Is there a problem here?" I interject, and at the sight of me, all eyes drop.

Devon shoots me a glare from the far side of the circle, and even from where I'm standing, I can see that her eyes are wide and bloodshot. Great. She is drinking again.

The last time she found herself drowning at the end of a bottle she nearly killed herself, and me. But, hey, that's an issue for a different day. I need to focus on getting blondie over here away from Devon before I have the fucking police at my back door.

Switching my focus to the short blonde standing in front of Devon, I take a few steps forward until I see her shoulders start to turn. The second I catch those green eyes I feel like I know better than my own, I freeze midstep.

What the. . .? Brielle? I don't believe it.

I allow my curiosity to get the better of me, as I step back and rake my eyes down her slender, petite frame. Damn. I should have come back sooner.

Unlike most people who know my reputation and fear me for it, Brielle doesn't cower when I look at her. Rather, I watch as she openly does the same. I see her eyes hover on the tattoos that cover most of my arms and try not to laugh when I see how taken aback she seems to be by my appearance.

Wait a minute.

What the hell is Brielle even doing on this side of town?

Scanning the crowd, I look for an answer, but every eye stays pinned to the floor. I'm not sure what pisses me off more. The fact that, whoever the fuck she's with is either too much of a coward to step up, or that she's somehow found her way into this mess in the first place. I shake my head. She always did like to keep us on our toes. Her brother and me, I mean—mostly me. But who the fuck would be dumb enough to let her sneak off in a place like this?

Once more, I skate my eyes down the length of her as she fidgets, nervously, and pulls at the hem of her skirt. Damn it. Why the hell did it have to be her?