Chapter 154: Two greedy rats

Malachi

I took the phone out of Ro’s hand before he could do something dumb with it, like snap at Anthony’s ass.

"I don’t see how this affects our deal," I replied, trying to mimic Ro’s manner of speaking. It wasn’t exactly hard, because we had always swapped identities when we were younger.

"You assaulted my son, Padilla! You beat him bloody in a public plaza! He has a concussion and had to be admitted to the hospital."

"So?

"What do you mean, so?"

"Damn, don’t burst a nerve, oldie. What has your beaten son got to do with the drugs you need?" I strolled back into the house while Ro and Gid followed.

We somehow ended up in the bar, and I scanned the counter for my cigarettes. Dammit.

"You have to be insane to think I would still buy anything from you! I’m getting the police and I will press charges..."

"Be my guest," I shrugged. "I’m sure the police would love to know about your illegal opioid use."

That shut him up really quick. The corner of my lips quirked up. "Your son is your problem, and frankly, since he’s the sort of man who grabs a woman by the hair in a public plaza, a bruised back is fucking generous. So what is it going to be? You will never find another supplier like me. You sure you want your asshole son getting in the way?"

"...And if I call the deal off?" Anthony murmured after a long silence. It was so fucking long that G had gotten two bottles of beer from the fridge and a bottle of whiskey.

"Then call it off. I’ve got two other men waiting on the container. So make up your mind, Mr. Braddock. Are we still doing Monday, or am I giving your precious medicine to somebody else?"

There was a long, long breath on the line before he huffed. "Monday. It mustn’t pass Monday."

"Ball’s in your court. I see my five billion, and the shipment is all yours." I ended the call, turned around and tossed the phone back at Ro, who caught it against his chest.

"You sure he’ll take the bait?" he asked, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

"He already did." I flopped down on the other end of a sofa and stretched until my spine cracked.

"Do you think he’ll find the money, though? Five billion is practically asking him to go bankrupt."

"He will," G murmured. "If he’s willing to overlook his son getting beaten up by his dealer, then Anthony will do anything to get his hands on those drugs. That’s what this plan is banking on. On Monday, increase the price to ten billion, Ro."

I chuckled cruelly and shook my head as G poured Ro a glass of whiskey while my twin ripped off his prosthetics. "You’re a ruthless man, big brother. Trying to drive a wedge between two greedy rats, damn. Now we deal with Ro’s scandal."

"There’s nothing to deal with," Gideon said, settling on the sofa next to me.

"Nobody has linked Tom Padilla to Roman in disguise. Everyone just thinks Ivy got..." He caught the name too late and swallowed it, gritting his teeth together before taking a deep swig from his beer.

"Are you going to drink every time you mention her name by accident?"

G ignored my question and continued. "As long as no one makes the connection, Tom Padilla gets the fame, and Ro is a free man."

Really?

So we weren’t going to talk about the fucking elephant in the room? I shot to my feet, and the urge to march to my studio was strong, but I fought it off with every part of me. "I’m going clubbing."

Ro blinked lazily at me. "Now?"

"Now. It’s half past ten, so the night is still young." I grabbed my jacket off the back of the chair and stalked out of the bar. "Don’t wait up for me."

One long bike ride later, I was standing on the roof of a club with my lungs filling up on smoke that I dragged greedily from my cigarette. Were clubs always this loud and annoying as fuck?

Strings of cheap lights swayed in the wind, the bass thudded up through the soles of my boots, and the whole city glittered below like a spilled jewelry box that none of it was worth stealing from.

The rooftop was half empty, with a handful of people scattered across it. Some ladies were batting their fake lashes my way, but my gaze was fixed on my phone.

"...Growth. My father built up this company..."

My thumb curled over the phone screen and stroked Ivy’s face as she spoke in the interview.

Somebody had put together a compilation of Harper Kingsley videos, and I couldn’t fucking stop myself from streaming them like some besotted idiot.

"What a fake smile," I grumbled, taking another deep inhale and grinding my teeth at the sight of her smiling and waving at the reporters with the pig she called a father beside her.

I dragged on the cigarette and scrolled through the press shots of her. There was a slideshow of her answering a question with her head tilted and that little furrow between her brows that she got when she was thinking.

Her auburn roots were coming in at her hairline, darker than the rest, and those bright amber eyes were staring straight at the camera, right at me.

Fuck.

She got to me. That was the problem. She got to me like a never ending song ringing in my ears. A month in and she was still under my skin, in my sheets, the first thing in my head in the morning and the last thing before I could scrounge up any sleep at all.

Traitor. Liar.

The next video was a clip of her getting out of a car outside a hotel, alone. Another clip followed, and then another.

"Why’s she always alone?" I muttered, swiping further. Didn’t that make her easy prey? She had practically gotten yanked to pieces today by that bastard. What sort of a fool treats a woman like that?

A sinister thought filled my head as I watched the videos of her being attacked by Braddock’s foolish bastard of a son before Ro stepped in to beat the shit out of him. Wait a minute, what the hell was Irene doing there?

"You’re staring at your phone as if it owes you money."