ANDRONIKOS

“How long will it take your men to acquire my shipment and bring it to me?” I asked, my voice sharp as the blade in my pocket as I brushed off yet another desperate woman who clung to my arm like a parasite.

Where do they even get these women from?

“A week,” the elder brother said, puffing out his chest like a peacock, his posturing almost laughable. He said it so casually, like it were a feat worthy of my applause. “With the challenges we’ll face—customs, particularly—it won’t be smooth, but a week should be enough to get everything in order.” He continued.

I narrowed my gaze at the Aslan brothers, letting the silence hang heavy between us. The elder, Callan, fidgeted under my perusal, but Ajax, the younger of the two, maintained a stoic façade. It was obvious who the brains of this duo was—and who the dead-weight was.

Callan’s haughtiness seeped into every word, every gesture. It was almost impressive how brazenly the fool lied.

“What is it with people trying to swindle me today?” I mused aloud, taking a glance at Iason—my trusted confidant—who leaned against the bar, his hand casually placed on the Glock in his pockets. He smirked, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Taking a seeming sip of my drink—because no one with half a brain in my occupation consumes anything they didn’t prepare themselves—I turned my full attention to Callan.

“You could stand to learn one or two things from your little brother. He has the sense to shut his mouth and not lie to me. You in the other hand…” I let the sentence dangle, watching his confusion blossom into barely masked fear.

“Lying? That’s a bold accusation, Andronikos.” Callan stuttered, his bravado crumbling. “I don’t know where—”

“It’s ‘Thanatos’ to you,” I interrupted, my voice deadly low and venomous. “And if you ever utter my name again, I’ll personally see to it that you do not have a tongue anymore.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, words failing him.

“Shall I explain how I figured out your poor attempt at telling me lies?” I questioned, my tone deceptively calm. “Maybe it’s the way your eyes dart to the exit, as though you’re plotting your escape. Or how you incessantly dab at your sweaty neck and forehead. Or perhaps,” I continued, twirling Tuto deftly between my fingers. “it’s the slight tremor in your voice when you mention bribing customs to move my guns for your profit.”

Callan froze, his face a canvas of panic. Before he could give a stupid response, and ruin my already annoying day, Ajax squeezed his thigh—a silent command to shut up. Wise of him to do that, I thought with a wry smile on my face.

“Two days,” I said, my gaze shifting to Ajax, whose poker face had already crumbled. “You have two days to deliver my shipment. Fail me, and I’ll make sure neither of you sees a third sunrise. Understood?”

Ajax nodded, dragging Callan out of the lounge like a humiliated dog.

“Well, that was a spectacle,” Alex drawled from the entrance, sauntering in with the confidence of someone who knew he wasn’t welcome.

Gamó. Where had he come from? (Fuck!)

The stunning woman on his arm, however, demanded my attention. She was tall—easily six feet in her heels—a feat most women couldn’t achieve as I towered over nearly all of them at 6’4. Yet, she exuded a magnetic allure that dominated the room with effortless ease. Her caramel-toned skin gleamed under the soft, low lights which illuminated a figure wrapped in a black dress that clung to her like sin itself. The sight made me imagine, albeit briefly, how her body would feel beneath me—or perhaps, above. To be honest, I’m not picky. And those heels, deadly in more ways than one, only amplified her commanding presence.

My gaze trailed slowly up her legs, taking in every detail, before finally reaching her face. And what a sight it was. Her thick curls, artfully arranged in a tight bun, framed her features perfectly, drawing attention to her full lips— lips I’d very much like to see wrapped around my… well let’s not go there.

I dragged my gaze reluctantly, back to Alex, annoyed at myself for such a visceral response to her.

“What do want?” I asked, my voice infused with boredom.

“Can’t a man visit his cousin?” he replied, feigning innocence.

“Not in my club,” I shot back.

Just as I was about to tear into him, I felt a surprisingly comfortable weight settle on my lap.

“These fucking heels,” I heard her mutter under her breath, clearly annoyed.

Startled by her unexpected presence, I pushed her off my lap without warning, causing her to tumble to the floor with an unceremonious thud.

Not my finest moment, I admit.

She glared up at me, her eyes blazing with a fury that could incinerate steel or me in this case. And I—God help me—loved it. Her anger was a force of nature, raw and captivating.

I knew I should offer a hand to help her up, but kindness wasn’t in my repertoire.

As she stood, brushing herself off and preparing to unleash her wrath upon me, the atmosphere shifted with an ominous chill. Suddenly, I was on guard.

“Get down!” I shouted, but it was too late.

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire erupted, a deafening crack that sliced through the thumping bass of the music downstairs. Chaos erupted as screams mingled with the shattering of glass. Behind me, a bullet careened through the air, striking the glass table beside the woman with a thunderous crash.

She screamed, ducking instinctively as chaos descended.

“We’re under attack!” one of my men shouted.

No shit, genius.

I was so going to kill those brothers after I got out of here.

Wood splinters and glass shards erupted like shrapnel, raining down as the once vibrant lounge descended into disarray. In a frantic attempt to escape the impending carnage, the remaining survivors crawled toward safety and then I saw her—slumped against the wall, unconscious.

Damn it.

Racing back through the massacre, I checked her pulse. Still alive. Without hesitation, I hoisted her surprisingly light weight over my shoulder and darted out of the wrecked lounge.

As the remaining lights flickered ominously, casting frenzied shadows against the walls, my men and I scrambled over the debris.

“Cover me!” I barked at my men, who returned fire with calculated precision as we retreated through the tumult.

The siren wails grew closer, a reminder that we needed to move quickly.

Finally escaping the ruins of my once-thriving and opulent club, I noticed the cops had arrived at the scene, just in time to put a damper on my already fucked up day.

I can’t deal with them right now, I thought as I gazed briefly at the woman, passed-out in my arms.

“Iason, deal with the police,” I ordered, dumping the woman into my car’s backseat.

He nodded, already moving to intercept the authorities. I climbed into the driver’s seat, sparing a glance at her unconscious form.

For someone I’d just met, she was already causing me a hell of a lot of trouble.

Today was officially the worst, I thought sardonically as I sped off into the night.