Chapter 7
He just wasn’t sure who.
But some fucker had to die. Because he was over this bullshit. Every two months, he hosted a poker game in the back of Nicole’s, the upscale restaurant one of his corporations owned. The same assholes turned up every time.
But one of those assholes was a dead man walking. Because they were working behind the scenes to interfere in his business.
And shit like that wasn’t tolerated in Hernán’s world. No one went against him and lived to tell the tale.
His car came to a stop and the door opened. Hanson stepped inside and sat down. He’d been at a business meeting downtown.
Hernán handed him a glass of Scotch without a word of greeting. Hanson grunted in acceptance, before taking it and downing it in one go. “More.”
“Meeting go bad?” Hernán asked.
“It was all right. More.”
“That’s a Macallan fifty-year-old single malt Scotch,” Hernán said mildly.
“So?” Hanson snapped.
“Just saying.” He poured the other man a generous amount and watched as he sipped it more slowly this time. “So, I know why I’m in a bad mood, but what’s up your goat?”
“I want my sister to move to Boston with me,” he grumbled. “But she won’t.”
“A woman who doesn’t immediately jump to do what you say. That must be an interesting experience for you,” Hernán commented.
“Olga is being stubborn. She knows I’d be able to take better care of her if she lived with me. Instead, she wants to stay in Wishingbone. She says she likes living there.” Hanson huffed out a breath.
“So force her to move in with you. Take the jet and pick her up.”
“I can’t just force her to move to Boston with me.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“And this is why you don’t have a girlfriend,” Hanson pointed out. “You can’t force people to do things they don’t want to do.”
“Of course you can.” What nonsense was Hanson talking about? Hernán had never taken no for an answer. He always got what he wanted.
Always.
“Sorry, let me rephrase that . . . you can’t make people do things if you still want them to care about you. To love you.”
Hernán scoffed. Love. That was a useless emotion. It had only ever brought him trouble.
“I just want to keep Olga safe.”
“You don’t think she’s safe there?” he asked.
If Hanson truly thought she was in danger, then he should take measures to protect her. No matter her objections.
“No,” Hanson said reluctantly. “The people who live in Wishingbone are nuts. I’m talking certifiably nuts. But it’s small town, Montana. It’s sleepsville. I can’t honestly see anything bad ever happening there.”
“Can’t understand why anyone would live somewhere so boring,” Hernán said.
“I guess it’s almost better that Olga lives there. My job means I’m dealing with some unsavory clients. Case in point.” He grinned over at Hernán.
“Asshole.” He couldn’t argue that though.
He was the biggest shark in the sea.
“Yeah, maybe she’s better off in Wishingbone.”
“If you worked only for me, then she would be safe. You could both move into my place.”
It was something he kept pushing Hanson for. The other man was the closest thing he had to a best friend. He was one of the few people Hernán trusted.
“You know I like my job. I like the variety. Besides, I can’t live at your place. It’s too confining.”
“It’s safe,” Hernán countered. As safe as a freaking fortress. Both his mansion out in Southampton and his house in Manhattan.
Hanson just shook his head as they drew up to the back entrance of Nicole’s. The car came to a stop, but he stayed where he was for a moment. He didn’t want to have this conversation outside.
“So why’d you need me here tonight?” Hanson asked.
“Someone is messing with my business. You know there is an agreement to stay out of each other’s territory. I have drugs and guns. Mary has illegal gambling rings and the fight clubs. Richard has skin.”
“Fucker,” Hanson muttered.
Hernán agreed. It wasn’t something he ever wanted to get into. The skin trade was messy and reprehensible. But if he got rid of Richard, everything would go underground. And he’d be putting out fires all over the place. At least this way, he could keep an eye on the slimy bastard.
“If I don’t keep him around, then some fucking human trafficking ring will start up in my city.”
“You don’t think they already have?”
“What do you know?”
Hanson blew out a breath. “Heard rumors. Nothing more.”
Hernán grunted. “There are always rumors. Anything more, let me know. Who is left? Cody runs the money. Need some laundered? Want to hide your money from your ex? You go see Cody. Tyron is the clean-up guy for the city. He can make a murder disappear, for the right amount of money, of course.”
“He’s still playing biker?”
“Yeah, he still runs the biker gang. Helps people to underestimate him. He’s also moved into chop shops, if you ever need to get rid of a vehicle.”
“Always good to know.”
“Then there’s Phillip.”
“The hacker.” Hanson nodded. “But you use Nighthawk for your stuff, right?”
Hernán grunted. “Yes. And finally, Ali bleeds the rich of their money. Extortion, blackmail, that guy is building a big empire. He has a league of spies, both in the gutters and among the rich and famous.”
“Is he a threat to you?” Hanson asked.
“No one is a threat to me,” he replied coolly. The door opened and he stepped out, glancing around.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his men . . . but yeah, okay, he never fully trusted them. So he was always armed. Always on alert.
The Scot walked to the back door and knocked on it three times. It opened with Ernest standing there.
The manager of Nicole’s was a nervous guy, but he’d worked here for years, and Hernán had never had a problem with him.