Page 50 of Kane
What the hell? Was he supposed to tip this guy? His experience with doormen was admittedly limited.
When the man gestured him into the lift with a blank expression on his face, he took it as an answer and stepped inside. As the doors closed in front of him, the shiny metal reflected his image back to him. Strands of his dark hair had escaped his low ponytail and fell into his face. His beard was getting long, hanging at least an inch or two below his chin; it was scraggly, in no way shaped, and it did nothing to mask the shiny scar bisecting his left cheek.
He diverted his eyes, knowing exactly what others would see. Shitkickers on his feet, jeans, and T-shirt covered by an unbuttoned heavy flannel, the sleeves rolled to his elbow to reveal a portion of the tattoos climbing both arms.
Mandy had obviously warned the doorman, or the poor old bastard would have probably had a heart attack when he approached the building. It was a reaction he was used to, at least among civilized folks.
A dainty chime sounded when he reached Mandy’s floor. The doors opened soundlessly to reveal a relatively short hallway with hardwood floors. There were only three doors on either side. Smooth beige walls filled the space between them.
The pound of his pulse picked up as he covered the short distance to Mandy’s space. Ignoring the small, gold knocker, he rapped his knuckles against the wood.
A hundred times he’d fantasized about being here, his imagination filling in the blanks of her life. After today, he’d never have to wonder what her private space was like. When he closed his eyes and his traitorous mind conjured her drifting to sleep on the sofa or the satisfied smile she made with the first sip of her morning coffee, he’d picture her in this place, in her real home. Not the hazy construct his mind had cobbled together.
His breathing stopped when she opened the door. There was no sign of the sharp business clothes she normally wore. No high heels or closed expression. Instead, she was the Mandy of his past. Soft T-shirt and jeans. Bare face. Bare feet.
She reached out, grabbed his hand, and pulled him inside.
From the corner of his eye, he noted an immaculate living space in shades of cream with a lot of glass, but his curiosity about her home paled with Mandy right in front of him.
The door swung shut behind him with a gentle snick, and before he knew it, he was sitting on the loveseat, Mandy only inches away. His hand was still in hers.
He was in Bizzaro World. “What am I doing here?” A hundred scenarios shuffled through his head. Had Mike taken a turn? Was something happening with the company? Did she—miss him?
Her eyes flicked away from his face to stare at their joined hands. She didn’t let go. “You need to watch your back. Whatever your club is doing right now, it’s made you a target.”
The club? The Skulls had nothing to do with her; she’d made it clear a long time ago it was how she wanted it. He tugged his hand away and immediately wished he hadn’t. “What do you know about my club?”
Her gaze lingered a moment on her empty hand, then clenched her fingers into a fist. Her green eyes sharpened when they locked with his. “I know you’re turning into drug dealers.” Her nose wrinkled.
Shame tickled his gut, as he knew it would, but he hardened himself against it. What business was it of hers? She had all the money she’d ever need.Shenever had to worry about making her rent. Her father was the mayor for fuck’s sake.
The surge of righteous anger was almost enough for him to ignore he had wanted nothing to do with the plan to move in on Sucre’s turf in the first place. “Your point?” he ground out.
If she noticed his ire, she didn’t let on. “Do you know a guy named Bennett?”
He stilled. “DavidBennett?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I only heard his last name.”
“Blond guy? Always has on a Christian Soldiers cut?”
Mandy waved her hand dismissively. “I didn’t see him. But listen, whoever this guy is, he’s gunning for you.”
There was no scenario he could imagine where David Bennett should be in Mandy’s orbit.
“He is working with my father.” She shuddered and reached for a half-filled wine glass on the glass coffee table in front of them. The burgundy liquid disappeared in two gulps. “I heard them talking at the house today.”
Her knuckles turned white as she squeezed the stem of the glass. Gently, he pried it from her hand and set it on the table.
She took a deep breath. “He said a bunch of racist shit, but the bottom line is Bennett wants his club to take over for Sucre de la Cruz.”
No surprise there, but… “What do his lowlife ambitions have to do with your father?”
Swiping the glass from the table, she stood and carried it to the adjoining open concept kitchen area where a wine bottle sat on a shiny dark countertop. She poured almost to the brim, then promptly drained half of it into her mouth. “Bennett offered my dad a percentage to help clear the way for him.”
His stomach clenched. “Your father said yes.”
Mandy pursed her lips. “I don’t know why I’m surprised, but yeah. He didn’t say what he was planning, but whatever it is will happen in the next few days.” Draining the rest of her glass, she left it on the counter and returned to her spot on the loveseat. “I guess I’m not helping very much.”