Page 17 of Bitter Lies

That’s the difference between Silas and Trent.

Trent built the Doyle empire on drugs and extortion. He sees no reason to change a system that works. If it’s not broken, don’t fuck with it. Having nearly lost it all in the war against the Russian Bratva, he avoids risks.

Silas does. Mainly because he didn’t live through that, it was before his time.

We’ve been in the club’s back office for the last twenty minutes, drinks in hand, making his next target sweat it out while he waits to speak with us. Tonight, we’re meeting with a man Silas has big plans for.

Mr. Theiss.

The gormless idiot is about to learn a harsh lesson. He’s out of options, his back’s against the wall. Greed has him taking risky gambles to generate money, and it’s far from the first time it’s landed him in trouble.

Adding insult to injury, the warlord—Silas, second only to Trent—has been eyeing his precious treasure for quite some time. While Theiss didn’t request this meeting to discuss that item, it gives Silas the opportunity to get a read on his situation and negotiate. Men like Mr. Theiss, when they’re desperate, are often willing to take bigger risks than they would otherwise.

Silas is betting on him having no option but to agree.

Now that we’ve made him wait longer than necessary, it’s time to get this show on the road. We step out of his office and onto the club floor, straight into the chaos.

In true Silas fashion, he takes a detour, his priorities elsewhere. “Before we sink our dicks deep into business, let’s make the rounds.”

Snapping his fingers, he heads for the bar. “No harm in seeing what we can get lined up for after. God knows I could use a good fuck. It’s been a while.”

My demeanor remains stoic as I suppress the urge to put him on the ground for being a complete shithead. The man has a wife, along with a few side pieces, but he’s never satisfied. Always chasing someone new.

He has a type—young, beautiful, and sophisticated women who shouldn’t give him the time of day. He’s after one thing: to fuck until he grows bored. An hour. A month. Same result. Once he convinces them to take his sleazeball deal, they’re his until he decides otherwise.

Our feet barely hit the main floor when Silas perks up. I’ve worked with him long enough to know someone’s caught his eye. Meaning we’re about to delay the meeting even further so he can act like a prick and flirt with a crowd too young for a man in his late forties.

He makes a stop at the bar. “How good of a wingman are you, Aiden?”

The smell of overly-sweet mixed drinks and sweat hangs thick in the air as he stares across the packed club.

“I can manage two, but three complicates things.” Silas’s chest puffs out like he knows this is already in the bag. “You pick—blonde, brunette, or dark brown. What’s your poison? I’ll take what’s left and make the most of it.”

“What if they aren’t into sharing?” I drum my fingers against the bar, catching the barmaid’s attention. When she looks up, I hold up two fingers. “Top shelf, blue bottle.”

She nods, already fixing Silas’s drink, because it never changes. “Anything else?”

“Three apple martinis.” With a smirk, he rolls up his sleeves, the fabric rustling as he adjusts the slightly askew square glasses perched on his nose. “Then they’ll learn.”

As he walks away, shoving through the crowd, I shake my head at his back. “Arsehole. With any luck, they’ll glass your dick off.”

The barmaid smirks but says nothing. I’m sure she heard me, but knows better than to agree.

At thirty-five, I also have a type. Women who aren’t looking to settle down. The ones still playing the field and testing the waters. It usually means under the age of thirty. After that, they want more.

I don’t.

The moment they figure that out, I’m the bastard. Cold. Cruel. Told to crawl back into whatever black hole I came from.

They’re not wrong.

I learned at a young age that the only person I can count on is myself. It’ll take a special woman to crack that. I’m not convinced she exists.

If this job didn’t take up so much of my time, I might’ve tested that theory with the mouthy, off-key doctor. She didn’t scare easily. Didn’t back down. Looked at me like she craved the challenge.

When I got home later that night, I considered looking her up. Figuring out what her deal was. At first, I pegged her as some rich man’s daughter. Protected. Untouchable.

Then I saw her at Rico’s, walking out of a room like she belonged there. Now I’m not so sure.