13. In Case of Emergency

Chapter Thirteen

IN CASE OF EMERGENCY

P erhaps it wasn't a five-star hotel and sex by candlelight, but the efforts both Joey and Gage made to diminish the morbid association that day held for Layne had been one for the books. Instead of attempting to pretend that it was any other day of the year, Joey reminded her that it had been the start of their story together. Gage's involvement gave her hope for the future that he was in this for the long haul to meet her every need.

Spending all their energy on carnal pleasures for a day in an abandoned building down at the docks may not have earned the label of being hopelessly romantic, but it was meaningful to the woman who bound them all together.

Several days had passed and Layne still felt like every muscle in her body had been put through the wringer by both guys, not that she was complaining. Gage had insisted on treating her like a goddess worth pampering, knowing how much her body needed the recovery.

Sitting in the center of Gage's bed cross-legged with her laptop in front of her, phone to her right, and her earbuds lodged in her ears, she growled in frustration.

"Thomas, there's evidence he was fucking stealing from my businesses all this time. Liam's been stealing from me . I want to know why it's taken this long to get answers!" She swiped her fingers across the trackpad on her computer, scrutinizing every record available to her.

Listening to her trusted advisor spout off a million reasons why it so easily slipped under the radar was giving her a dull headache at the base of her skull. Her fingers smoothed away the wrinkles between her eyebrows that were evidence of her annoyance.

Her eyes lifted from her computer screen as Gage entered the bedroom with a plate of food. Quickly, she minimized one of the windows on the computer. The last thing she wanted was for either of her guys to ask more questions when they didn't need to know the answers.

Gage was wearing one of his slate gray dress shirts and a pair of jeans. Right above the left pocket of the shirt was embroidered silver thread with the initials ‘C.C.' for his kink-inspired night club, Cassidy's Chains.

Approaching the bed, he set the plate down on the night table for her; a grilled chicken wrap and a handful of chips neatly piled on it.

Layne's hand shooed him away, despite that she couldn't recall the last meal she had eaten. At her dismissive gesture, Gage's face went stern.

She continued to focus on her conversation with Thomas who explained further that Liam's whereabouts were still unknown and they were no closer to figuring out his next moves.

"So, we've got jack shit? This is fucking unbelievable, it's Liam for God's sake!" The heat of her words caused a shameful silence on the other end of the line. "Tell Sammy, Ethan, and Jonathan to meet me at the Brass Mirror tonight at eight, and they better have good fuckin' news." Her finger firmly tapped the end call button on her phone before plucking her earbuds from her ears.

It wasn't until Gage's hand gripped her jaw that she realized he hadn't left the room. His hand turned her head to face him.

"Open." He commanded as his other hand held half of the wrap he had brought her.

Still irritated with the lack of details on who her brother was coordinating with to have him feeling so confident in his ability to snatch back the family business, she pushed the wrap Gage was offering away from her face. "I'm not hungry. I'll eat later."

Not approving of her response, Gage kept his hand firmly attached to her jaw. "I wasn't asking," he paused before continuing, "unless you want me to find out just how much punishment your ass can take."

That had her attention as the stubborn look in her eyes faded to a softer and more wanton glow. Layne would be lying to herself if she didn't admit to flirting with the idea of defying him one more time just to see what sort of discipline he had in mind. The rumble from her stomach quickly chased away the bratty consideration.

Layne parted her lips and Gage brought the sandwich to her mouth for her to bite into, smiling proudly. "That's my good girl."

When Joey and Layne arrived at her covert and elite gambling club, the Brass Mirror, it was packed with members obscenely wagering away their trust funds and generational savings. Each of the tables was full, seating the richest and dirtiest fucks the city had living in it. Scantily clad waitresses moved from table to table, taking drink orders and dirty one-liners with a smile.

Despite not barging into the room commanding attention, there was a large portion of eyes drawn to her when she stepped foot inside. There wasn't a single soul that didn't know who she was and her reputation for not putting up with anyone's bullshit when it came to the denizens of the criminal underbelly.

After Russell Spencer's assets were seized by her associates and he found a permanent home at the bottom of the Hudson River, Layne had a lot fewer issues with the other factions. Despite being one of the few females to have ever broken into the upper echelons, the other leaders rarely questioned how far she would go to back up her promises—or threats.

Joey's company tonight had been at his insistence. This makeshift casino was entirely under her control; anyone who tried to start shit here would have to be mentally unstable. Yet, it was an argument she lost the moment Joey had his hands on her. Goddamn hormones were her weak spot.

His hand grazed across the small of her back. "I will be right over there," he tipped his head in the direction of the high-top table at the far end of the bar.

Layne smiled and nodded in acknowledgment. "I'll find you when I'm done."

Thank God he had been able to compromise on not being buried up her ass tonight, figuratively speaking. Instead, he was capable of granting her the space she needed to yell at these assholes who worked for her and were supposed to be finding out more information on her delusional sibling.

Scanning the room, she saw Sammy sit back in his chair at a poker table, unleashing a hearty laugh as the dealer shoved a pile of chips his way. The other men at the table with him all groaned seeing the Full House laid out in front of her senior associate.

Sammy's cocky smile was full of pride as he sat forward to collect his bounty. "Sorry, fuckers, guess you just can't keep up with the pro," he said as he organized the slew of chips in front of him.

She came up behind Sammy, leaning over and plucking a few black chips off the top of the stack in front of him and pocketed them. When he snapped his head around, his hazel eyes were fired up, and was ready to unleash a tirade of profanities at a woman touching his money. When he recognized Layne, his expression eased and tensions quickly faded.

As one of the top men who worked for her, Sammy was used to Layne's high expectations and even higher attitude. He ran his hand over his slicked-back raven locks, realizing it was time to get to business.

"You're early," he pointed out. The light above the table glinted off the face of his Rolex on his wrist as he cashed out his chips and stood from his seat.

With displeasure in her voice, "And you were sitting here fucking off. Where are the other two?"

Straightening out the jacket of his black suit that matched the darkness of his hair, he shrugged. "Last I saw, Ethan was flirting with one of the waitresses and Jonathan was yapping on his phone."

His mixture of brown and green hues shifted as he scanned the room for his partners in crime. Noticing Joey at the table near the bar he gave a small nod in polite form to his boss's husband and got a nod in return.

"How's he feeling?" Sammy looked at Layne, the genuine concern painted over his olive complexion.

Not bothering to look at Sammy, she continued to keep an eye out for the other two. Layne answered his question, "As good as anyone can expect after giving death the middle finger."

Immediately, she picked out Ethan by his hulking size as he came out of the restroom. His fingers were buttoning up the last button of his gray vest over his white dress shirt. Close behind him, also coming from the single-person bathroom, was the head cocktail waitress at the Mirror.

Layne's green eyes locked onto Ethan's sapphire hues and he immediately quickened his strides over to her. People parted like the Red Sea to avoid getting bulldozed by him on his beeline to her.

When he stopped in front of Layne, he gave a large smile showing off his pearly whites, "Was just wrapping up… business."

She raised a hand to fend off any further details. "If you keep fucking every waitress at every damn place we do business, I'm not going to be held responsible for the fallout when they all find out about one another." Layne shook her head trying not to picture the day ten women came after her lead enforcer. One woman scorned was bad enough, but a herd of them? He was just begging to get raked over the coals.

"What? Melissa's a sweet girl, we were just having a chat while she was on her break." Ethan smirked, knowing his lie was as plain as the sleeve of tattoos on his ripped arms.

Now that she had two of her three head honchos, she just needed to track down her top-tier negotiator, Jonathan.

"Why don't you both go grab the table in the back? I will see where the hell Johnny-Boy is." She pulled her phone from her pocket, but before she could even unlock it, a hand came onto her shoulder from behind.

"I think this still qualifies as fashionably late," Jonathan's voice smoothly spoke up as he came around to her side. Then, when he saw the pissed-off look on Layne's face, he winced, "or not." He dropped his hand away from her and back down to his side into the pocket of his black dress slacks.

At the very back was a private room, though it wasn't very private as the room had glass walls on two of the four sides. The only level of privacy it offered was from eavesdroppers' prying ears.

Once they were all seated at the round table inside the cozy gathering spot, Layne sat back in the plush armchair and looked at the three men before her.

"I'm going to say this once. I expect fucking results, and I haven't seen shit from any of you except excuses," her eyes darted to Jonathan to shift the blame on him for all the piss poor explanations he had given her. "Horrible judgment calls," her gaze moved to Ethan, knocking his brash actions. "And a whole bunch of nothing." She stared at the last of the bunch, Sammy.

It was Sammy who tried to defend himself first, "Layne, there's not a trail to follo?—"

Her hands slammed down onto the table in small fists as she rose to her feet and snapped at him. "He's not a fucking ghost! There's a fucking trail somewhere! I don't give a shit if you have to talk to every goddamn hooker in the five boroughs! Somebody knows something !"

Lord help her, she wanted to shoot the next person who tried to tell anything less than helpful to her current situation.

It wasn't just the lack of action and information that had her anger topping out, but the stress that at any moment Liam could strike again and she wouldn't see it coming. He had already managed to take her by surprise twice, she didn't want to be caught off guard a charming third time.

Jonathan immediately went into mediator mode and raised both of his hands in front of him. "Let's just take a moment here to evaluate everything."

She tilted her head as she stared at her prime negotiator, a mostly clean-cut-looking guy. His dark brown was always styled into place and just the faintest semblance of a goatee around his mouth.

"What's there to evaluate? I feel like a sitting duck, all I've got is twenty-four-seven security detail up my ass and the realization that Liam has been stealing from me. What part of that should make me feel good about where we are currently at, huh?"

Met with blank stares for a moment, all she could hear was her pulse roaring in her ears as her blood pressure rose in conjunction with her temper.

"What do you want us to do?" Ethan shifted in his seat as he posed the question to her.

Layne hung her head down as she shut her eyes trying to think past her swirling emotions. Refusing to sit back down, she spoke through gritted teeth, "Someone get me a fucking name. The name of someone who can help me. I don't care who they are or where they're from."

When she lifted her head and opened her eyes, they were all still sitting there with solemn looks on their damn faces.

"NOW!" She barked at them, wondering what they were waiting for.

Sam was the first to push out of his chair and leave the room, followed quickly by Jonathan.

Ethan was slow to make his way out, stopping and whispering to her, "Liam always finds a way to fuck himself over; we'll find something sooner or later." Then, there was hesitation as his voice caught as though he was about to say something more.

Layne looked up at the broad and muscular man at her side. His longer locks of blonde hair hung down out of place in front of his eyes.

"What else?" she said defeatedly, expecting another dose of bad news.

Unsure of what lengths Layne was willing to go to or how desperate she was feeling, he hesitated in directing her towards a wild card. Ethan cleared his throat. "There's a high roller at table fifteen, the one that looks like he's had five too many plastic surgeries. He knows a guy that might be able to help."

The faintest glimmer of hope began to chase away her frustration. "What type of guy?"

"Just," he sighed, "a guy that I've heard that has methods that would have sent Eric Ellis crying to his mommy. Some Russian dipshit, not anyone I would want watching my back."

Of course it was a deranged Russian—those assholes always seemed to have a screw loose. This bit of information sounded both promising and terrifying.

Seeing the gears turning in Layne's head, Ethan frowned and placed a hand on top of hers. "Only for use in case of emergency, Layne. I'm serious."

She gave a slow nod as she took it all under consideration.

"Thanks, E. I appreciate it." Layne offered him a light smile before he did the same and left her there with her considerations of what she should do.

Once she composed herself and pulled her big boss bitch panties on, she headed over to table fifteen. Sure enough, there was some man who should have looked old enough to be her grandfather, yet his face was stretched so tight, that the jazzercise leotards from the eighties would have been jealous.

When she approached, she lifted a finger to the attendant at the roulette table, prompting a pause in action. Layne pulled up a seat next to the man Ethan directed her to.

Mr. Shiny Plastic Face glanced over at her and grunted.

Layne leaned against the edge of the table as she faced him. "I don't think I need to introduce myself. I need the name of someone who's known to get results, and I'm told you're the man who is going to give it to me."

The fucker laughed like she was running a standup comedy joint here. The other players at the table even knew that had been a mistake and all seemed to lean back in their chairs.

Her cheeks grew warm with the flare of her irritation. Not in the mood to play fucking games with some rich asshole, she snatched the back of his head and slammed it forward into the table.

The impact had chips rattling and skittering in several directions. She made sure his face met the table two more times before holding his bloodied mug down against it.

She leaned in and harshly spoke to him, "The goddamn name. Now ."

Whimpering at the superficial damage she had done to his precious face he treasured so much, he stuttered out, "M-my… pocket, left pocket. His card is in my wallet."

Pinning his head down, she went in search of the wallet. When she retrieved it, she opened it one-handedly, thumbing out a small black card from one of the slots. Layne released the gambler while she looked over the glossy cardstock with nothing but the initials ‘D.P.' and a QR code on it.

"This him?" She showed the card to the man who was fumbling for cocktail napkins for the laceration above the bridge of his nose that was forking blood down both sides of his nose.

"Y-yes," he muttered.

"Thanks for your cooperation." Layne tossed the worn leather wallet onto the roulette wheel. After tucking the card away safely into her pocket, she motioned to a security guard to get the pathetic mess of a man out of her club.

Her eyes found Joey sitting at the table he had promised he'd be occupying. His soul-capturing brown eyes stared at her after the minor show of violence she had just put on. Layne's heart both swelled and ached, he was worth every last emergency call and last-ditch effort. Hell, if she wasn't going to make a deal with every devil, demon, and god if it meant preventing the two loves of her life from sacrificing themselves for her.