31. What Kind Of Voodoo?

Chapter 31

What Kind Of Voodoo?

HUNTER

" Y ou do realize that you have a nice home office in that building you live in, right?" Vaughn asks, lounging on one of the sofas lazily. "Why do you keep coming here?"

"I guess for the same reason you do—a change of environment," I say shortly, my eyes straying from my laptop and through the window towards a familiar figure on the ground floor.

"Change of environment or because you want to keep your eye on your little bartender?" Vaughn sneers.

"She's a manager," I correct him, my eyes narrowing as I see a man try to cop a feel of Megan's ass.

"I don't blame you," Vaughn says carelessly. "She's hot. You should keep an eye on her."

"Why the fuck are you here?" I ask Vaughn icily, annoyed he's even looking at Megan in that way. "I thought I gave you a task."

"Watch your tone, man. I'm doing you a favor, remember?" Vaughn scowls. "Plus, I'm waiting on your little bartender to give me the employee files. These things take time."

Since I started personally overseeing the operations here at the Blue Whiskey, instead of staying holed up in my office, the kind of crowd that usually visits has lessened. The small-time thugs who had become frequent visitors now no longer dare even to step inside, making Vaughn's assignment all that more difficult. Who would have had access to the club and know enough about my business to know I had Steve in the basement?

I see Gage slip away for a break, and Megan instantly covers for him, efficiently dealing out drinks. Her eyes flicker toward a man seated at the bar, and my face grows hard when I see her smile at him. It's not her usual dismissive smile, which is aimed at most customers. She's enjoying this conversation. My hand curls into a fist as I see her throw her head back and laugh. This must be a really amusing motherfucker.

The stranger reaches forward and wraps a strand of her hair around his finger. The quiet fury that fills me is both surprising and deadly. Should I knock him out with the butt of my gun, or should I have Lars do it?

Just then, Megan's smile slips, and she steps back, immediately creating distance between herself and the man. My tense form relaxes—for just a moment. But when the man leans forward again, I'm out of my seat. Before I can move, however, he quickly turns his head, looking up at the one-way glass, and shows his middle finger, grinning. Megan looks confused, and I scowl once I see the man's face.

"That bastard."

"You're gone, brother." Vaughn is behind me, howling with laughter. "I can't believe you got so worked up. What the hell kind of voodoo did she put on you in Paris?"

I see my friend Christian, with his dark hair and green eyes, smirk at me. Obviously, he and Vaughn thought this juvenile prank was funny.

"Do you want me to shoot the two of you?" I threaten as Vaughn continues to have the time of his life, still cackling.

A few minutes later, the door of the office opens, and Christian walks in, grinning from ear to ear. "How was I?"

"He fell for it." Vaughn is still howling with laughter. "Jumped out of his chair and everything. If he had been downstairs, you might have gotten a bullet in your back."

"Are we in high school?" I glower at the two of them. "What the fuck is wrong with you two?"

"Hey, man." Christian lifts his hands in a peaceful gesture. "It was his idea. Besides, I didn't even know you were seeing somebody."

"I'm not seeing anybody," I say harshly.

Christian and Vaughn exchange a look before Christian asks him, "I thought she was the one he took to Paris?"

"She is," Vaughn assures him.

"So, what's the deal?" Christian shrugs, taking a seat on the long couch. "She's a little young for you, but she's fucking gorgeous."

"I swear if neither of you don't shut up. "

Both my friends gape at me, and Christian lifts a brow, his face astounded. "You already slept with her, didn't you?"

I've had just about enough of these two and decide to step out for a smoke. It's either that, or I'm going to punch both of them in the jaw. As I descend the stairs, my hand goes towards the box of cigarettes in the inner pocket of my suit jacket. It's still unopened. Using the private exit, I enter the alley. Wishing I had grabbed my electronic cigarette, I make do with what I have and take out one of the cigarettes from the back, clenching it between my teeth.

I savor the smell of the tobacco and how the filtered tip feels between my teeth. I'm tempted to withdraw my lighter and have a real smoke, but I've been trying to break that habit. It's been two months since I've smoked a real cigarette, and I miss the ritual of it–now more than ever.

Hands in my pockets, I lean against the alley wall, closing my eyes in an attempt to empty my head. My self-control has been slipping these past few weeks. I'm furious with myself for letting this damn art student get under my skin like this.

Megan is... well, she should have been... like all the women who have come and gone in my life. And yet here I am, trying to stop myself from taking a smoke because she's got me all worked up.

The door to the alleyway opens, and I see a familiar figure step out. I'm hidden in the shadows, and Megan doesn't see me. She quietly closes the door behind her and sits down on the edge of the steps, a sandwich and a cup of black coffee in her hands. I should slip away and allow her to enjoy her break, but my body is frozen as I watch her. She sighs heavily and then bites into the sandwich unenthusiastically.

She looks weary.

It's an expression I haven't seen on her face in a while, as if the weight of the world is on her shoulders. I thought I took care of that weight for her. The look wasn't on her face when we went to Paris, and I didn't see it when she told me the good news about what happened at college two days ago–but I see it now. She looks lost in thought as she mindlessly chews her sandwich, staring blankly at the ground. I can't seem to tear my eyes away from her, my chest feeling suffocated. Then I hear the sound of her ringtone breaking the silence.

"Hey, Naomi," she answers, her voice soft. "Is everything okay?"

I've not yet met her roommate. I decided to give Megan a wide berth to invite whomever she wanted into her new home without my scrutiny, although I knew it would be her.

"Yeah, they selected it." Megan sets down her sandwich and takes a sip of her coffee. "Nah, I'm happy. Of course, I'm happy. Why wouldn't I be?"

She doesn't sound happy.

Naomi says something to her, and Megan shrugs her shoulders. "I sent it this morning. Thanks for loaning me the money. You didn't have to do that, and I appreciate it."

After another brief pause, she sighs and says, "I don't know. He's not going to stop. I just have to graduate from here and then I'll be out of his grasp. I'll leave the city, no maybe the country. He won't find me."

I have a dark feeling she's talking about the man on the phone from the other day.

"I get a day off this weekend. Let's go get drunk. I need to get wasted. I heard Pallo's is having a ladies' night on Saturday. We can get in early, and drinks are free before eleven."

I know of Pallo's. It's an upcoming club in Los Angeles where many younger Hollywood celebrities like to hang out and take pictures for Instagram.

I wait for her conversation to finish, and then I stir. The shuffling of my shoes makes her shoot her head up, and her voice is cautious. "Who's there?"

When I walk into the dim light, she's on her feet, and when she sees me, her whole body relaxes—and not in a good way.

"Oh, it's you."