24. Knox

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Knox

Davis has always been an enigma to me.

No, that’s a lie. I’m fairly confident that his mysteriousness is really just a cover for a borderline personality. He’s all robotic and apathetic on the outside, but I’m sure, deep down, he’s a fucking maniac. He’d have to be in order to run one of the most successful drug businesses in South Florida.

I sit across from him as he looks at the reports his special kind of accountant drew up for him, humming under his breath as he turns the page. His eyes widen and, my God, is that actual happiness I see in them?

“Well, okay then,” he drones, nodding to himself. “Turns out, giving Elton that internship was a good idea. The kid’s themed night was a success.”

For some reason, I have the urge to stand up and beat my chest with pride. Elton worked hard to impress Davis and put together a night that would bring the club success. He deserves whatever praise and recognition Davis gives him.

“You’re not doing too bad either, Knox.” He continues, actually smiling as he flips another page. “Seems like I had two good ideas.”

I nod. I might be an asshole, and people might not always want to be around me, but there’s no denying that I can sell a fuck ton of drugs. “Thanks.”

“Mike giving you any trouble?”

I shake my head. After that incident out in the alley a few days ago, I haven’t heard from him. I’m sure he’ll weasel his way back eventually, but I’m not concerned. He’s not the reason my hands are a bit clammy as I sit on Davis’s fancy couch, my mouth suddenly dry as I consider what to say next. “So, boss?”

“Yes?” he mumbles distractedly, still looking at the reports.

I wet my chapped lips and clear my throat to get his attention. “I was wondering. Is there any real work I can do at the club as well?”

It takes a beat, but Davis slowly lowers the reports, one eyebrow cocked as he gives me his undivided attention. “ Real work?”

Fuck, I hope he’s not offended by my choice of words, but I didn’t know how else to put it. “Well, like Britt. She worked as head bartender while doing this job.”

“You’d make a terrible bartender,” he says plainly. “You know how many people you have to talk to in that position?”

Oh, it absolutely sounds like a nightmare, and there’s no way in hell I’ll ever let Rhys Conway be my boss. “Is vendor relations an actual position? I could negotiate lower prices for bulk items on the club’s behalf. Or, I noticed Rhys manages the inventory, but it might be more efficient for somebody else to oversee that.”

“What’s this about?” he questions. He doesn’t seem irritated, mostly curious. “Why are you asking about these positions?”

Because Elton fucking Hill is in my head.

Even though it hasn’t been brought up again, I haven’t forgotten how he believes I can do more than just sell drugs. I never considered that I would do anything else, truthfully. I knew at a certain age I’d have to stop, because no one wants to buy drugs from a grandpa, but that was a future-Knox problem. Now, however, that flamingo-loving bastard has me thinking about other things I’m capable of. I’ve gathered quite a bit of skills through drug dealing, and while I don’t have a degree and could never put this job on a resume, I think there are other things I’d be great at.

Fuck him for giving me hope.

“You’re an excellent dealer, Knox.” Davis continues before I can say anything else. “It would be…difficult to replace you. Why stop doing something you’re so good at? Do I need to pay you more? Because I will.”

This would be the time that I should open my mouth to tell him I want to quit dealing and try a legitimate job, but something stops me. It’s a nervous twist in my stomach and a clench in my heart. It’s like the words are there, but they refuse to come out.

It’s fear.

Actual fear.

Fear that if I do this, I’m throwing away the one thing I’m good at. Fear that if I quit dealing, I’ll fail at whatever I choose to do after. Fear that this is all I’m good for.

“No reason,” I say quickly, trying my best to smirk. “Although, I will take a pay raise if you’re offering one.”

To this, he squares his jaw, picking up the reports yet again. “If there’s nothing else to discuss, the new shipment should be arriving within the hour. You and Butch go wait for it.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I want this to be the last shipment I ever oversee, but I chicken out. I nod, stepping out of his office, then head downstairs to meet Butch in the alley. All the while, I think to myself that I’m being ridiculous. Was I really going to ask Davis for a lower-paying job just because Elton doesn’t like the fact that I deal? That’s a fucking terrible idea.

I like my life the way it is, and I like my job. Thinking that I could be more than this…

But when I do think that I could be more, I can’t deny the smile it puts on my lips.