Boss Daddy: Chapter 31

“Screw you.”

Erin snarls the words.

I raise an eyebrow at her.

She’s too damn bold for her own good. I know her, I know she’s scared under that sharp tone and steady gaze. But all Misha sees is a woman telling him no, a woman defying him. And he’s not going to like that.

Misha chuckles. His laughter is low and cruel, the kind that sets my nerves on edge. “Don’t get too full of yourself,” he says. “The ‘bug up my ass’ is that you’ve got something I want. And you know what it is.”

He takes a sip of his martini. His eyebrows raise a bit, and he nods slowly in approval. “Not bad,” he says. “Always knew you were a halfway decent bartender. Too bad about that shit you pulled. You could’ve had a nice, long career at my club.”

I glance at Erin, confusion rippling through me. She meets my eyes, and I see the same uncertainty mirrored in hers. Whatever he’s talking about, she doesn’t know, and neither do I.

“What are you hinting at?” she asks, crossing her arms. “Cut with the cryptic bullshit and spit it out.”

Misha tilts his head, studying her like a predator sizing up its prey. “The night you ran off,” he says, “I was planning to take you to the basement. Teach you a lesson about honesty.”

My blood runs cold. The basement. I’ve heard enough about Misha’s reputation to know what happens down in the basement of his club. It’s a one-way trip for anyone who crosses Misha. My hand flexes at my side, itching to act, but I force myself to stay still, to wait.

For the first time since this started, I see fear flash across Erin’s face. It’s brief, gone in an instant as she reins herself in, but it’s enough to send a sharp stab of anger through me. Misha sees it too, and the bastard’s smirk widens.

“You’re just full of surprises,” he says. “Didn’t think you had the guts to bolt like that. Good timing for you. Here you are, still standing. Impressive.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement near the office doorway. I shift slightly, careful not to draw attention as I glance over.

James.

He’s in the shadows, blood streaking his forehead, but his eyes are sharp and alert.

I have to force back a grin.

Misha’s back is to him, as is the goon standing closest to the doorway. Another thug, however, is directly behind me. The other two are busy with their martinis. It’s not a great position, but it’s something. If James is planning to act, I need to be ready.

“Why the basement?” Erin asks. There’s a trace of fear in her voice, but she’s keeping it in check. “All I ever did was make drinks. Why would you need to drag me down there? Were you offended because I didn’t let you pimp me out to your sleazy friends?”

Her defiance earns another laugh from Misha. He leans forward, resting his meaty forearms on the bar as his grin hardens into something uglier. “Where’s my money?”

“What?” Erin asks, genuine confusion in her voice.

“Where the fuck is my money?” His voice booms through the empty expanse of the club. He pulls back his hand and swats the drink away, the liquid arcing out, the glass shattering in the distance.

Erin blinks. “What money? What are you talking about?”

I glance at her, reading the bewilderment in her expression, and I know she’s telling the truth. Whatever Misha thinks she’s done, it’s a setup.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see James slowly inching away from the office door. His posture is tense but ready, and when our eyes meet, he signals subtly with his hand. A quick gesture with two fingers, pointing to the goon closest to him, then a slight nod toward the one behind me. His message is clear: he’ll handle the first, I’m on the second.

I steel myself, my pulse steadying as I calculate the angles. This has to happen fast. We take down the first two goons, then move in on the other pair, hopefully dropping them mid-sip.

Misha’s got enough arrogance to keep his focus on Erin, but I don’t know if he’s armed. I can’t afford to hesitate.

“You think I’m playing with you?” Misha snaps. He slams a heavy hand down on the bar. “You stole from me.”

Erin doesn’t flinch. Not even a little. She just stares at him, her chin lifting slightly in defiance. “Misha, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. I didn’t take any money,” she says. “You’re scum, but even I know better than to steal money from a man like you. Who the hell told you I stole it?”

Misha’s grin twists into a sinister sneer. “Don’t play games with me, sweetheart. I know you took it. Eighty-five thousand dollars went missing during your last week. You assumed I wouldn’t notice?”

Erin shakes her head slowly. “You’ve received bad information. Check your sources. I didn’t take anything.”

I feel a swell of pride at her unwillingness to back down. She remains steady and collected, even in the face of pure evil.

Misha narrows his eyes at her, his lips curling in disgust. “You’ve got some nerve.” He places his hands on the bar and heaves himself out of his stool. He nods to one of the guards, who sets down his drink and points his gun at her. “Where… the fuck… is my money?” Rage echoes in his voice.

If there’s a time to move, it’s now. If he doesn’t get what he wants, he’s going to kill her.

I nod to James.

The pipe in his hand catches the dim light as he swings it with precision. It connects with the goon’s head, a sickening crack splitting the air as the man crumples to the ground.

The room explodes in chaos.

I spin toward the closest guard behind me, who’s already reaching for his weapon, and grab his wrist. Twisting sharply, I force him to drop the gun, the clatter of metal against the floor barely registering as I slam his head into the edge of the bar. He struggles, but I’m stronger, and the adrenaline coursing through me makes my grip unbreakable.

“Samuel!” Erin’s voice cuts through the mayhem.

I turn my head just in time to see Misha gesture to the two remaining guards, positioning himself between them and James and me. He signals to one of the guards to point his gun at Erin.

“She moves, you kill her,” he says.

“Don’t,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous. “Unless you want this to end badly.”

Misha’s eyes dart to James, who’s already moving toward us, the pipe in his hand dripping blood. The tables have turned, and he knows it.

The room has become still and silent, the only noise the groaning of the guard James brained with the pipe.

My focus narrows on Misha, and I take a slow step toward him.

“Now,” I say, my voice icy, “you’re going to tell me exactly who fed you that lie about Erin. And you’re going to tell me now.”