“How many times do I have to say it? I don’t give a fuck what it takes, just take care of it, and stop bothering me,” I hiss at the man sat in front of me, who quite frankly looks about two seconds from shitting himself. “Understood?” I say rhetorically with raised brows. The guy is new, still learning the ropes, so I’m lenient this time. This time. He nods frantically before practically tripping out his seat and scurrying off.

I roll my eyes, leaning back in my seat as I take a drag from my cigarette, looking out over the sea of people in my club. The bass and flashing lights are only slightly obnoxious, and I’m sure there’s more than a few drug swaps happening on that dance floor, but I have bigger concerns. Like the crates being delivered tonight, or the idiot Ricardo I have two men tracking down, or-

“Holy shit,” I mutter under my breath, sitting up in my seat as my gaze falls on you across the crowd at the bar.

I wouldn’t say I’m a romantic guy by any means. I’m notorious for quick one night stands and sending the girl home before my head even hits the pillow. That’s always been my style. It’s nothing personal, I just…don’t have the time for relationships. Or the safe lifestyle. So it’s a bit surprising when I’m suddenly sliding up next to you at the bar just before you can pay for your drink.

“It’s on me, Anthony,” I nod at the bartender.