Their Greatest TreasureBy: Dixie Lynn Dwyer
(Power Surge_ The Billionaire Club #1)
Nash Riley walked into the club. He was trying to be discreet, but that wasn’t going as planned. A glance to his right, and he saw an underage girl. She had a martini in one hand and was using the other hand to manipulate the bouncer, Frank, who should have been watching the bar area.
In annoyance he glanced to the left, and there was a small argument beginning between two patrons trying to get closer to the stage and the sexy little dancer doing her short act.
“Mr Riley? How are you, sir? I didn’t know that you would be here tonight? Is everything okay?” Lou asked.
Nash bit the inside of his cheek. “Where the fuck is Riker?” he managed to squeeze out through clenched teeth.
Lou’s eyes widened, and he knew the shit was about to hit the fan. Their employees were fully aware that Nash expected discipline and perfection. Riker, on the other hand, left in charge for the last two weeks, had let the ball fall. Riker was obviously too busy drinking and partying to get his act together, and now it could cost them big-time. He shouldn’t have left. Nash shouldn’t have gone out to upstate New York to help their friend Peter. But Peter was good people. He was honest and fair.
Nash was getting tired of his twin brother Riker’s blasé attitude with their club, The Jewelry Box. Fucking Riker was always partying and getting down with the ladies. This was their club, their investment. In the last year, it had turned to shit. The clientele came here to find easy women, and easy women came here to land some deep-pocket men.
Nash heard the explosion of voices. Women screamed, and as he turned, he caught one guy by the shoulders as the other man decked him. Nash ducked and bobbed, using his boxing abilities to evade getting hit. As a survival fighter, he’d never lost his touch. Even though he felt old and exhausted, he wasn’t even forty yet.
“Lou!” Nash yelled then shoved the man toward Lou, and now Frank appeared and grabbed the other guy.
As Nash turned, some wild woman with a nasty right hook struck him. He roared in annoyance, and before he could let his temper flare, another bouncer, Bret, grabbed the woman by the hair and restrained her.
“Get them out of here. Clear the whole fucking place!” he yelled and then walked toward the bar.
John, the bartender, a nice guy, handed Nash a towel with ice in it.
“Here you go, boss. That was a hell of a move you pulled. I thought you were a goner when that big guy swung at you.”
Nash raised one eyebrow at John, as if his assessment of what could have happened was a joke.
Nash looked around the small club. It was turning into a shit hole. He didn’t like the people who frequented it. He didn’t care for what the place was turning into. He was going to need some help. He should call his good friends Jett and Flynn. They owned The Phantom, a restaurant and club. They knew people who helped with things like this.
“Hey, brother, what’s the long face for?” Riker asked as he stumbled into the bar area with a blonde on his arm and a redhead standing behind him with her arms wrapped around his midsection.
Nash gave him a dirty look. He knew that Riker drank too much. They had both gone through a tough time. The one woman they loved was dead. She was taken from them because of their pasts. Once secret operatives for the government, hired out on a job-to-job basis, they did things they would never even let cross their minds again, never mind tell another person. They lost her because of those missions. They lost everything.
“What’s going on? Look at this fucking place. Will you look around and see the shit that’s going on around here? I don’t want this, Riker. This isn’t what we agreed to. This is not the place we talked about having. I’m tired of the losers coming in here. We need a fucking change.”
Nash stared at Riker and held the cloth, filled with ice, against his lower lip. Then he tossed it onto the bar.
He watched Riker peel the women off of him, tap their asses, and tell them to take off.
Nash looked at his twin. They were nearly identical, aside from Nash’s small scar by his left ear. A battle wound from his past career.
Most people couldn’t tell them apart if they were dressed the same. But they didn’t dress alike. Nash was more conservative, and liked a nice designer dress shirt and dress pants. Riker preferred designer jeans and tight T-shirts that showed off their similar athletic builds. Riker also had a more approachable expression. Nash didn’t appear approachable, ever. He was hard, angry, and kept his contact with people limited. He preferred it that way.
“Did something go wrong at Peter’s?” Riker asked, taking a seat next to Nash at the bar.