inside the car. Holding the doors open with one hand, he jabs his thumb against the button and pierces me with a look.
“You done with your tantrum, yet?”
Glaring at him, I huff out a breath and step onto the elevator. The doors close and seconds later we’re padding across the fancy hallway, making our way to his room. I watch as he pats his pants in search of the keycard. Coming up short, he moves his hands to his back pockets. The hem of his jacket lifts as he pulls the keycard from his pocket and a flash of something shiny catches my eye. I inch forward and my eyes go wide when I realize he’s got a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. He brings the keycard around and the jacket falls back into place, shielding the gun from my eyes.
“You’re carrying a gun?” I blurt as he fits the card into the door and pushes it open. I don’t know why I’m so surprised. It’s no secret who his uncle is, and seeing as he does work for him, I suppose it goes hand in hand. Hell, Victor probably gives nine millimeters as Christmas presents. Still, I wasn’t expecting to see it firsthand and it makes me wonder what exactly he and Joaquin do for Victor. To my knowledge they run his night club in Miami, I hardly think that requires them to carry a weapon but what do I know?
Breaking the cardinal rule of the streets I ask, “Why do you have a gun?”
“Get inside, Bug,” he clips.
Ignoring his demand, I cross my arms against my chest and stare at him. He rolls his eyes and mutters a curse, before roughly grabbing my arm and pulling me inside the hotel room.
It was worth a shot.
“You’re still stubborn as hell,” he grinds out, kicking the door shut.
“At least one of us hasn’t changed,” I fire back, tossing my bag onto the bed.
“Oh, don’t kid yourself, Bug, you’re different too,” he scoffs, moving to the mini bar in the room. Without skipping a beat, he plucks a tiny bottle of vodka from the selection and unscrews the cap. Throwing his head back, he downs it in one gulp without flinching. “That’s good,” he mumbles, shrugging off his jacket. My eyes trail to the gun tucked into his pants, watching as he reaches behind him to pull it out. He gently sets it on top of the bar and reaches for another mini bottle of vodka. This one goes down even quicker than the first and I start to wonder why he’s even brought me back here.
“You know what, fuck this, I’m leaving.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he growls. “The bathroom is straight through those doors. Shower and wash that shit off your face and while you’re at it, lose the fucking attitude.”
Anger coils in my veins as I stare at his back.
“What the hell happened to you?” I hiss.
He unscrews a third bottle of vodka but doesn’t bring it to his lips as he seems to contemplate my question. Setting it on top of the bar, he slowly turns to face me. A muscle quivers in his jaw and the expression in his dark eyes seems to soften ever so slightly as he closes the distance between us. Lifting his hand, he touches a strand of my hair, staring at it like he’s mesmerized by the blonde locks. The intensity rolls off him in waves and my breath hitches when he tucks the strand of hair behind my ear. Our eyes lock and defeat washes over his features.
“The same thing that happened to you happened to me, Bug,” he rasps. “We fell off course.”
My mind whirls at his response. He has no fucking idea what he’s talking about. I didn’t fall off course, I did what I had to do. I stepped up to help my family, just like my brother has always done. Just like Rocco stepped up when his mom died, and his sister needed him.
“I didn’t fall off course,” I argue.
“So, baring your ass for a room full of desperate men is a requirement for the Academy? Hmm…I must’ve missed that. Tell me, Bug, will you put your stint at Delilah’s Den on your resume as an internship?”
“As soon as you add gopher to yours,” I hiss. “That’s still what you are, right? Your uncle’s lackey.”
A muscle flicks angrily at his jaw as he ignores my slur and pads back to the mini bar. Expecting