Page 12

Neon lights projecting from the stage—which never captures my attention—cast the room in a haze of pink and blue hues, glinting off the polished mirrored surfaces like tiny specks of glitter. Jac enjoys watching the dancers; I’m the opposite.

Jacques and Aidan are already sitting in the furthest VIP booth, out of the way of everything but perfectly placed to have a view of the entire club.

Our VIP booths are located on the main floor, whereas the more private areas are upstairs. And since we want to keep this meeting as casual as possible, main floor it is.

We make our way over to them, passing the black and gold booths, which are full. They talk between themselves, Aidan’s pale, clean-shaven head reflecting the glow of the dim light above the booth as he sips on his drink, one leg folded over his knee and an arm thrown over the black Chesterfield-style seating. He’s dressed in a suit—smart choice for the meeting. I don’t know what I expected him to look like, but a man in his fifties is a bonus. Those types of men usually have experience in the underworld, and we don’t like to dabble with the inexperienced.

I draw closer to the booth and walk up the shallow steps. They both spot me as one of the large security guards unlatches the gold rope, letting me in. Ezra hangs back at the bottom, finding a mirrored pillar to lean on.

Jacques’ shirt is rolled up to his elbows, the same as mine. But where he opts for black shirts, mine are white. They’re cleaner. His hair is styled back into a neat bun at the nape of his neck, rings on every finger of his hands.

The thump of the music quietens a little, and the coloured lights fade out as I enter the booth. Aiden straightens as I pass the empty metal pole, fixed to a small, polished, gold platform. I take my seat next to Jacques, sinking into the cushioned sofa. There are three round, crystal glasses on the table. Two with amber liquid and one with clear. Water for Jac, but others think it's Bacardi.

Aidan clears his throat and stands, extending his hand for me to shake. “Mr Warren, pleasure to finally meet you.”

I glance at his hand but opt for a dip of my chin in response instead. I’m not particularly interested in finding out where his hand might’ve been.

He clears his throat again and sits. “You’re late. I was beginning to think you’d never show,” Aiden says, nervously folding his hands over his waist.

We’re locked in a tense silence as Jac and I assess him. Aiden’s eyes ping uncomfortably around the room.

I lean back in the seat, folding my arms across my chest, finally breaking the silence. “My partner is also here.”

“I know,” he chuckles, leaning forward and taking a sip of his drink, looking everywhere but us. “But I was told you’d be the brother meeting with me.”

Brother.

Whilst it’s true Jacques is the brother I never had, we’re not blood related. The fact that we have the same last name is just a coincidence. We always joked that it was fate bringing us together when we were kids.

Everyone knows us as the Warren brothers, and we have no plans to correct them.

‘Blood runs thicker than water.’

“Well, I don’t intend on wasting any time. What’s your price?” I ask, lowering my voice at the last part.

“As my broker stated to yours—Max, was it?—one hundred thousand, five percent profit, and Kensington and Chelsea are yours to distribute in. I have fifty runners ready to do the work for you. They’re all experienced and stay out of deep water. Those areas will be yours tomorrow if you want them.”

“Who’s operating in that area?” Jacques cuts in.

Aidan’s jaw tightens momentarily. “I don’t know. They do a good job of keeping a low profile. But they have nowhere near enough hold over the area to bring trouble to your doorstep.”

I narrow my eyes at him as he confidently holds my gaze.

“So?” he continues. “I need an answer sooner rather than later. As soon as they find out I’m bringing new meat into the area, they’ll act. Getting another area around London is difficult, as I’m sure you’re aware.” There’s desperation in this voice. “You’re not the first guys I’ve given links to. Take it or leave it.”

Jacques lowers his head, eyes crinkling in the corners.

“But clearly you need our money.”

Aidan tuts, a small show of annoyance, but quickly recovers, probably realising who exactly he’s trying to bag a deal with. “Look, if anything happens, the runners will handle it for you.”

“So, you’ve planned for the worst?” I smirk.

Jac and I already know this deal is going ahead, but there’s nothing wrong with making him graft for a bit. We don’t need anyone to handle anything for us; our team is more than capable.

His nostrils flare as he brings the glass to his mouth again. “With all due respect, Xan—Mr Warren, I’ve been in the business longer than you. I have this handled.”

Are those small droplets of sweat on his forehead?