CHAPTER 13 (3)

When Drake was questioned, he’d said Tsevorsky had made him sign a contract the first day of his employment, splitting all commissions fifty-fifty with Russ because, supposedly, all the leads came from him. It was take it or leave it, sign or lose the job. That was total bull. None of the Baddricks had ever approved such a contract. And the leads hadn’t come from Russ. He was a bully with a pen and an authority complex. Which pushed all Darius' buttons. Darius had taken a short, fast ride in his Bugatti Veyron EB this morning to work out his tension before the confrontation, but his gut was still simmering with anger. He’d wanted to see Nathalie, drink in her sweet scent, steep himself in her like a balm. But he knew he couldn’t let her see him like that, all keyed up and ready to rumble. He couldn’t let her guess at the Black Knight still lurking inside. Yet somehow, just the thought of her eased the churning in him. Enough for him to breathe, to close his eyes a single moment, and feel the touch of her hand on his arm. And help him calm down enough to act rather than react. 





“We’ll start with Hubert, Drake, and the El Quire deal,” he said. Perseus grinned, but it was a smile that promised retribution. “Since we’ve got a fox in the henhouse, let’s play cock of the walk with him.” Darius hit a button on the intercom, buzzing their executive assistant to usher Russ in. The man who entered was forty-five, but today he looked ten years older, his jowls sagging with the extra pounds he’d put on. “Hey, Darius.” His gaze jittered nervously around the room and up to Argus face on the video screen. “I didn’t realize everyone would be here.” “It’s an executive meeting. That means all of us.” Argus hard-eyed the guy with a laser-sharp gaze. “Sit,” Darius commanded. There was only one chair on the opposite side of the table. Perseus had lowered it so that when Russ faced them, he looked like an overgrown kid in a child’s seat. 





He couldn’t even rest his elbows on the table. “What’s up, guys?” Russ was trying for friendly, but Darius could hear his fingernails tapping on the arm of his chair. Darius simply said, “El Quire.” Ares opened a folder in front of him, withdrew a stapled sheaf of papers, and shot the package across the table. “The contract.” Russ barely caught it before it hit him in the chest. “Your signature is on the last page,” Argus said, his crisp voice echoing out of the screen. “Ah, yes,” Russ said slowly, hesitantly, his face reddening. “And you took half the commission,” Hector added, specifically avoiding the word earned.  




“Funny thing.” Darius kept his tone mild. “Hubert never talked to you. Only Drake. And he was impressed with the kid.” He paused two beats. “He never even met with you.” “Well, no, that’s, uh…” Russ started to splutter, then he sucked in a huge breath that made his shirt buttons look like they’d pop. “It’s how I train my people, hands on, right from the get-go. We strategize together. I write the sales script for them. I monitor their progress every step of the way. The only thing they do at this point is the talking.” He stopped to suck in another shirt-busting breath. “Russ, I have to ask,” Perseus drawled, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “Do we look stupid?” “No,” Russ pushed out. 




***





Hector waved a hand. “Why don’t we show him the other contract, Ares.” “Sure thing.” Ares looked like a big cat ready to pounce on a lizard. They hadn’t scripted the meeting, but the five of them had been together so long, they didn’t need a script. Right from the day they’d made their pact, they’d known exactly how to back each other up. Perseus had gone to Las Vegas, where he’d founded a media empire, Hector and Ares had gone to college, Argus had turned his contractor’s license into a billion-dollar home improvement kingdom, and Darius had begun importing the right thing at just the right moment. But they’d all been there for one another with exactly what was needed right when it was needed. This issue with Russ was no different. 





Ares withdrew more papers from his magic folder and flicked them across the table. Russ missed and it slid to the carpet. His chair was so low, he disappeared for a moment to retrieve it from beneath the table. The only sound was the rustle of paper and his harsh breathing. His face was even redder when he popped back up like a buoy in the water. “What’s this?” But he already knew. Hector stared the man down. The kid he’d been at ten was a distant memory. At thirty-four, Hector was formidable. “Drake gave it to us.” A drop of sweat rolled down from Russ sideburns. “He couldn’t have.” “Did you really think you had the only copy?” Darius asked. Russ eyes flitted back and forth as if searching for a way out. Then, suddenly, he crushed the two-page contract in his hand. “This is standard operating procedure. I bring in the leads. I teach them the ropes. 





In fact, I’m devoting all my time to them rather than following the leads myself, which I could very well do. I’m actually the one sharing with them, not the other way around.” Darius leaned forward. “One—” He tapped his index finger on the table. “—we give you the leads. Two—” He tapped his middle finger. “—it isn’t our standard operating procedure to let anyone skim off half of someone else’s commission unless they actually do half the work. Which brings me to three.” He brought his hand down on the table. “You’re fired.” “But I’ve got debts!” Ah, so it was debts that had turned him away from being hardworking and honest? Even so, Darius didn’t give a damn why Russ had turned rotten. He still wanted to grind the man down for taking advantage of kids fresh out of college who didn’t know better. 





Darius had seen it over and over again with his father and with the Black Knight as they picked on the weak. It wasn’t just a way of life for them, it was sport—and how they made themselves feel bigger than they were. And Darius had been one of them until he was sixteen and had tried to leave all that behind. Now, faced with a bully like Russ Tsevorsky, Darius felt the anger boil up all over again, the need to use his fists. “Get your things, Russ, and get the hell out. Now.” Before Darius let anything else boil over. “But what am I supposed to do?” Russ whined. Darius stared him down.