by Paige Tyler
She decided she really liked it when he looked at her that way.
“This may or may not come as a shock to you, but I had a huge crush on you back in high school,” she said softly.
Lyla felt her face warm the second the words were out of her mouth, and she could have smacked herself for saying them. It was like she couldn’t shut up when he looked at her sometimes. What the hell had she been thinking?
Trent’s blue eyes glinted. “Yeah, I knew. And while I never would have admitted it back then, I definitely had a crush on you, too.”
She blinked. “You did? I never knew.” She bit her lip. “Do you think things would have been different between us back in high school if we’d been the same age?”
His brow furrowed as he considered that. “Maybe. But to tell the truth, while the age difference was certainly a complication, the fact your brother was my best friend was the bigger issue. Marco probably would have come after me with a two-by-four if I ever treated you as anything other than his baby sister.”
“I was never his baby sister,” she pointed out.
“No, you definitely weren’t,” he agreed with a smile. “But you were his sister, and he was very protective of you. When he started screwing up his life with drugs and crap, that never changed.”
Lyla opened her mouth to ask him if he was worried about Marco coming at him with a two-by-four when he figured out Trent was sleeping in her spare bedroom, but before she could get the words out, his phone rang, interrupting her.
He pulled his cell out and glanced at the screen. “It’s Chasen.”
Thumbing the speaker button, he placed the phone on the table between them. Lyla looked around, wondering if this was the best place to take this call. But they were at the end of the lunchtime rush, so there wasn’t anyone else in this section of the restaurant. She supposed it was okay. Or at least Trent must have thought so.
“What’s up, Chasen? Did you learn anything about Cobb?”
There was silence on the phone speaker for a second, and then a man’s deep voice answered. “Yeah, I learned some stuff about Cobb. Enough to ask what the hell you’re getting yourself into, Cowboy. When Nash said you were helping an old friend from high school, I didn’t think you’d be going up against one of San Antonio’s biggest crime bosses.”
“Is that what Cobb is?” Trent asked, not ruffled in the least.
“Yeah, and he’s got a reputation for being a cold-blooded, vicious bastard. You sure you don’t need a few of us to fly out there for backup?”
Lyla stared at the phone, not sure if she was more shocked to learn Cobb was a huge crime boss, or that Trent’s SEAL buddy seemed ready to jump on a plane and help him deal with the aforementioned crime boss.
“Thanks, but I’m good, Chief,” Trent said. “You got an address on this guy?”
Chapter Four
“I’D FEEL BETTER if you stayed in the car,” Trent said as they sat in the front seat of the parked SUV in front of the nightclub off Interstate 37. “I have no idea how many of Cobb’s people are in there at this time of the day.”
“Forget it,” Lyla said firmly. “I asked you to come to Texas to help find Marco, not risk your life. If you’re going in there, I’m going, too.”
She grabbed her purse and hopped out of the SUV without waiting for a reply. Trent ground his jaw as he got out and met up with her when she came around the front of the car. Her logic made no sense. He was going into a place owned and operated by a known crime boss, which would obviously put his life at risk. Her going in with him wouldn’t change that at all. It would just put her life at risk as well.
But he doubted Lyla was likely to listen to him if he told her that. He got the feeling she did whatever she thought was right, regardless of the danger. Something else he couldn’t help but admire about her.
When they reached the front door of the club, Trent glanced up at the big red brick building and the enormous metal chain links that spelled out the name of the club, and let out a snort.
Chains.
Clever, he supposed.
He looked at Lyla. “Sure you don’t want to change your mind? I seriously think it would be better if you waited in the car.”
Lyla shook her head and reached for the handle. Trent beat her to it, pulling open the door. He was a little surprised the place wasn’t locked up. It wasn’t even 1400 hours—two o’clock—yet. A place like this probably didn’t open for business until eight.
The inside was dimly lit, and it took a second for Trent’s eyes to adjust. The club was larger than he expected. Chasen had said Cobb fronted his criminal operations through a string of nightclubs across south Texas, stretching from all the way from Houston to El Paso, with the one here in San Antonio being the biggest. The chief hadn’t been exaggerating. This place was big enough to hold at least a thousand people.
While the club would be a great place to sell drugs out of, Chasen seemed to be of the opinion that Cobb used it strictly as a way of laundering money made from selling meth, heroin, and cocaine through his other venues. Trent supposed that made sense, too. Cobb wouldn’t want to draw too much attention to his main base of operations.
As he and Lyla weaved their way through the tables and crossed the glass and metal dance floor, Trent noted they’d carried the chain motif inside. Long lengths of heavy gauge anchor chain were strung from the ceiling, some ending in lights that were mostly off at the moment, but others holding up large gilded cages. Trent didn’t have to exercise his imagination much to figure out what those cages held during normal business hours.
“We’re not open yet,” a loud male voice boomed.
Trent turned to see a guy in his mid-thirties stacking bottles of booze on the shelves behind the long bar that took up the entire far wall.
“Club opens at eight,” the man told them. “You’ll need to come back later.”
“We’re not here to party,” Trent said. “We’re here to talk to Archie Cobb.”
The guy’s whole demeanor changed, his face turning seriously unfriendly. “Mr. Cobb doesn’t take meetings without an invitation, and I’m pretty sure you’re not the kind of people who’d make the list.”
As if on cue, three other men walked out of a doorway near the far end of the bar and came toward them. Beside Trent, Lyla inhaled sharply.
One man was tall and thin with red hair, his face rough from years of hard living, while the other two were a little shorter, but bulkier, the kind of guys you’d see working out six days a week at the gym and at night working the door of a club.
“What are you doing here, Lyla?” the thinner man said, his face curious as he looked first at her then at Trent.
“We came to talk to Archie Cobb,” Lyla said, her voice steadier than Trent would have thought it’d be. “Though I guess I’m not all that surprised to see you here, Tim. You and Cobb strike me as the kind of people who’d hang out together.”
Tim. As in Tim Price, the guy who’d been in prison with Marco.
“Mr. Cobb isn’t here right now, and he wouldn’t see you if he was,” Tim said. “You should leave.”
Without waiting for a reply, Tim turned and headed toward the same door he’d just come out of.
“I think we’ll stay and wait for Mr. Cobb to come back,” Trent said. While he deliberately kept his tone light, he couldn’t keep from sounding a little pissed off. “I can’t speak for Lyla, but I’m a witty conversationalist. I’m sure your boss would regret the opportunity if he didn’t get a chance to talk to me.”
Tim stopped and turned back around to look at him, ignoring Lyla completely. “And who are you?”
Trent’s mouth twitched. “I’m a friend of Lyla’s—and Marco’s.”
The corner of Tim’s lip curled up in a sneer. “Marco never did have very good taste in friends.” He glanced at the two bruisers with him. “Escort Lyla and her friend out. Make sure they understand it’d be in their best interest if they don’t come back.”
As Tim walk
ed away, the two goons headed straight toward Trent. He casually stepped in front of Lyla. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted her to come in here with him.
“Trent?” Lyla asked uncertainly as the two men moved onto the dance floor and closed the distance between them.
Trent had no choice but to ignore her as he focused all his attention on the approaching threat. He could tell from the way they walked that the men were used to physically intimidating and overpowering people based on pure size and strength. Neither of them seemed to possess the speed or agility that made him think he had to worry about any kind of martial art skills.
One of the men moved slightly slower than his buddy, favoring his left leg a little, like he’d injured it recently. Trent went with his instincts and took several more steps to that man’s side, forcing both guys to slow and change direction a bit. As expected, Bum Leg did exactly what Trent wanted, dropping back behind his partner so they could come at him one at a time.
“Look, fella,” the guy in front said. He had a big forehead and brooding brow that reminded Trent of a Cro-Magnon. “This is going to hurt, no matter what, but it’s a matter of how long you want to be in the hospital, so don’t make this hard on us.”
“I certainly wouldn’t want to make things difficult for you,” Trent said, giving Cro-Magnon a cool smile as he took another step toward him.
When Cro-Magnon reached out to grab his shoulder, Trent didn’t try to evade him. Instead, he grabbed the guy’s hand and shoved it aside, lunging forward at the same time. Cro-Magnon’s eyes widened in alarm, but it was too late for him to do anything as Trent slammed his forehead into the bridge of the big guy’s nose. The crunch was shockingly loud as Cro-Magnon’s nose broke, but the noise was relatively soft in comparison to the shout of pain the guy let out as he staggered backward into his buddy. Bum Leg stumbled, almost falling, but Trent had no time to deal with him yet. While the fight looked like it was over for Cro-Magnon, Trent couldn’t take the chance. In one smooth move, he reached out and got his hands on the man’s shoulders, yanking him forward at the same time he viciously brought his right knee up into the man’s crotch.
Cro-Magnon’s bloody face immediately turned pale, and he collapsed. Trent brought his knee up again, this time connecting with the man’s jaw. There was another crunch of bones, and Cro-Magnon flopped to the floor in one big, unconscious heap.
Trent stepped over the man, advancing on Bum Leg. The guy had already recovered his balance and was reaching behind his back for something. Trent had no doubt it was a weapon of some kind. Apparently, he’d decided he didn’t like the odds of dealing with Trent hand to hand.
Bum Leg was smarter than his friend, backing up a bit to give himself time to get his weapon out, but his bad knee was slowing him down. Trent used that to his advantage, moving to close the distance between them quickly. But not before the man pulled out a large .45-caliber automatic and swung it in his direction.
Behind Trent, Lyla shouted a warning, but again he had to ignore her as he threw himself forward to grab Bum Leg’s arm before the guy could line up a shot. The guy took a swing at Trent with his left hand. It was an awkward shot at best, and Trent blocked it easily. Then he pivoted his weight to his left foot, freeing up his right for a kick. Bum Leg twisted his body as well, probably assuming Trent was going for another nut shot. Trent didn’t blame him. If he’d just seen his friend take a knee to the balls, he’d be guarding his groin, too.
But Trent had no intention of going for the man’s crotch. He had another target in mind—Bum Leg’s bad knee.
Bum Leg groaned when Trent’s heel connected with it. The man dropped to the floor, clutching his leg and grimacing in pain. Trent took advantage of the distraction, ripping the man’s .45 away from him then smacking him in the temple with the butt of the hand grip.
Trent was jacking the upper receiver back to make sure a round was in the chamber when he heard a distinctive metal clanking sound coming from the direction of the bar. He spun, raising the heavy automatic and aiming by pure instinct, lining it up with the bartender, who’d just yanked a shotgun out from behind the bar and pumped a shell into the chamber.
“The chances of you hitting me with a shotgun blast from all the way over there is pretty damn low,” Trent said as he sighted his gun on the man’s forehead. “But I can absolutely guarantee I’ll put a big ass .45 round right between your eyes, no fucking problem.”
“Who the hell are you? And what the hell do you want?”
Trent glanced over to see Tim had come back and was looking more pissed off than before.
“I already told you,” Trent said. “I’m a friend of Marco’s. Like Lyla said, we’re here to talk to Mr. Cobb.”
“Then perhaps you should turn around so you can talk to him,” a deep voice said from behind Trent.
Beside him, Lyla immediately spun around. Trent moved more cautiously, sliding to the side so he could keep an eye on both the bartender and Tim, as well as Archie Cobb. The stocky crime boss in the expensive silk suit wasn’t alone. Marco was with him.
Marco Torres had changed a lot since Trent had last seen him. He was still lean, but he didn’t look as gaunt as a couple of years ago. Lyla was right about her brother not using anymore. Marco looked a hell of a lot older than he should, though, gray already salting his short, dark hair and showing up in the scruff along his jawline.
But, above all that, the biggest change was the sadness in his friend’s eyes. He had the gaze of a man who had done a lot of stupid stuff and disappointed a lot of people.
“Marco, where have you been?” Lyla asked, even though the fact her brother was standing next to a crime boss pretty much answered the question.
“I was down in Mexico,” Marco said. “Doing some work.”
“For him?” Lyla asked, glaring at Cobb.
“It’s complicated,” Marco answered.
“Complicated?” Lyla demanded, nearly trembling with anger. “Is that what you call it when you decide that selling drugs for this man is more important than moving forward with your life? Is that what you call it when you decide to turn your back on me and on Dana and on all the people who love you?”
“Lyla,” Marco pleaded softly, the little light left in his eyes completely fading at the anger and accusation in her voice.
“Forget it!” she snapped. “I have no idea why I bothered caring about you when you can’t be bothered to care for yourself.”
Blinking back what looked like tears, Lyla hurried for the exit, not looking at Trent. He followed anyway, shaking his head as Marco took a step forward, attempting to slow his sister. The look she gave him could have melted steel, and he stepped back, letting her pass.
“Trent?” Marco stared at him in shock as if just now realizing who he was. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to keep you from making yet another boneheaded mistake with your life, but I can see I wasted my time.”
Shaking his head, Trent strode past his old high school friend to catch up with Lyla.
“Can I have that weapon back? It’s personal property,” Cobb said, stepping in front of him.
Shit. Trent wasn’t in the mood to deal with Cobb. Shoot him—yes. Talk to him—no.
Trent brushed past Cobb, forcing the man to step aside or deal with the embarrassment of getting run over.
“If he wants it, he can dig the parts out of the sewer drain outside,” he said without looking back. “That’s where I plan on tossing them.”
Trent caught up with Lyla as she reached the door, and he pushed it open for her. Tears rolled down her face, and she wiped them away angrily.
Fuck. The urge to go back in the club and beat the shit out of Marco was nearly impossible to resist. The only thing that kept him from doing it was the greater urge to get Lyla the hell away from this place.
* * * * *
“Damn him!” Lyla said, pacing back and forth in front of the couch in her living room. It had been over an hour since they’d l
eft Cobb’s club, and she was still spitting mad. “I can’t believe that after all the times I’ve had his back, stuck up for him to the rest of the family, paid for his lawyers, Marco is hanging out with that lowlife Tim Price and his boss, Archie Cobb.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Trent on the couch following her with his gaze. Lyla appreciated the fact he wasn’t trying to get her to calm down like most other guys would. She needed to work off her anger, or she was going to scream. Somehow, Trent sensed that.
When they’d left the club, he’d calmly asked if she wanted him to drive then given her his cell phone to use so she could call Dana because she’d almost lost it after seeing the battery in hers was completely dead. She’d been so worried about her stupid brother, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d bothered to charge the damn thing.
Now it looked like all that worry had been a waste of time.
Lyla glanced at Trent as she spun in place to wear a hole in the carpet in the other direction. She couldn’t believe how well he was dealing with this. Then again, he’d had a chance to work through a quite a bit of his aggression earlier when he’d gotten into that fight at Cobb’s club. She still shuddered every time she thought of him taking on those two muscle-bound goons. She’d been shaking in her shoes, but he’d handled those men like it was nothing. He’d never once looked the slightest bit nervous. She wasn’t sure if he was incredibly confident or slightly insane.
“I swear, if Marco were here right now, I’d punch him,” she muttered.
Trent scowled. “Yeah, well, you might have to get in line.”
Lyla stopped pacing to walk over and flop down beside him on the couch.
