| BOOK FOUR | THE LONDON CRIME KING | A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE NOVEL |
This book contains adult language and subject matter, including graphic violence, drugs and explicit sex that may be disturbing to some readers.
This series is NOT a typical romance...
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I slipped between mobs of loudmouthed, hard-drinking socialisers and carousers, veering to the long-stretched wood-topped bar. I saw virtually nothing through omnipresent cigarette and marijuana smoke. Wafting fumes out of my face, I squeezed between two unapproachable giants, both of whom wore disgruntled expressions and had tattoos on every inch of skin, including their chins, cheeks, foreheads and ears, and waved down the green-haired barman.
Ogre to my right held bottled beer with skull-ringed fingers. He pulled a long sip, his engine-red leather jacket sticking to my arm, and side-eyed me, or perhaps he's silently conversing with the bald beast to my left, who is currently examining the diamond rings on my fourth finger.
"What can I get you?" the barman shouted over the loud rock music. His head resembled nitid asparagus sticks. Metal fringed his full lips. Customised silver grills veneered his teeth. "I ain't got all night, lady."
"I, vodka?" Jesus, Alexa. Quit ogling. You are acting like a judgmental dimwit. "Yes. Vodka. Russian. Can I buy the bottle? Two glasses."
"Whatever." Whipping a black tea towel over his shoulder, he snagged bottled vodka from under the counter alongside two tumbler glasses and manually tapped the cash register. "Thirty-eight."
I slid two twenty-pound notes across the tacky bar top. "Thank you."
"You gonna finish the whole bottle?" Ogre plucked up the glass as if to request an invite. "I am good company—"
Alfie obtained the glass. "I'm her company," he said with a dark, threatening edge, and my teeth detained my upper lip to cease grinning. His eyes never leaving the cold-faced metalhead, he gathered my belongings and hand gestured for me to lead the way. "Always compromised, Ma'am."
Inharmonious music vibrated under my feet. "I am a glutton for trouble."
"I concur." Alfie peered over the sea of headbangers. "Where to escort you, Ma'am? I will blend into the background." He held out the glasses. "You won't even know that I'm here."
"Nonsense." Uncapping the bottle, I poured strong liquor into the glasses, took one for myself, and left him with the other. "You can join the fun, Alfie. My friends are awesome. You will love them." His lips pressed together in a tight line. "What's the look?"
"One, I am not allowed to lower my guard whilst protecting the boss' wife. Two, it would be careless to drink on the job. Three, Mr Warren expresses a poor opinion of Mr Williams. Four, I am loyal to Mr Warren and the syndicate, so fraternising with the friend in question is disloyally unjust."
I blinked owlishly. "Well, that's a lot of irrational pointers."
Alfie's cheeks dusted pink.
God, I love this man. He's cute for a big old brute.
"I demand that you sit with me," I said sternly, and his mouth parted. "And have fun. And drink. And socialise. Hey, I even permit you to dance." Before he could decline, I clanked our glasses. "Technically, I am your boss. Not Liam. Enjoy yourself."
