F is for Fury (Camden's Story) (*On Hold*)

3 Threats and Warnings

"Haven't had your father's protection in months and we're doing just fine."

The wizened old barkeep wasn't interested in a word I had to say. But Glenn Casey never had been. As the owner and operator of the Golden Goose gambling den, Glenn preferred to keep a closer eye on his establishment than most. That meant he was here every night, playing the role of bartender and preparing to step in to settle any disputes or oust any cheaters when the occasion arose. I'd always respected the hands on approach and the toughness which the man had to back it up. But he had never respected my father or, by extension, me. I couldn't blame him, knowing the disreputable arrangements my father was always engaging in with the owners of London's seediest gambling halls.

I took my time looking around his place, taking in the peeling wallpaper and the shattered lanterns on more than a few tables, and nodded slowly.

"Seems like it," I drawled, keeping my hands casually in my pockets, my body language relaxed, unthreatened, unruffled. I'd learned that from my father when I was old enough to comprehend a basic sentence. Stay calm, stay collected, never let them see how badly you need it. "Still, my men could provide even more assurance, take on your security concerns, particularly on busier nights. Then you'd be free to enjoy time with your family or, perhaps, make some repairs around the place."

I gave a pointed glance to the pitiful lantern guttering upon a table nearby and Glenn's lips fell into a firm line. Jack Fleming shuffled uneasily on his feet beside me, giving a little cough of warning. Insulting a man's place of business wasn't exactly high on the list of things to do during a negotiation. I did not say a word to Jack but he saw the tick in my jaw all the same and I saw him straighten up out of the corner of my eye and knew he'd gotten the message. We were doing things my way now, a different way. He would either get used to it or get out. I'd given he and Philip Kelley, on my other side, as well as a dozen other men who had managed to escape the investigation into my family's affairs this past year, the same choice. All of them had chosen to rejoin me, to follow me and see where I might take them.

"Don't have a family," Glenn muttered now with a shrug. "And don't plan to. As for repairs, I can hire that out if I have a need to. "Better to hire a repairman than a thug."

I opened my mouth to answer but, at that moment, a raucous brawl broke out behind us. Two men lunged for each other over a card table, one of them getting his hands around the other's throat before the latter could make an offensive move himself. Glenn cursed and reached under the bar for his shotgun which he leveled at the two fighters over the bar itself. Jack, Philip, and I stepped casually out of the way, watching with almost bored expressions as the men at the card table tried to kill each other.

"Knock it off, the both of you!" Glenn shouted but the men were too far gone and his warning fell on deaf ears. He cursed and slammed the shotgun down on the counter, rounding it and storming over to them. I reached for the first one, the one with his hands around his opponent's throat, and attempted to pull him off of his other patron. But the man only released the other's neck long enough to throw an elbow in Glenn's direction. The owner took a hard shot to the chest and went down on his behind in a huff.

I snapped my fingers and Jack and Philip moved. They strode easily to the two men brawling on the floor and lifted them by the scruff of their necks, pulling them apart as if they were no more than ragdolls. I raised a brow and turned to Glenn.

"A monthly payment of a set amount to be negotiated at a later date," I drawled. "No more taking a percentage of your earnings. It's unfair and it motivates you to lie. This is your business. You run it. Let my guys do what they do and pay their salary. That's all I ask."

Jack reached out a hand, helping Glenn to his feet as Philip pushed and shoved the fighting men out to the back alley. Glenn sniffed, rubbing an arm under his nose, and gave a single, curt nod.