Asher strode into the empty club, lights flashing, quiet music playing.
It wasn't hard to find Davian, the Mafia King was enormous, the compression shirt he had on molded to his sculpted muscles.
He was seated in the VIP section, in a lit booth, his back straight, expression stoic.
Asher walked up and took his seat, his eyes glancing over the alcohol on the table.
Davian's dark hair was cut short, his slate-gray eyes flicking past Asher. "You're late." He said, his deep voice monotone.
"I'm right on time," Asher tossed back at him, unfazed by the accusation.
Davian said nothing more after that, the Mafia King spoke very little, and it was a good thing because Asher wasn't exactly in the state of mind to hold small talk.
"You're welcome to have a drink," Davian offered to him when he noticed the other Mafia King stare longingly at the bottles on the table for the umpteenth time.
"I'll pass," Asher waved a hand.
