It was sparse and efficient, but he’d expected nothing more. The ride here had been quiet, but Nash held his hand all the way. It took time to find where Terry had made it in, but Nash hadn’t left until he figured it out. Avery showed Carl an old trap door from Prohibition years when the place was just a bar. Nash crawled through it and ended up outside. Perfect for smuggling liquor in. Apparently, Terry had used it and ended up in a back room. “I’m sorry Terry is such a problem. He means nothing to me.” Peter sat on the old plaid couch. Nash nodded. “I believe that. Why the hell didn’t you scream bloody murder when Terry broke in?” Peter smiled up at Nash who stood there, fists clenched, tension straining his sexy muscles, towering over Peter. There was no intimidation, only hurt and frustration. “I didn’t want to cause a panic. You start shouting, and people think there’s a fire or who knows. Ballet or stripping, the audience is there for a show, and you don’t ruin that.”
