“I’ve got two night scopes, a laser, and a long gun in the case. From the roof, I can sight anyone who comes and either take them down or point them out.”
“The second you use a pointer, it comes back on you,” C says.
“Sure.”
“‘Vil?”
“Trick on the roof? Unless he slacks off, I don’t expect to set my coffee cup down. How many of our crue can be here within the hour?”
“Four are already here, standing by a mile away. Six more within the hour. And more on the way in case we need them.”
My brows rise. I’d suggested to C we might bring four or five. “Thirteen of us on hand, and more on the way? We’re not playing.”
Anvil smiles. “Of course we bumped your number. Four or five to cover us in three states when we’re meeting up with five serious families? You’re so fucking cocky, Trick.”
“No, I’m not. I brought two night scopes. Cocky is when I just bring one.”
C smirks.
“Stand watch out here, ‘Vil. I gotta get something from the house,” I say.
“Like what?”
“Food, plus none of your damn business.”
I go inside and glance around. C will need to veto dinner in the dining room because the room’s all windows. If guys with guns get within range it’ll be open season. I pile a plate with food and join the crowd around Zoe and Laurel.
“I’ve gotta go out for a bit. I’ll take a kiss.”
Her brows draw together. “What’s going on?”
I shake my head. “Gotta do a little work.”
She studies my face for a moment, then leans close and kisses me. She tastes like strawberries and Canada Dry. And Laurelyn. I let the kiss last until I can feel eyes on us, and then let it go on a little longer.
Laurel raises her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “That enough?”
“Yes.” I lick my lips. “And no.”
Her smile widens.
“Gotta go.”
“Okay. Be careful.”
I brush my knuckles over the bare skin of her belly, tracing the slight swelling. Then turn and walk out.
* * *
Laurel
There’s a rainstorm outside, and I wonder again what Trick and Anvil are doing. C’s been watchful and another member of C Crue’s standing on the porch, also watchful and seemingly waiting. C’s given the three of us several instructions, including to stay away from the windows.
The house is louder than the storm outside. Lights flash and the beats pound, with brash men in brightly colored tracksuits and serious bling vying for attention. The downstairs bathroom is in use, so Rachel heads upstairs and I join her. Upstairs is nicer because it’s quieter.
Since becoming pregnant my sense of smell is heightened, and the scent of a noxious men’s cologne slows my steps in the hall. It could definitely be from someone downstairs having been up here recently. But when she steps toward the bathroom, I grab her because the scent’s increasing.
“No.”
