I extract myself and sit on a barstool at the island next to Rachel, taking her drink. “What is this?”
“A Negroni.” Without missing a beat, she adds, “Have it.” And then she slides off the barstool and moves to a chair in the corner.
Our emo princess is way too smart to let me play games near her. Anvil is extremely possessive, and he’s got the right wife because she shuts down even little stuff that could trigger his jealousy.
When I start to drink the Negroni, ‘Vil calls me something in Russian that’s probably the curse word for dick and walks out. Finishing off the drink, I tap the glass’s rim.
“Who made that?”
C levels his gaze. “I did.”
I nod without commenting further. He doesn’t offer to make another one for anyone. C is not pleased with me right now. Can’t say I blame him. I’m pushing all the buttons because I’m fucking furious that Schager fucked Laurel and then fucked her over and all I got to do about it was punch him in his smug federal agent face.
“Agent Milt Schager of the FBI might have a cracked cheekbone. I don’t think he had a modeling career of him, but then I don’t know who they’re putting on government pamphlets these days.”
Anvil returns with a glass in each meaty fist, but his steps slow when he hears my announcement. He bangs a Jack and Coke on the granite slab in front of me, giving the crystal glass a shock test. It holds up, but some liquid splashes over the sides. To his love, he takes something that may be a Negroni, but probably isn’t because his bartending skills are for shit. There is, of course, no splashing of Rachel’s drink.
“Go on then,” Rachel says. “You wanna tell us, and we want to hear. Proceed.”
I turn my head and smile at her. Though she be but little, she is fierce, which is cute on her since she looks like a doll and could fit in ‘Vil’s pocket. “He tripped into my fist.”
“Once? More than once?” Anvil, as an enforcer, expects the full picture.
“Did they get it on video?” C asks.
“I’m sure. And as for how many punches, one.”
Zoe holds out a spatula and mimics Sherlock Holmes with her tone. “What did he do to provoke you?”
My smile widens because Zoe’s always on my side against outsiders and wants that fact established before we move on.
“Thank you, Z. As a matter of fact, Milt Schager is a douchebag, and, as such, was acting douche-y. He tried to rush me from behind.”
C’s brows crowd each other. “Rushed you from behind? Was he trying to cuff you?”
“No.”
“What did you do to provoke him?” C is on my side, but feels no pressure to establish it, since that’s been established long ago and many times since.
“Ignored him.”
“Ah.” Zoe dips her finger into the sauce. “Douche-y douchebags who want attention do hate that.”
I chug my Jack and Coke, and then walk over to Zoe. I slide an arm around her neck from behind and kiss her cheek. “Why didn’t I see you first?” Letting her go, I leave the kitchen for the media room, grabbing another drink on the way.
C and ‘Vil give me ten minutes before they show up. I’m eight minutes into a Coen brothers’ flick, but pause it when they sit.
“I don’t know if they’ll arrest me again or not. The clip will support my statement that punching him was practically a reflex.”
C leans in. “What’s wrong with him? Why would he try to jump you from behind with his own guys watching?”
“All I can think is he wanted to grab me by the collar to pull me back and maybe have me land on my ass on the ground.”
“To what end?” C’s expression is one of exaggerated confusion.
I’ve got no real answer, except the personal one I don’t feel like sharing. Schager’s probably suffering some jealousy of his own. Suspect motives or not, he used to be with Laurel, and if he hasn’t surmised that I’ve fucked her a half dozen times since his botched sting, he needs to turn in his badge.
Anvil nods, leaning forward so his elbows rest on his tree-trunk legs. “Trick probably drove him crazy. I feel like throwing Trick to the ground and kicking him in the head at least once a week. Experience tells me the feeling will pass. The fed wouldn’t know that though, being new to his bullshit.”
