“Are we doing that now?”
She’s right that holding hands makes a statement. But then my walking in with any woman would raise just as many eyebrows. I don’t date much and when I do, I don’t take them to random house parties, which means in Coins, I show up to parties with my crue or alone.
Squeezing her hand is my answer. She puts her left hand out for the gate handle, but mine gets there first and pushes hers away.
“That’s me, remember?”
Her throaty self-deprecating laugh makes me smile.
“Sorry. I’m worried, so I’m rushing.”
Yeah, there’s a lot of training to be done. Am I the last guy who opened doors for her? I open the gate and let her step in first, but then I move in front of her. The music and the buzz of the place hit me, pouring energy in. At parties or clubs, I’m in my element.
The path along the side of the house is empty, then we round a corner and we’re in the yard. There’s a heated in-ground pool that’s been uncovered and there are fifteen to twenty people in it. The deck and lawn are full, and the house’s downstairs is packed as well.
Looking up, I spot my crue holding court on a balcony. High ground’s the best position, so I’m not surprised Anvil chose it. The fact that he’s here tells me plenty. ‘Vil has zero interest in parties or any social situation that doesn’t involve his wife Rachel, and I don’t see her next to him, so he’s here to cover C.
Scanning the area, I find the men I don’t recognize and size them up. I make three that are probably Palermo recruits. Inside, there’s another and he’s older with dark, dead eyes. His gaze settles on me, and the recognition is clear.
“I see Dini,” Laurel says over the music, but I hold fast to her hand and pull her with me to the stairs. “Let me ask her whether Monet’s been here.”
She tries to slow, but I only let go of her hand to put my left arm around her, keeping our momentum forward. She tugs my arm, thinking she needs to do it to get my attention. What she needs to do to get my attention is exist in my orbit, so she already has it, as per usual.
I look at her, then shake my head and point to the stairs. “Just a couple of minutes.”
She nods. Good girl.
Resting my gun hand against my ribs right beneath my holster, I keep an eye on the top of the stairs with a look now and then to my six. The guy with the dead eyes has moved so he can watch me ascend the stairs. I move Laurel in front of me, so my body’s between hers and him.
The minute we hit the top landing, I get her clear of his sight line. Turning, I look down and watch him walk away. When we step into the media room with the balcony, C and Anvil spot me first, but don’t react when I’m across the room.
I’m in front of them when Zoe catches sight of me, and her drink sloshes over the sides of her glass as she cheerfully erupts, greeting me with a hug and kiss and some story about the night she’s having.
“That suit looks so good on you, but you’re wrinkled,” she says, smoothing the front and pulling me toward C. “Now we’re all together—almost. I knew Rachel should’ve come. That babysitter she likes would be okay! There are two C Crue guys on the house. Baby Irina would be totally safe.”
“Look who it is,” C says mildly, but his smile’s genuine. He shakes my hand and offers me his flask.
‘Vil only nods, then his eyes are on the room behind me and the scene below the balcony.
I take two long pulls of the Jack Daniel’s before handing the flask back. Drawing Laurelyn over, I introduce her to Zoe.
Zoe, when lit, has never met a stranger who’s not best friend material, so she hugs Laurel. My girl smiles at the effusiveness, but doesn’t completely lean in. Instead, her gaze moves to C, who of course has been watching her since she stepped into the room.
“So you’re Trick’s new friend?” Zoe asks.
“I’m an old friend actually.”
“Even better! Wait—oh.” Zoe’s expression sobers momentarily. “The one from high school?”
“Yes, and Catholic grammar school.”
Zoe’s brows bob. “Oh, wow.” Zoe’s laughter bubbles out of her until she nearly falls over. C and I each grab an arm to steady her. “Catholic school, Trick?”
“All the fallen angels start somewhere,” I murmur.
Zoe laughs again, clutching my face with a hand. “You know what? You belong—”
“That’s enough, Z,” C says, pulling her back against him, his solid forearm just under her breasts.
