I should never have gotten in the car with him. Ishould have paid closer attention. But I’d been shaken up by what my dad andhis buddies had been saying.
If Sayer knew I was riding with Atticus instead ofGus, he would be pissed.
Atticus retracted his hand and put it back on thewheel. “Good girl.”
Bile rose in my throat. We couldn’t reach ourdestination quick enough. He didn’t try to speak to me again, and for that Iwas grateful.
Atticus had never liked me. Part of me still thoughthe held a grudge for one time when I’d managed to steal a hundred bucks fromhim in the middle of his crew—before I had my six pin. He’d caught me and takenme before the bosses to have me punished, but Roman had sided with me.
Atticus had never liked me, but after that I wasirredeemable to him. And he tried his hardest to find subtle ways to tortureme. He never did anything crazy enough to alert thepakhanor throw a job. But whenit was just the two of us, he made my life miserable.
It was fine. I punished him too. By keeping him as faraway from Frankie as possible. He was obsessed with her. He always had been.And as her friend, I couldn’t blame the guy. She was drop dead gorgeous and setto inherit a huge chunk of the syndicate ruling class. But she was also smartenough to see straight through him.
And I did whatever I could to remind her of hisawfulness.
We both avoided him whenever we could. Unfortunately,the bosses didn’t share our opinion. They saw his ruthless sociopathic skillsas an asset. He hadn’t risen in the ranks quite as fast as Sayer, but he wasstill one of the shining stars. And a regular favorite of the brothers.
“You’re walking in with me,” Atticus ordered when hepulled up to the valet at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel.
I was pretty sure we were supposed to meet up withSayer first, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue with Atticus. Besides, I neededto know I could walk okay after what Atticus had done to my knee. If Sayer sawme limping around, the night wasn’t going to end as planned. We so didn’t havetime to deal with that fallout.
The valet opened my door and I stepped out of the caron shaky legs. My knee was sore, but not too bad. I just needed it to keep fromswelling for now.
Atticus handed over the keys and the two of us walkedinto the stunning hotel, with golden light and gleaming marble floors. The poshatmosphere made me feel small, tiny compared to the wealth and resources of theupper echelon. I wondered if Atticus felt it too. We were just kids from thewrong side of the tracks—thieves, criminals, wild things that didn’t understandelegance or better society.
We followed signs leading us to the grand ballroomwithout another word spoken between us. We both knew the job. And the mark.There was nothing else to say to each other.
“Tickets?” the matronly woman dressed in a Chaneldress cluttered with shiny strips of sequins and feathers asked.
Atticus and I produced our tickets, stolen well inadvance for tonight’s shindig. She looked them over with a wrinkled nose anddistaste written all over her pudgy face, but eventually she marked us off andgestured toward the ballroom.
We continued not to speak as we entered the annualparty celebrating DC’s law enforcement. The room was swamped with SecretService, DEA, ATF, and plenty of FBI.And lawyers and judgesand politicians and journalists and on and on and on.
Sayer would turn anyone in that spoke to FBI?
That was going to be a problem tonight, since that wasmy assignment.
My heart fluttered in my chest, just knowing the kindof legal power that surrounded me in this room. These people were my enemies, Ireminded myself. And after Fat Jack, now more than ever.
“Fuck me,” Atticus murmured as soon as we’d walkedthrough the doors.
That was exactly how I felt. Surrounded by wolves andlions and sharks all at once. “Let’s mingle,” I suggested, anxious to get awayfrom him as well.
We parted, heading out in separate directions to casethe party. I clocked a few other Sixes posing as wait staff as I worked my wayaround the room, but I didn’t see Sayer anywhere. My fingers tingled, wantingto fidget, but I kept my cool, my perfectly comfortable disposition. I couldpretend to be from money. I could be a convincing socialite. Easypeasy.
“Are you looking for someone?” a deep male voice askedas I stretched over a table to grab the non-fishy looking canapes hidden out ofreach.
I landed back on my heels, ignoring the twinge of painin my knee. Lifting my gaze to find a young, striking man standing there, Igave a demure smile and said, “A friend. My date.”
His smile was wide and only made him more handsome. Hehad all the classic good looks of an American quarterback. He was like awalking billboard for apple pie and sweet tea. Blonde hair, movie star light blueeyes, square, trustworthy jaw. And a fed. You could always tell by the Men’sWarehouse suits and scuffed dress shoes. Secret Service were significantlybetter dressers. And ATF were significantly worse.
Then there was the government look about them. Thiswas a trait that was harder to define. Something in their open smiles andparanoid eyes. They were all trust me with all of your secrets, so I can write themdown and give them to my boss. We’ll be best friends until I raid your houseand seize all of your assets.
“Is he your friend? Or your date?” the man asked,chuckling warmly.
“Both,” I grinned. “Shouldn’t he be both?”
“Ah, smart girl,” the agent agreed. “Which one of youhas the connection to this lot of hooligans?”
