“To my cell, please.” Functioning on autopilot, she managed to stumble through the awkward goodbyes before disconnecting.
Cass held the phone to her chest and slowly curled over her knees. Grief tore through her, sending fissures spiderwebbing through the unnatural numbing fog. Memories rushed in. Her grandmother’s joyous laugh. Her strong arms that held a broken teenager desperate to make amends. Iris’s unflappable strength as she defied her daughter and son-in-law to support a grandchild left in pieces by her parents’ machinations. Her unending patience as an angry Cass pushed every limit she could find and then some. Iris’s pride when Cass, Isa, and Des had opened Wonderland. If there was one constant in Cass’s life, it was her grandmother’s love and acceptance. Without her, Cass was well and truly alone. Again.
What do I do now?
The whisper of wings gained strength, turning into a wave of deafening thunder. She didn’t have the strength to fight her way free of the caustic mix of guilt, love, regret, and grief. The snaking cracks turned blindingly hot, searing past bone, leaving her heart bleeding. A harsh sob finally tore free.
“Cass. Cassandra.” An arm curled around her shoulders, pulling her into a broad chest that vibrated with Des’s worried rumble. “What happened? Who was that?”
She lifted her head and was surprised when Des’s hand went to her face. He pulled off her glasses and set them down.
She sniffled a quiet “Thanks,” and used the back of the hand holding the phone to wipe at the wetness on her face. She blinked away the blur of tears as she stared at the handset she held.
“Here, let me take that.” Des gently pulled the phone from her hand and set it aside. “Talk to me.”
“A family lawyer,” she said, answering the easiest question first.
He frowned. “Family lawyer?”
She managed a jerky nod.
“Did something happen to your parents?” he asked, a hint of anger creeping under the worry.
A harsh noise escaped her before she could stop it. “Not them. It’s Yaya—” She choked, unable to finish and make it real.
Des’s face paled, and his arm tightened. “Iris? Is she okay?”
She couldn’t watch him as she said it, so she dropped her gaze, absently realizing she was clutching at Des’s T-shirt in a white-knuckle grip. “She’s gone.”
The chest she leaned against stilled, but the arm around her didn’t loosen. “Gone?”
She nodded. “This morning,” she rasped. “In her sleep.”
He finally inhaled sharply and let out a pained “Gods dammit. I’m so sorry, Cass.”
There was nothing to say to that, so she didn’t try. The next couple of minutes passed in silence, each of them lost in thought.
“What do you need?” he finally asked.
For this not to be happening.
But since that wasn’t an option… she took a breath and straightened her shoulders. Swallowing hard, she looked up. “I need to get to Vegas.”
Chapter 2
Grayson
Grayson smothered a chuckle as Locke dropped back into his seat and scowled at his empty beer. It wasn’t often he got to witness the Hound getting shot down so hard that he should be standing in the middle of a smoldering crater instead of a very cool bar. Based on the clenched jaw, dark glare, and nearly visible steam coming from Locke’s ears, the man didn’t enjoy the experience. Which made teasing him an easy call.
“You okay over there, Prince Charming?”
“Fuck you, Gray.”
“You’re not my type.” Grin widening, Grayson picked up his beer. “Not sure you’re hers either.”
Locke blew out a breath, shook his head, and muttered, “Whatever.” He sat back, picked up his bottle, took a long draw, and set it back, all without taking his eyes off the raven-haired woman’s ass as she leaned into the bar to talk with the very intriguing bartender.
Speaking of types… There was something about the woman holding court behind the bar. She moved gracefully from one spot to another, a fascinating combination of bohemian and rocker chic. Her hands flew in a graceful sweep, like an orchestra director, as she mixed drink after drink. Her wildly colorful hair, pulled back in a half-tamed tail, held browns and blacks with glints of bright gold and streaks of deep red. It twirled and bounced as she moved.
