I should have a sash made. Ooh, or a tiara!
I’m not sure where I’m going, I’m just walking. All of my friends are preoccupied…
Dash and Kemper are dealing with Dash’s dad. Felix and Lem are taking a much-needed shower and a long nap. Byron and Trevel are shagging, since apparently Trevel was supposed to give the Velle trio massages, but he wound up catching them banging and it got him all randy Jackson.
I don’t blame him. Even as a monogamous as fuck reformed-skank, I can’t say I’d turn away fromJohn Chevelle Live. Hell, I’d even watch him with Joy, despite my aversion to lady parts.
Alex and Peters are also sleeping, I think. Which leaves only… The former king and his little bird.
Sure, we’re notfriends. But I like Angel, and I also happen to like the shmoopy creature he’s turned The Ivory into. As far as I’m concerned, the past is the past. Now, The Ivory is just another dude on this island who’s railed me to tears. And Angel is sweet. Honestly, I could see us being friends… That is, if he’s going to be around.
The incessant questions I was bugging Lex with were only a fraction of what’s in my head. I’m very curious about how all this is going to shake out.
Do we just… leave? Now that everyone is safe…
And why does that thought make me sad?
Pondering all these things while puttering around the mansion, I venture through the conservatory, admiring how pretty it all is. Just as I’m getting my snoop on, though, there’s some commotion. Footsteps and voices from somewhere. I take a second to gulp in mild anxiety.
Come on, man… I thought it was over.
Jogging back inside, I get to the foyer as Velle, Rook, and Joy are scurrying downstairs.
“What’s going on?” I gasp.
The words are barely out of my mouth when the front doors are kicked open.
“In Nomine Patris, et Fili, et Spiritus Sancti,” a man holding a Tommy gun shouts, cocking it.
“Jesus Christ, here we go.” I rub my eyes.
He’s not alone. There are at least ten guys behind him. Also armed with automatic weapons, becausewhy wouldn’t they be??
I’m starting to think this is a regular thing around here. Living in this mansion would mean crazy dudes bursting in every other day packin’ heat, spouting random nutbag shit in Latin.
“Shepherds we shall be, for Thee, my Lord, for Thee!” The guy in the front hollers, storming inside. “Where’s ManuelfookinBlanco?!”
“Dad! Jesus…” Joy rushes down the stairs in a bathrobe. “Did you really just burst in here reciting lines fromBoondock Saints? Be a little more Irish, why don’t you…”
“I am Irish, cailin,” he grumbles, grinning. “Whaddya want from me?”
Joy laughs, then squeals, jumping into his arms.
I’m gonna go out on a limb here… That’s Joy’s tax attorney.
“My baby girl,” the man—who is clearly Joy’sfather—chuckles, swinging her around, and it’s pretty damn heartwarming.
Rook and Velle are joining them, grinning. It might be more endearing if they weren’t in their boxers, clearly having just porked the shit out of the armed and crazy Irish dude’s daughter.
Joy’s dad sets her down, frowning when he looks Velle and Rook up and down. “Couldn’t be bothered to put yer pants on fer company?”
They share an uneasy look, but Joy jumps in, “We were getting massages.”
“Well, good to know everyone’s taking things seriously,” he grunts.
“Finn.” Velle shakes the guy’s hand. “Good to see you. Sorry we weren’t… expecting you.”
“Really?” Joy’s dad cocks a brow, shaking Rook’s hand. “‘Cause I told the arsehole on the phone I was comin’.”
