“Don’t say a fucking word,” he bites out.
“Wasn’t going to,” I reply seriously. What’s there to say? Clearly there’s more than just me with the daddy issues in this little group, and I’m not about to judge him based on his fat as fuck father, just like I wouldn’t expect him to judge me on my prick of a dad.
We pass a waitress carrying a silver tray of appetizers, and I grab a shrimp on a cocktail stick. I bite it off before placing the empty stick back on the tray. God watches as I chew, but quickly looks away. God likes to look good. Going by his physique, he treats his body like a temple. He exercises, eats well, and doesn’t splurge on what goes into his body unless it’s drugs or drink.
We’re similar in shape and size, though I eat and drink whatever the fuck I want. My build is all down to the many fights I’ve put myself through and not through denying myself anything. I didn’t win my fights by being disciplined or training hard; I win them on pure rage alone. Hence why most of the people I fight give up their little hobby when I’m done with them.
I should probably feel some shame in that, but I feel pride.
“So, is this business or pleasure?” God asks, grabbing a glass of champagne from one of the waitresses. She gives us both a seductive smile, but she could have been an Amazonian goddess for all I care. She isn’t Patience. And Patience is the only woman I want right now.
“Business,” I reply, quirking an eyebrow at him, and he nods. “Hopefully leading to some pleasure along the way.”
He chuckles darkly, his gaze on the waitress. “That’s the best type of business.” His cell phone beeps in his pocket, and he pulls it out to read the message.
While he types out a reply, I take my time to look around again for Patience. I still haven’t seen her, but I see Mayor Noelle talking to my grandmother by the bar, so I know she has to be here somewhere. They’re deep in conversation, neither of them looking particularly happy as their discussion becomes more heated. The mayor looks my way, a small frown tugging between his eyes before he looks back at my grandmother.
“I need to go handle something,” I say to God, and he glances up from his cell to see where I’m looking.
“Problem?”
“Let’s just say I didn’t leave him with the best impression of me, and I really need him and his daughter to think I’m a motherfucking prince right now.” I take a sip of the whisky sour in my hand.
“My father is pretty friendly with the mayor. If you want me to, I can put in a good word,” he offers.
I’m tempted to say no. Mainly because I’m used to handling my own shit, but then that’s what The Elite is for—to back each other up. We’re supposed to be a brotherhood, and that means letting people help me. The thought is less than appealing, but if I can be polite to my fucking bitch of a grandmother, I can accept a little help from God.
The irony of that statement isn’t lost on me.
“Sure. That would be helpful,” I reply grimly.
“Don’t look too pleased about it,” he retorts dryly.
Sabella walks into the room at that moment, and I notice several men turn to look in her direction. Jesus fuck. I’m going to end up killing someone tonight.
“That’s your sister, right?” God says, and I glare at him. He smirks, unaffected by my protective big brother shit. “Don’t worry, I’ve already been warned off her by Sebastian, and she’s not my type anyway” he deadpans.
“I’m gonna fucking kill him if he keeps this up. She’s not interested in him,” I grit out.
I like Sebastian. Well, as much as you can like someone you barely know. But I have no qualms over knocking his teeth out if he keeps chasing Sabella. She’s off limits to all these motherfuckers.
“He’ll get the message,” God says, slipping his cell back into his pocket. “Come on.” He starts to walk toward Mayor Noelle, and I follow.
“Mayor,” God says, holding his hand out. The Mayor takes it and gives a curt nod of his head. “Mrs. Gunner-Antoine.” He takes my grandmother’s hand in his and kisses the back of it. She blushes and gives a giggle that belongs more to a schoolgirl—not a seventy-year-old lady.
“Mr. Goddard, I’m happy to see you here tonight,” the mayor says.
“Wouldn’t miss a charity event to save—” He looks around for one of the banners hanging on the wall.
“Extra funding for the women’s bridge club,” my grandmother cuts in with a smile.
“Ahhh, yes, that’s the one.” He snorts, making my grandmother narrow her beady eyes on him.
Jesus fucking Christ, I need to get out of here before I lose my shit. Of all the self-righteous things my grandmother could have brought these people together for, it’s for her fucking bridge club. She has more than enough money to pay for this herself, so the whole thing is just to get in the same room as these people and be flashy. God, I hate her.
“I’m sure you know Samuel Gunner, Mrs. Gunner-Antoine’s grandson.” God nods in my direction, and both my grandmother and the mayor give me tight smiles. “I hope there’s no hostility against him since he’s such a good friend of mine and my father’s.”
I almost bark out a laugh as the mayor physically shrinks at God’s words and my own grandmother looks at me in shock.
