I open it up to find some vivid blue colored contacts.
Over the next twenty minutes, we apply the finishing touches to our hair and makeup while Rory gets ready in the bathroom.
When he walks out in his costume, it’s my turn to be all hot and bothered. He’s donning a white dress shirt and black vest, complete with a shoulder holster and fedora. He’s the hottest gangster I’ve ever seen.
“Look at you in your native habitat.”
“Figured you like that,” he says.
He smiles, and it’s been a while since I’ve seen it, and I’ve missed it.
It’s easy to forget, in the fun of dressing up, what we’re really here for.
But the solemn reminder comes with the alarm on his phone.
“Ten minutes,” he says.
We go over the plan one more time. Storm and I need to lure Quinn and Duke away from the party. Considering the army of private security detail they’ve both hired, it won’t be easy.
There’s a knock at the door, and I glance to Rory.
He gives me a nod, telling me it’s all good. And when he opens the door, he has his own small army on the other side.
Crow, Reaper, Dom, and Conor.
I don’t know how comfortable I am with the idea of them helping, and judging by the look on Crow’s face when he glances at me, I doubt he believes I deserve it either.
“When one of us goes to war,” Crow says, “we all go to war.”
It’s his way of telling me not to fuck with Rory anymore. I don’t bother telling him otherwise because actions speak louder than words. He’ll believe my loyalty when he sees it for himself.
They all filter inside, taking over the room and going over the plan with Rory.
“Alexei will kill the lights on our cue,” Crow says. “Dom’s taken care of the backup generators, but you’ll only have about a five-minute window to get them outside. Rory showed you both where the cars will be?”
“Yes.” Storm and I say in unison.
“What about the security?” Reaper asks.
“Alexei will take care of it after,” Rory answers.
“Well then,” Crow says. “No time like the present. I have a baby to get home to, so let’s get on with it.”
Thirty-Nine
Scarlett
And though shebe but little, she is fierce- Shakespeare
The ballroom isa sea of excess. Champagne and diamonds and strings of pearls and feathers falling from the sky. The men stroll with big fat cigars hanging out of their mouths (unlit, of course) and women sparkle in gowns soaked in wealth. Music roars from the speakers, loud and fast and hard.
A Little Party Never Killed Nobody.
Quinn’s family is hosting the party for their youngest daughter (sixteen) and she’s piss drunk already. Socialites and celebrities abound, relaxed and playful in their natural habitats.
“What the fuck have we just walked into?” Storm asks from beside me.
“Welcome to my world,” I tell her.
