Page 96 of After the Chase

All those months away haven't softened me. If anything, the forced domesticity of Los Angeles sharpened my edges and made me hungrier. It starved a hungry beast until it became ravenous.

"You're tense," Chase observes beside me.

"No, just preparing for the talking. It’s been a while."

As we arrive at Starlight it feels like it’s only been a few days since we were last here. I won’t take away from Dima and Lev what a great business they have built here as a cover. It’s the people that are the problem.

Chase follows me inside, and I'm aware of a new younger guard's gaze tracking my husband's body until the door closes between us. Another thing filed away.

The interior is exactly as I remember. Low lighting, expensive liquor lining mirrored shelves, leather booths arranged for privacy rather than capacity. Jazz plays softly, something instrumental, saxophone and bass. The kind of music that masks conversation rather than encourages it.

Dima sees us first from his booth and smiles like he is happy to see us, which is odd. Maybe it’s Chase he is happy to see. Lev flanks him along with Aaron, his partner. I catch Seb behind the bar from the corner of my eye, who is working tonight. They don't stand as we approach, this isn't a social reunion.

"Noah."

"Dima."

His mouth curves slightly, not quite a smile. "Got bored of the beach life, huh? Marcus will be here soon. He said you had agreed to help root out some poison while the investigation concludes.”

“Yes.”

“Still as chatty as ever, I see,” Aaron says from beside Lev.

“Doe, I told you to be quiet when we are in meetings, otherwise you can go home.”

“You call this a meeting? It’s a family reunion.”

“No, it’s not,” Lev and myself both say at the same time, and it gives me the ick.

“Noah, Chase, great to have you back,” a voice shouts behind us. Marcus. He is dressed in the same leather vest and I question if he ever changes clothes or cuts that long ass hair.

“Marcus,” I say in greeting as he shakes Chase’s hand.

I slide into the booth across from them and Chase settles beside me, close enough that our thighs touch.

"Los Angeles didn't suit you?" Marcus asks. His eyes move between Chase and me, reading dynamics and looking for answers.

"It served its purpose."

"Which was?"

"To get away from your constant talking," I say, and Marcus laughs like it was a joke. It wasn’t.

Dima signals the bartender, a woman in her forties. She brings vodka for Dima, whiskey for Marcus, and water for me and Chase. I didn’t realize everyone knew I don’t drink, but I do smoke, so I grab a cigarette from my pocket and light it up. I doubt Dima minds as he is currently smoking a cigar.

"You've been missed," Dima says after she retreats.

"I'm touched.”

“We have a lot of work to do, and I need to go over a plan with you,” Marcus says.

"I don't work for you," I say quietly. "I never have and I won't start now. I’m here for my own reasons."

Marcus's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes.

“I never said you did work for us.”

“Listen, I don’t need to know the ins and outs of what’s happening, what you all do and how you run your businesses are nothing to do with me. As long as my name is kept out of it, I’m just your funding pot. All I need is details of where and when you have someone for me to break.”