Page 29 of Stealing Blinds

“He didn’t ask, and he doesn’t care. He showed up because I needed him.”

I don’t miss the parallel to him, never asking what I was doing, but still willing to help.

“Okay,” I concede, rocking my foot on my spiked heel as I take in the vibrancy of this section of the city. “You said he’s part of a bigger group. Will he share this with them?”

He mulls that over, taking the final turn to the hotel. “He might have to provide an explanation for the disruption to someone in his organization. But he’ll leave it at me needing a favor. And my story will check out if anyone digs deeper. It would certainly make sense to Peter. And everyone in that lounge knew there was an issue regarding you after you walked out.”

That’s a strong argument.

There’s a strange twinge inside me, an urge to know how much of what Cash said back there was performative and how much was authentic. He has expressed keen interest, but I’m sure he’d lose it as soon as I caved. My brain going there is pathetic. Post-larceny emotions are always muddled. If I wasn’t dreading giving E a report, I’d be so high on the thrill of my success that I’d probably be itching to crawl into Cash’s lap. So, I suppose the unfortunate web I’m ensnared in is good for something.

My fingers drift to the door handle as soon as he parks. “Thank you for being thorough. You did all right, Noire.”

“All right?” he mocks, his eyes crinkling in a way that unquestionably gives most women flutters. “I’ll take that half-assed compliment for the stellar save I provided, along with your number.”

“I gave you my number. You texted me, remember?” I pull on the handle, but he leans over and grips my wrist.

I expect him to mention that the text was from a burner, but he doesn’t.

“I’ll walk you in, just to make sure you get to your room safely.”

God, he’s sweet sometimes. He’s been intent on tracking me down and consistently crossing lines, but I believe he wouldn’t try anything if he escorted me to my room. My instincts are shit though. That’s not actually true, I suppose. They’re spot-on when I choose not to suppress them. Which is why I can’t ignore the potential fallout of strutting through that lobby with him.

A ragged breath pours out of me. “It’s not a good idea.”

His thumb sweeps back and forth on the wrist he’s still holding. “I asked you once before, but we weren’t friends yet, so let me ask again. Are you in trouble?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” I peer out the windshield, wondering if my father felt his world shifting before everything fell apart.

Each small decision we make stacks on top of another, creating a ladder that can either take us higher or lead us to hell. It’s hard to obtain clarity amid pandemonium though. Sometimes, blindly placing a rung is necessary. I’m halfway through this commitment. That should mean something. But all I have to show for any of it is complete isolation.

Turning back to Cash, I determine to give in a little, no matter which direction it takes me. “I’m going to go up to my room and text you from my regular phone. You’ll know I got in okay. If you don’t hear from me in ten minutes, I’m in room 1132.”

He smiles. Victoriously.

“That’s not an invitation, pretty boy. That’s me treating you as I would a friend concerned about me getting in safely.”

“Yep.” He pulls the handle and pushes open the door, like he understands I don’t want him to get out, but he can’t resist being a gentleman even if he’s inside the car. “And that’s progress, Sly.”

CASH

“Make any headway?” Maddox sips his drink, lounging on the couch and twirling his balisong, as I amble into the penthouse great room.

Ignoring his probing, I toss my tux jacket over the back of the chair, plop onto the seat, and deflect. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a wife to get home to?”

“The girls took over our place. It was pajama-party, baby-naming, and Hallmark mayhem down there.” He kicks his chin to Jax, who is sprawled out on the floor. “We stayed with Remy and decided to wait up for you.”

It’s two in the morning. They have Creedence Clearwater Revival on the record player and conspiratorial grins in place, the room lit only by the moon and city lights. No matter how old we get, some things never change. And yet so much has.

Of course, as that thought strikes me, I notice a shadow on Maddox’s cheek. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Cinco de Mayo in the Underground,” he starts, as if that alone is an explanation, and I guess it is. “Brasi was up for the piñata, and he came out fucking swinging. Beating the shit out of the mustache penis, like he had a personal vendetta against that dick. He hit and hit …” He stalls there. Not like Jax’s typical pause to gather his thoughts. This is purely for dramatic effect. “And he let go of the bat.”

“Shit.” I belt out a laugh, unable to contain myself. “You got a bat to the face?”

“Nope,” he huffs in annoyance. “I fucking caught it.”

Before I can inquire how that led to a shiner, Jax chimes in, “It was something. It came flying fast, and Mad … stuck out his hand and snatched it.”