Page 30 of Stealing Blinds

Noting my confusion, Maddox picks up the story. “The second it left Brasi’s hand, Johnson decided tonight was the night he was going to be a hero. He flew—”

“Got a running start,” Jax supplies.

Maddox clicks his knife shut with an eye roll. “I didn’t clock that in time ’cause a metal bat was coming for me. Anyway, he flies from the other side of me, trying to intercept the bat.”

Abe Johnson is a big guy. In his fifties. Broad shoulders. Thick neck. Beer belly. He was a hell of a linebacker in his college days, and it still shows.

“You shoulda fucking seen it, Cash.” Jax is laughing so hard; I’m pretty sure he’s crying. “He was reliving his glory days, but … Mad was so focused on the bat that—” He breaks off for a beat, hanging his head while his whole body convulses, like he’s replaying it in his mind. “Johnson smashed right into his face—forehead to cheekbone. Nearly knocked the asshole out.”

“No one fucking knocks me out.” Maddox turns to me with a smirk. “Aren’t you sorry you missed it?”

He’s sorry I missed it.

“Absolutely.”

“You’re in luck.” Maddox takes another sip of his drink. “One of the employees recorded it. By the time we left to stay with Remy, someone had made a remix with it.”

“It’s so good. The collision is slow motion.” Jax lies back down, throwing his forearm over his eyes. “I’ll send it to you.”

“Perfect.” I glance around, wondering if the older Noires were privy to the Underground stupidity. “Are Axe and Ryker working or sleeping?”

Maddox flicks his butterfly knife toward the hall that leads to the home conference room. “They got a call they had to take.”

“Which means you should … answer Mad’s question about your progress,” Jax drawls.

People often think he’s out of it, but he’s the sleeper everyone should be watching. I swear he’s compiling a mental file on every damn person he meets, including all of us. Some of that is typical little-brother shit, but he can turn it all on and off so easily. There’s a cunning genius behind that lackadaisical veneer.

All I offer at first is a caustic laugh because they’re probably expecting answers I can’t give. “That depends on your definition of progress.”

Maddox arches his brows in challenge. “Let’s go with what you would’ve defined it as pre–Mardi Gras.”

There is no sense in glossing over it, so I throw out my empty hands. “Nada.”

Jax lifts up on his elbow, obviously finding something of interest in my response. “And post chasing a girl all over the country?”

My mouth curls into a genuine smile. “She’s a hell of a dancer, and I got her number. She already texted me.”

I glance at my phone, pleased that she kept her word and overzealous to text her again, but it’s only been four hours, and it’s the middle of the night.

Sylvie: Thanks for the tango. I made it in.

Me: Anytime, Sly. I’ll be in touch.

“Even based on previous standards, how is that nada?” Maddox presses, and it has reality crashing down on me. “Doesn’t sound like you’re sorry you weren’t here.”

I’m not, but …

“She used the F-word. And not the good one.”

As the admission leaves my mouth, Axel and Ryker strut in, chuckling.

Perfect fucking timing.

Maddox drags a hand down the side of his face, though it doesn’t hide his twitching lips. “Christ. Has anyone unrelated to you ever called you that?”

“Fuck off, jackass.” I kick my feet up on the coffee table, determined to be forthright, even though I know it will incite Ryker. “But, to be fair, I don’t think so. It, uh … it caught me off guard.”

Ryker guffaws, dropping down beside Maddox. “Payback is a bitch.”