by A. C. Bextor
I fight a grin. The way the man speaks of Saint’s, a stranger would assume we wear suits, not vests. “Men in my operation?”
“The brothers, as you and Elevent call them.”
I smile. “We aren’t thugs or lepers for fuck’s sake.”
“No, you are not,” he agrees. “Wolves best describe your kind.”
Your kind. Jesus.
Disregarding Abram’s polite way of calling the members of Saint’s animals, I prod, “What are you thinking?”
“I’d like to send Vante into the shop again, and this time, I’d like him to go in alone. It’s possible Letta may be more inclined to speak freely if I’m not in the way.”
“If you’re not in the way?”
Abram tilts his head, expecting me to understand. I’m shit with passive conversations, so before losing more patience, I ask him straight, “What makes you think she’d talk to him and not you?”
A knowing grin sweeps over his lips. “An old man knows when his time has passed. If I had to guess, in her eyes, Vante’s time has most definitely not.”
“Cut the code and get to it, Abram.”
He sighs. “Even being damaged as she was, it seemed Letta had been taken with Vante.”
Fuck, I know the where this is going, but my mind doesn’t want to process. The last thing I need is Vante going half-cocked and fucking up all the intel we have. “You’re sayin’ she likes the kid?”
“Letta isn’t as self-possessed as Belle, let’s say that.”
“She likes him.” I recognized correctly. “Fuckin’ great.”
“That anger he’s working on out there says her reaction to him didn’t go unnoticed.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I remember my first,” he starts.
We’re not having another heart to heart. I don’t have the patience, but more importantly, it’s possible those women don’t have the time.
“You get anything on the little blonde girl?”
Abram shakes his head. “Nothing. And being this was the first contact, we did not ask about her.”
“Makes sense.”
“This is something Vante could find, if you agree to push.”
“I agree to push,” I tell him, “if the marks to Letta’s face mean what we know they do.”
“Yes, you’re right,” Abram states boldly, with reflection.
“Send Vante in,” I instruct.
“I’ll leave you to talk with him. He’ll need to calm himself if he’s to be useful. And when I say calm, he needs to understand what’s at stake for him, her, as well as the unknown.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“He must be ready.”
“He’ll be ready.”
Fuck, at least I hope he is.
“You care about this woman, or I wouldn’t be standing with you now,” Abram remarks. “So, I’ll ask the same of you. Keep your head. These kinds of situations can be volatile to say the least. Should we find something unfortunate, I can’t afford for my concern to be for you.”
I get it. I’m a hothead. His way of paraphrasing isn’t hard to miss.
“I’ll keep a lock on my shit.”
Abram tips his head, then stares over the grounds again as he tsks. “He’s torn with this.”
Watching Vante lean down and grab his ball cap from the grass, I nod. Each agitated movement, every furious step taken, I agree. Letta got to him, and he hadn’t been around her long. I can only pray to whoever will listen that his first experience in the way of the world doesn’t fuck him over.
“He’s torn with what he saw,” I tell him. “But he’s also focused on doin’ somethin’ about it, which is good.”
Abram nods before grabbing his suit jacket from the chair. “I have business with Vlad. I suggest you drive the girls home. Plied with alcohol, Klara and Wren are both questionable influences.”
Girls? Influences?
“I’m not followin’.”
As Abram opens his mouth to explain, Rueon, one of Vlad’s young foot soldiers, stands at the door. Both hands hold the frame tightly as he shakes his head. The kid is shook.
“Rueon?” Abram calls, fixing the collar of his jacket.
Rueon ignores Abram, his attention solely on me.
“Does your club not have any room? Is it so small it can’t lock in a number of chatty women?”
“Come again?”
“Why do the girls always have their stupid parties here?” he berates. “They start drinking, they get loud and try to flirt.”
A smile paints my face, and Rueon doesn’t miss it. He scowls.
I know which girls he’s referring to now. The girls, those belonging to Saint’s.
“And Klara knows better than to drink too much,” he goes on, a little whiny. “Vlad doesn’t like her that way.”
The kid has not the first clue.
I’ll bet Vlad absolutely likes his hot-as-fuck wife drunk and out of her mind. All of that beauty plastered against him is likely enough sober, but inebriated, no man in his right mind wouldn’t get inside that again and again until he’s had his fill.
I’ll also bet the reason the girls are gathered here versus the club is so he can keep an eye out for Klara, and probably Wren, as Wren’s probably more crazy drunk as she is sober.
Abram laughs at Rueon’s demise and slaps my back.
Turning my focus back to the window, I half-smile as Vante brings his hand up and over his head, aiming it toward the moon. His mouth moves as he sends his middle finger with it.
“I should get the girls out of here,” I utter, shaking my head and rolling my goddamn eyes.
“We’ll talk soon,” Abram tells me, shaking his head as well.
“So, he’s taking a time-out and…” Wren’s at a loss for words, as are the rest of them. Sitting up, she brings her glass of wine to her mouth, takes a small sip, and restates what we’ve already explained. “First, he breaks a beer bottle, shattering it against a wall.”
“Right,” Sunny confirms.
“Then he storms into your room, yells at you, breaks your things, and then fucks you hard, fast, and dirty?” Wren goes on to question.
“That’s right,” Mia agrees.
How lucky it is that I hadn’t shared he also called me a mediocre fuck… at best. The girls would lose their minds. If they’ve never approved of the way Leglas treats his women, I can’t imagine how Gypsy’s parting shot would go over.
Wren’s eyes widen in further disbelief. “Then leaves you half-naked in bed, without a word for…” Leaning in, she holds up her fingers for emphasis. “Two days?”
“Yep,” I return. “That covers everything.”
Wren’s eyebrows furrow and her lips curl up in disgust. “I’m so confused.”
She and the rest of the women of the world.
“He’s working through his anger,” Sunny defends lightly, ever the pioneer for all things not Leglas.
“And his disappointment,” Mia scolds after, ever the mother shaming her cubs for acting out.
Sunny, hearing Mia’s tone, jumps to my defense, “Cricket going rogue scared him!”
“Of course she scared him. She had no business—”
Sunny slaps her hand to the table. “Do not go there, Little Miss I’m-gonna-handle-all-the-men-on-my-own. Do you not remember Leglas giving you a black eye because you did something stupid?”
“She’s right,” Wren gets out in a singsong voice.
Mia scowls at Wren, but explains to Sunny, “I was trying to stop two crazy men from killing each other!”
To avoid Mia and Sunny debating on who’s right and who’s wrong, I stick to the facts as I understand them. “Gypsy told me he’s thinking about what he really wants.”
In unison, all the women in our huddle gasp.
Wren’s lips get tight before she says, “Still, though, scared or not, if Liam ever—”
“We’re not talking about Liam,” Mia points out. “Your husband is a highly intelligent, e
ducated doctor of medicine. He was also raised to be a gentleman,” she continues, not harshly, but not going gentle, either. “Liam isn’t a biker who’s been in love with the same woman for years, and who just recently admitted he can’t live without.”
God, is that what this is?
Gypsy is struggling, I know. I also put together that what happened between Leglas and I added to his frustration. But two days have gone by and I haven’t heard a word from him. To be fair, though, I haven’t sought him out, deciding to give him the space he asked for, but didn’t specifically ask for.
“I’m thinking we’re gonna need more wine.” Wren stands, stepping away from the group.
I was hesitant when Mia insisted I leave my sulking heart back at the club and come with her to the Zalesky mansion for some gab time with the girls. Not because I didn’t want to get away, but because I don’t know Vlad or Klara as well as the others. And being as Vlad is as pissed at me as the others. I didn’t want to risk running into him, especially alone.
Thankfully, he and his men have been holed up in his office for most of the evening.
Upon arrival, Mia, Sunny, and I were escorted to a drawing room, as Klara called it. Here we were welcomed with the view of a small round table, surrounded by six, high-back leather chairs.
Comfortable. Cozy. Quiet.
A perfect place to relax with friends.
“Please don’t take this wrong,” Klara, Vlad’s wife, starts in, her beautiful and deeply set eyes flitting around the table. “But, I have to say, this wasn’t unexpected.”
“How’s that?” I press.
“Wren and Liam struggled,” she says. “Not like you and Gypsy, but still, they had a hard time to start.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
I know all about Liam Dawson’s past and how it would’ve affected his future. His uncle Ciro had been a thorn in Vlad’s side for as long as the families were at war.
Liam and Wren were caught in the middle of this fight, and Wren being Vlad’s niece, hadn’t made things any easier.
“And most here know the story of me and my husband,” Klara presses forward. “I was a little girl when I met Vlad. Back then, he resented me for being alive.”
“That must have sucked,” Sunny observes. “He couldn’t have been an easy man to live with.”
Klara offers a knowing grin. “Oh, he wasn’t. However, he managed to avoid me for years, so that made life easier.” Klara’s grin turns to a smile. “And, Mia, we all remember how you and Elevent butted heads.”
“Hmph,” Mia pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. “And we still do.”
“Gypsy has a right to be angry,” Klara notes carefully. “He’ll burn out and come back when he’s ready.”
God, she’s so sure of this. But Klara is oblivious to the past Gypsy and I share. Volatile. Angry. Interrupted.
“Screw the wine.” Wren enters the room, and our heads turn toward the door.
She’s holding not a few, but five bottles of hard-hitting liquor. I’m not much of a drinker, and neither is Mia. She and I share a look, and she wiggles her brows in play, signaling we’re about to partake anyway.
Setting the drinks down on the table, Wren reaches beneath the table’s top and begins to situate shot glasses.
“Any idea what Leglas and Vante are doing here?” she asks casually, keeping focus on her task.
Mia, Sunny, and I exchange a glance. A concerned one at that.
“Leglas is here?” Mia prompts. “Are you sure?”
“He’s out front with Abram.”
“Vante, too?”
“Vante’s here, too,” Wren confirms, nodding.
“Are you positive?” Maybe the three glasses of wine already got to Wren’s head. “Vante and Leglas both?”
Pouring tequila in the line of glasses as if she’s played bartender before , Wren nods. “Weird, right?”
Weird and suspicious, those two.
“Precisely,” Sunny agrees.
Lifting a shot and tossing it back, Wren fumbles through its effects, but ultimately accepts its burn. Once she’s swallowed it down, she slams it back to the table and goes for a refill.
“Way I see it, if your guys are already here, then you have a ride to the club. This means I don’t have to bug Gleb or beg Abram to take you home,” she says, raising her second shot in the air. “So, cheers!”
Mia, Sunny, and I narrow our eyes, attempting to read the other’s thoughts.
One being, why in the world Leglas would have business with the Zaleskys, considering all the bad guys are handled and dead?
Two being, that Wren is right. With Leglas here, we all but have permission.
We’re about to light it up.
Two hours later, in a fit of giggles at a young man named Rueon’s demise, I’m holding my gut and wiping my eyes, mentally thanking Mia for suggesting we come.
“He doesn’t have a woman of his own,” Klara tells the room. Her face is flushed pink, and she’s had too much to drink. “He’s dated plenty, and by plenty, I mean, more than a man’s share plus three,” she goes on, holding up four fingers.
Rueon is adorable, especially when frustrated. He’s tall, but smaller than the others in comparison. And he has a boyish grin with dimples to accent.
“You won’t find any of that at Saint’s. Manwhores, absolutely. But the brothers aren’t well spoken like Vlad,” Sunny states. “They’re not professionals like Liam. And they’re not cordial and sweet like Abram.”
Talk of Gypsy and his reaction to my idiocy had slowed after our initial conversation. I was both thankful and regretful for this. Thankful, because I didn’t want our girl time to be all about a man too stubborn to admit he was an ass. Regretful, because talking about Gypsy being a stubborn ass made what he did less to the sad and more to the angry.
Looking over the rim of my glass, Wren stares back. Her head is tilted slightly and her eyes are somewhat narrowed.
“What will you do about Gypsy?” she prompts, proving my point while quieting the others.
I turn to Mia, then to Sunny. They’re waiting for my answer, as are Klara and Wren.
No one’s asked this. And truth is, I have no idea what to do. I miss him, but he has to choose to forgive me. I can’t force him to change his mind on how he feels. No one can.
Not to mention, I don’t know when I’ll be able to forgive him for treating me like a faceless whore.
“I have no idea,” I return honestly.
“Angry sex with a tall, muscled, tattooed Adonis.” Wren shakes her head. Her cheeks blush as she stares at the table. “I’ll bet that’s crazy, crazy, crazy hot.”
“Um,” Sunny murmurs at my side. “Yeah. Sty’s even-keeled. Never lets much rattle him. When I act out in a way he doesn’t like, though...”
Sunny leaves the thought between us. As much as I love her, the idea of Sty is a hard pass for discussion. He’s older, wiser, and friendlier than most. But he’s not my type.
“Exactly,” Mia puts in. “When Elevent’s pissed, he gets inventive.”
Again, no. I love Elevent. No denying he’s over-the-top gorgeous, but still. In every way, he’s my brother.
“Nothing better than dirty, angry sex with a hothead. Noted,” Wren concludes, raising her glass to us.
“You’d be wrong about that, Wren.” A deep, familiar voice enters at my back.
My eyes widen and I flip my nervous gaze to Mia, satisfied to note her reaction is the same. But her mouth gapes open as she stares at our new guest.
Uh-oh.
Leglas’s deep drawl comes closer, his continued lesson sending shivers up my spine. “Angry is good, serves a purpose. A guy can take out his frustration, goin’ at her quick, deep, and dirty. Make-up sex…” Leglas hangs the last words in the air until he’s close enough to talk directly in my ear. The heat from his breath whispers over my cheek as he disperses, “Man takes his time, sticks it to his woman good. Using this as his chance to remind her why she came t
o his bed in the first place.”
As my body starts to tremble and heat rushes to my face, Wren surveys my reaction, then moves her focus over my shoulder to Leglas.
Pointing to Leglas, but looking to the others, she asks, “Um…is it wrong that I’m swooning over this guy?” On the heels of that, toting, “Seriously, is it? ’Cause I totally am.”
Mia giggles. Sunny rolls her eyes. I suck in a badly needed breath.
“Wren, maybe you’ve had a lot to drink,” Klara excuses.
Twisting my neck and finding Leglas still so close, I plaster on a smile, as if Gypsy hasn’t completely wrecked my heart.
Leglas straightens and towers over the back of my chair. Normally, he’s tall, taller than any of the brothers at Saint’s. Six-three, six-four, I’m guessing. But here, in a room full of intoxicated women, he’s a gentle giant. Even if I’m the only person who knows this secret.
“What’re you doing here?” I fumble my hands as I point around the room. “Did Elevent send you to get us?”
Leglas smiles, walking around my chair and examining the others before answering. “Somethin’ like that.”
“So, I suppose this means the party’s over,” Wren pouts, downing another shot. “Ladies, we had a good run.”
“I’ll grab our things,” Sunny assures, coming to her feet.
Mia starts straightening the glasses from the center table, both wine and shot.
I haven’t so much as shifted from my place, and neither has Leglas. Something not so good works behind his eyes as he takes one step closer.
His finger runs down my cheek before he moves the hair from the side of my face.
“You all right?” he queries, so quietly, I nearly miss the gentle rumble of his voice.
I’m not all right. I thought I was. Until Leglas, a familiar friend who knows everything there is to know about my relationship with Gypsy stepped in. I have no way to hide now, not under the pretext of “I’m okay” or “Really, I’m fine.”
