by Marie Harte
Gear sighed. “What should I wear to the party?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Iris cheered, came over to hug him, then shoved away Thor’s awful choices and found him two costumes. A villain for the press, the other to hide in.
He smiled at the second, warming to the idea of the party more and more.
Chapter 2
Saturday Night
The party was in full swing, the mansion outside Seattle, just past Newcastle. Anyone with this much space and a house this large had to live away from the city where land could be had, but at a premium. Joaquin Torano—a friend of a friend of Elliot’s, apparently—liked to live large. Big party, beautiful guests, in a massive colonial complete with marble flooring, gold inlaid columns, and a ballroom that had been cleared to host a hundred-plus guests with room to spare.
A large, muscular man with tattoos, ear gauges, and a Mohawk standing inside the foyer bro-hugged Elliot, gave Sadie a refreshing once-over to let her know she was indeed a woman, and then let them continue inside.
The music grew louder the farther they walked into the party. But not so loud Sadie couldn’t hear Elliot’s apparent shock. Or rather, his continued shock.
“I have no words.” Elliot stared at her as if Sadie had grown two heads.
“You keep saying that…which is kind of ironic, don’t you think?”
“Just…no words.”
She sighed. “What?”
“You’re…hot. I mean, really sexy in that getup. Ew, I think I threw up in my mouth a little.” Elliot pretended to gag. Dressed as the Phantom of the Opera, he looked magnificent. The half mask he wore emphasized the vivid green of his eyes and the square line of his jaw. But now, inside and adjusting to the festivities, Sadie saw more beautiful people, making Elliot appear almost normal.
“You know, I can look good when I put my mind to it.”
“I see that.” He smiled.
She glanced around at men and women in costumes a lot more revealing than hers. She’d been annoyed enough that she’d decided to go as a warrior princess, complete with a fake sword she considered using on her brother. Sadie’s costume showed a lot of skin but kept the important parts covered. Nothing less than what she wore at the gym, to be honest. A short skirt of fake leather and a matching halter top that bared a good bit of her toned stomach, complete with a scabbard at her back. Fake-gold armbands tightened around her biceps, while quality leather boots with tufts of faux fur around the tops looked authentic enough to be part of the costume. In reality she’d borrowed them from Rose.
Sadie had left her hair long with a single braid on each side of her face, and she’d darkened her eyes and lips with black makeup. A few fake war-paint lines under her eyes and across her cheeks apparently made her look authentically man-eating—or so the drunk guy brushing by her thought out loud.
Not bad. If he hadn’t been so sloshed, she might have considered trying him on for size. She had a leather satchel belted to her waist containing some money, a few condoms, and her phone.
“Oh my God. Is that who I think it is?” Elliot dragged her around the packed dance floor and up a half level toward the rear of the home leading out into the patio, where the crowd was thin enough to see a small gathering under bright lights. Space heaters and tall tables had been placed around a slate-slabbed yard, while strategically placed minibars provided drinks.
“Who are you talking about?” She rubbed her arms, feeling the chill before Elliot squeezed them in next to two couples by a space heater. Before she could ask again, her brother shushed her.
To the small group near them, he asked in a low voice, “Is that Gear in the Joker costume? And B-Man with Sahara?”
“Yeah,” came a low reply from one of the men. “See the camera guy standing just behind the tall Batman? And the other one, the lighting guy there, is wearing scrubs, but he’s no doctor. Dude is working to keep the lights on in this clusterfu—”
“Foley,” the redhead next to him chastened.
“Come on, Cyn. This ain’t the place for reality TV. I just wanna party.”
Sadie glanced at the guy and blinked. The large man had dark hair, a muscular build—the way she liked them—and amazing gray eyes. Dressed as a sexy cop, he exuded menace more than law and order. Très sexy. Before Sadie could close her mouth, Cyn, the stunning redhead wearing an orange prisoner jumpsuit that clung to her curves, whispered something into his ear. He chuckled, and Sadie turned away, knowing she could never compete with a woman that pretty. Not that she’d ever try to break up a relationship, but with that woman, she’d stand no chance.
“Look, Sadie,” Elliot whispered with excitement. “It’s the guys from Motorcycle Madnezz.”
“Oh, right. Birdman and Glock.”
“B-man and Gear,” he growled.
“Whatever.” She wanted to turn away, but their dialogue sucked her in.
Gear, the bodybuilder mechanic from the TV show, wore white makeup and a green wig, and had a Joker grin painted in red over his lips, making him seem both perpetually smiling and sneering at the same time. The purple pin-striped suit he wore seemed painted onto his larger-than-life body. He looks damn good was all she could think, wondering when she’d become so desperate that now maniacal clowns turned her on.
“Jesus, he shaved off his beard.” Elliot fanned himself. “I’m in lust.”
“I know.” Cyn sounded in awe until her boyfriend grunted. “I mean, I’m surprised about the beard.” She coughed. “It’s so sad they broke up, isn’t it, Foley? Gear and Sahara were perfect for each other.”
He shrugged. “Too bad about the show. They sure made some killer bikes.”
Next to them, another guy agreed while his girlfriend called Gear some unflattering names. Her boyfriend started to argue with her, defending the mechanic.
“People, we’re getting ready to roll.” A man holding a large mic over the TV combatants glared at the onlookers. “Quiet.”
The growing crowd around Sadie and Elliot grew silent.
Elliot gripped Sadie’s hand. “They’re starting. Oh my God. Best. Night. Ever.”
Illuminated and surrounded by heat lamps, standing across from each other with the mediator seated on a barstool between them, the three leads of Motorcycle Madnezz—Gear as the Joker, with B-Man and Sahara as Adam and Eve—faced off. B-Man showed off pecs and a set of tight abs, clad in shredded shorts covered with vines. He had to be cold. Gear looked hot under the collar and even more impressive despite being covered up in a suit. And Sahara… Eve, really? The woman wore a see-through toga that barely covered her ass when she moved. A fake snake lay around her neck and over an arm.
Sadie knew she was being harsher on the woman than the men, but Sahara seemed so obviously out to stir up trouble. Glaring daggers at her ex while she clutched B-Man’s arm and gloried in others fawning over her… She reminded Sadie too much of the girls in high school, the same idiots who’d tried and failed to make her life a living hell. Had she been a less confident person, Sadie would have folded. But she’d never much cared what others outside of family thought of her.
To my detriment, because it’s a Saturday night and I’m at a Halloween party with my brother. Oy.
To make sure she didn’t look as ridiculous as Sahara, Sadie gave herself a subtle once-over, checking out her costume. Nah. She looked just fine.
“So, Gear, B-Man,” the slick emcee began, “do you want to tell us what happened two months ago? What started the fight?” The emcee had teeth too white to be natural. He looked styled, eager for news, and tacky in a gladiator costume showing off a shaved chest and a tan a little too orange to be natural.
B-Man had his arm around Sahara’s shoulders and hugged her tight. It spoke of comfort, a platonic embrace, yet Sadie had a feeling it meant something more. “Sahara, you tell him.”
Sahara shifted and flashed h
er ass at the crowd behind her. The emcee leaned toward her. So did the lighting guy, while a few masculine whistles and groans came from the crowd. Sahara batted her thick lashes and sighed.
Sadie barely bit back her own sigh—of disbelief. “It’s like you can feel the testosterone leaning closer for a whiff of her p—”
“Sadie,” Elliot hissed.
“I was going to say perfume.” Probably. She tried not to be too vulgar in public.
A few of the people standing near them chuckled before Elliot shushed them. If her brother wasn’t careful, he’d get his ass beat. And she’d be first in line.
Sahara’s voice came out husky; she sounded vulnerable. “I didn’t want this for us, Gear. For any of us.” She sniffed and turned to the crowd. “They say when you make your life public, ugly things happen. Relationships end.” She sniffed again, and Sadie could feel the woman’s tears building, no doubt ready to roll down Sahara’s perfect cheekbones in slow motion, glistening under the eye of the camera. “But I never thought that would happen with Gear and me. Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.” Yep. There it was. A single tear tracked down her cheek.
B-Man murmured encouraging words while the interviewer handed her a hanky. Gear rolled his eyes. Oddly, of the three participants, she found the clown-faced villain to be the most real.
“Give me a break.” Gear huffed and turned to the emcee. “You know why I’m here, Tool?”
The interviewer’s face tightened. “That’s Todd.”
Sadie coughed, then bit back a laugh when Elliot stepped on her toes in warning. She put a finger over her lips. “I know, I know. Shh.”
“Todd,” Gear drawled, looking out of place with that square jaw and large red mouth. Sadie wouldn’t have recognized him as the once-bearded giant had Elliot not said something before. “I’m here because it’s in my contract to be here. I’m here so I can face this two-timing bitch and my fucker of an ex-best friend and give you some goddamn ratings.”
The censors had to love this guy.
The crowd hollered and whooped until a few of the television people got them back under control.
“Dream on,” B-Man snorted. “We know who cheated first, and it wasn’t us. We’re just friends anyway. Nothing to talk about except I feel so bad for Sahara. We know about your weekends in Taos with that chick you met at a fan show in Dallas. Hell, man. You and I talked about you flying her out for a hang and bang. I thought you were joking. With a woman as fine as Sahara, why go somewhere else?”
“Taos? What the hell are you talking about? What do I ever do but work on the show, covering up for your lack of talent?”
B-Man managed to look both sad and angry, and Sadie wondered if she’d had him all wrong.
“Oh, he’s good.” Elliot practically purred the word good, and she waited for him to tap his steepled fingers together like Mr. Burns from The Simpsons. Excellent, B-Man. Exxccellent. “He’s lying, but he’s so good at it.”
Sadie was strangely hooked on the train wreck of an evening. Like the rest of the gathered partygoers, she was eager to be titillated by infidelity and a television camera. Real or not, it made for terrific entertainment. Especially since she doubted any of it was real.
They hurled insults at one another, most of them from the emotionally drained Sahara and B-Man asking why Gear had done what he’d done, while Gear called them everything under the sun that could and did offend.
“Say what you want.” Gear was smiling, and his painted mouth looked horribly deformed. Demonic. Sadie liked it. “You want her? You can have her. But fair warning, Sahara’s one desert that never stays dry. Your new girlfriend’s a climber, sleeping her way to the top one dick at a time.”
“Hey.” Sahara looked more angry than hurt, seemed to realize that fact, and started crying again.
Gear added in a more reasonable tone, “She’s more interested in what you can do for her than what she feels for you, Brian.”
“That’s B-Man to you,” Brian snarled. “And fuck you, Gear. You shit all over the show for months. Always wanting it your way. You treated her like crap. She never deserved it, and neither did I.” Now B-Man’s eyes were shining. “We were best friends, bro. How could you do me this way?”
“That’s rough,” Foley, the handsome cop next to Sadie, murmured. “Bros before—”
“You say hoes, you sleep alone,” his girlfriend warned.
“Ah, noes. I was going to say noes, as in, never cheat on your bud.”
“Good answer.”
“We grew up together, Gear,” B-Man was saying. “You’re like my brother. We learned how to build an engine together.”
“What script are you fucking reading from? Otis taught me how to build an engine, asshole. And fuck you. Brothers don’t sleep with their friend’s woman.” Gear glanced at Sahara with blatant disgust. “Although to be fair, it’s tough to resist a woman who never shuts her legs. Or her mouth.”
A few women in the crowd gasped. “Asshole,” one shouted. “Nice slut-shaming, Gear. You jerk.”
Not too popular with the ladies, was he? Frankly, Sadie didn’t care for his attitude much either.
“Yeah?” B-Man said, his gaze darting from the crowd to Gear. “Well a real man doesn’t sleep around on his fiancée. You’re such a dick.”
The crowd cheered him while jeering at Gear.
Gear gave an angry laugh. “That’s right. Throw it all on me. While I’m working my ass off, you’re sleeping with my fiancée and making plans to cut me from the show. Stab me in the back again, why don’t you?”
“Nice story.” B-Man huffed. “She loved you, man. You ruined it all. Not me. And not her.”
Sahara remained quiet, looking at B-Man as if he’d hung the moon.
Sadie waffled once more, thinking B-Man in the right. Gear sounded like a chauvinistic jerk, and the cheating accusations could have come from him being caught, so he made up stuff about his friend and fiancée. Having dealt with a cheating ex, she was inclined to believe B-Man’s story. Yet…the makeup couldn’t hide Gear’s furious hurt. Until it smoothed out and his painted mouth sneered again.
Not sure what to believe, Sadie watched, enthralled and hating herself for it. Wait. Was that a flash of disdain in Sahara’s eyes before they turned grieving once more? And there, the smug satisfaction on B-Man’s face before he shook his head. He started arguing with his best friend again, asking him to come back. That despite it all, they could try to rebuild and forgive. And damn, but he sounded genuine, while Gear’s anger and smirking Joker face came across as rude, backstabby, and unforgiving.
“He needs some PR help,” Elliot whispered. “Seriously. He’s worse than you during the holiday rush.”
“Shut up, Elliot.” Sadie sighed, no longer entertained. “This is just sad. Let’s go back inside and get something to eat. I’m starved.”
“Yeah. What she said,” the redhead agreed, and her boyfriend joined her.
The four of them walked back inside the mansion, and Sadie appreciated the warmth generated by the hordes.
“Hi. I’m Cyn, and this is Foley,” the gorgeous redhead said by way of introduction and turned to Elliot. “I’ve seen you before.”
“Yeah, you look familiar to me too. I’m Elliot Liberato.” Elliot shook their hands. “This is my sister, Sadie.”
“Hi.” Sadie nodded at them, still thinking it too bad Officer Hottie had a woman.
“I’m not sure how I know you, but I’ll figure it out.” Cyn smiled at Elliot, engaged Foley in the conversation, and as usually happened with anyone who spoke with Elliot for any length of time, immediately became his new best friend.
“I’ll be back. Just going to get a drink.” Sadie was promptly ignored as the three of them laughed at something Elliot said.
With a sigh, she left them in favor of one of the appetizer tables, which sat on either side of the
spacious ballroom being used as a dance floor. The decor looked terrific. Orange and black tablecloths were being constantly cleaned. She spotted Tory wiping up on the south side and gave her a wave.
Tory smiled back. More of Joaquin’s people milled around the outskirts of the dance floor, holding trays for revelers not wanting to load up. But not Sadie. She moved to the opposite side of the room, so as not to interrupt Tory, and filled a plate with tiny crab cakes, shrimp pâté, mini egg rolls, and—yes!—Elliot’s famous tiny corn dogs and a side of cheese curls.
She had to hand it to Joaquin, who catered to the lower class, like Sadie, as well as his hoity-toity guests, of which she’d guess more than half the invitees to be. He’d done well to hire Sofa’s Catering, because she, Elliot, and Rose made the perfect team to handle a shindig like this one. Delicious eats, but not too fancy that commoners couldn’t enjoy them.
Sadie grinned, liking the thought of being low man on the totem pole. God save her from famous idiots like the ones on Motorcycle Madnezz.
A wave at Theo and Gina, refilling her table, had the pair approaching.
Theo’s eyes grew wide as he eyeballed Sadie’s costume. “Oh man. You are like every geek boy’s dream of Xena, Warrior Princess.” He blinked at her cleavage, which she didn’t think impressive in the slightest. “Nice, er, top.”
“Xena who?” Sadie asked.
Gina frowned. “Yeah, who?”
Theo groaned. “Today’s youth. So sad, Gina.” Gina was maybe a year Theo’s junior.
“Yeah, well, what’s her excuse?” Gina asked with no deference to Sadie—her boss—whatsoever. “Sadie’s thirty-four.”
“Thirty-two,” Sadie growled. “Ah, whatever. Get back to work, you two. And remember, if anyone asks about the food, mention Sofa’s. A lot.”
