27. Panties and Pistols
Chapter twenty-seven
Panties and Pistols
Lei
Here we fucking go.
I stood in front of Dima’s two men, trying to maintain a calm demeanor as they began their routine security check.
The taller of the two gave me a brief nod.
It was a sign that the procedure was about to begin.
Then, he started with a careful pat down of my shirt, his fingers deftly searching the inner pockets. Slight pressure came as he moved his hands along the fabric, ensuring there were no hidden surprises.
I looked at Dima as he sat at the head of the table. “You think I need weapons to handle those idiots in green?”
Dima stroked the sleeping, white cat in his lap like some evil villain of a story. “This is merely a formality. You know the rules. Sometimes people get mad, get caught up in the moment, and take a gun out to shoot—”
“Perhaps, you should make sure they don’t make me mad.”
On the other side of the table, the scene was mirrored.
Ignoring me, Marcelo stood patiently as Dima’s men conducted their check. They methodically patted him down, checking his green suit and the inner lining of his pockets.
Marcelo’s face betrayed little emotion, his hands clasped loosely in front of him as the guards moved over his clothing.
Banks and Gunner stood behind him.
Other Rowe Street Members remained several feet away.
I scanned the space.
Where is Einstein?
Frowning, I returned back to my man.
Once he was satisfied that I had no hidden knives or blades under my shirt, he ran his hands along the waistband of my pants, checking for any concealed items there.
His colleague—a shorter man with a more cautious demeanor—watched closely, ensuring the procedure was thorough.
Dima’s men had placed the table and chairs on the other side of the garden, ensuring we had tons of privacy from the cookout guests who were all the way behind Lotus Blossom and out of our sight.
Already, the mouth-watering smell of grilled meats wafted through the air, mingling with the sweet fragrance of fresh flowers.
Music boomed as the DJ seamlessly mixed modern Hip-Hop tracks with oldies R Its mane and tail flowed with flames.
Either way, due to all of the great care of the restaurant’s chef and staff, the Golden Unicorn restaurant had a six-month waitlist.
So Thandi wants to go to the Golden Unicorn and Duck is holding on to her panties. Interesting.
Done with the security check, Duck sat down on my right.
Too intrigued by these new details, I leaned his way. “Thandi?”
“She’s too sexy to resist.”
“But did you try?”
“Of course I didn’t.”
I smirked. “And the Golden Unicorn?”
“I’m on the waitlist. I bullied them into putting me in the top twenty.”
“Say the reservations are for the Mountain Master. That should get you all the way to the top. Take her next week.”
Duck’s face lit up. “Are you trying to get a kiss from me, cousin?”
“Save your kisses for Thandi.”
Dima loudly cleared his throat, ending our conversation. “I believe we should begin.”
I nodded, hoping this bullshit would end quickly.