Chapter 11 #2
“Auction?” Simon asks. He looks concerned, which tells me something, because Simon’s pretty unflappable.
“Oh. Yeah. For my virginity?” Ravi seems to think we should all know what he’s talking about.
The only sound around the table is Dean dropping his fork and then hitting his head on the table when he tries to pick it up.
“That’s not something I’ve heard of Brennan doing before,” Michael ventures slowly.
The man speaks for all of us.
“It was my idea,” Ravi says. “I need a lot of money fast, and Brennan said I’d make bank. Plus, you only lose your virginity once. Might as well go big, right?” Then the skinny nineteen-year-old returns to his burrito as if he hasn’t dropped a bomb in the middle of the table.
Okay. Wow. I’ve done some ill-advised shit, but this seems really fucked.
Right now Ravi’s like a kitten who doesn’t realize he’s wandered into a den of starving hyenas.
He’s not my responsibility, but he’s sort of a friend.
And I don’t think he’s got a clue what he’s getting into.
Not sure any of us really do, but I know enough to know it’s got true crime documentary written all over it.
Across the table, two of our female members, Alexis and Eve, are griping about how men are pigs for caring about virginity anyway. They’re not wrong.
Movement in the doorway of the back room where we’re all sitting grabs my attention.
I expect to see one of the servers, hopefully coming for my juice refill, but no.
No, it’s Wes, the fuckhead with no boundaries, standing with his face on fire and his fists clenched like he wants to throw down. Must’ve followed me, the prick.
Adam turns in his chair and lets out a ridiculous-sounding wolf whistle. “Hey, Daddy. You wanna join us? We’re out of empty chairs, but you can sit in my lap.”
“Or mine,” Troy adds with a laugh. He elbows Adam. “We could take turns.”
Fucking idiots.
Wes turns toward the two cat-calling assholes, looking at them like they’re a species he’s never seen before. Probably hasn’t.
With a blink, he turns back to me. “We need to talk.”
Everyone at the table goes quiet. “We’re done talking, man.” I gesture around the table. Quick count, there are about a dozen of us. “I suggest you think real hard about whether you want to start something here.”
“You need to stay away from my brother.”
Jumping out of my seat, I advance on Wes, flipping my knife out so he can see. He’s busy backing up when I grip his shirt, pressing the blade to his throat. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you weren’t listening the first time we talked this morning.”
As I keep the blade against Wes’s skin, I glance around the table, hoping I haven’t made the others nervous. Luckily, I think they’re all with me.
Despite keeping these folks at a distance, I know we escorts take care of our own. When Christian got hurt, these guys showed up to help. Sure enough, Simon stands to face Wes with his arms crossed. So do Nico, Christian, and Prince (who has an intimidating-looking amount of metal in his face).
Silence stretches out until Wes sighs and puts his hands up in surrender. Once I let him go, he’s out the door fast enough to leave smoke.
At all the questioning looks, I mutter, “Client drama. I’ll take care of it.” And then, belatedly, “Thanks.” Rubbing at my chest doesn’t quite wipe away the warmth there that feels suspiciously like friendship.
As people slowly return to their previously scheduled conversations, I give Ravi a nudge with my shoulder. “You sure about this auction thing?”
Ravi nods. “Sure. Brennan said he’d vet the applicants.”
For me, that’s not a huge reassurance. I still don’t know if Brennan is trustworthy. But when I want to argue more, Ravi cuts me off. “It’s gonna be fine. I’ve made my decision.”
Since I’ve got other concerns on my mind, I let it go for now. I’m making a note to keep an eye on this, though.
I turn to the rest of the group. “Hey, does anyone here know about security stuff? Cameras and whatnot?”
“You good, PJ?” Simon asks.
There are too many eyes on me right now. I may be willing to open up more with the group, but I’m not sharing everything about Fallon with them. “Asking for a friend.”
Simon’s boyfriend, Sebastian, speaks up. “I’ve got a guy. Helped me out a bunch recently.” He fishes in his wallet and hands over a business card.
The card is solid black except for two lines of bold white lettering, plus a phone number. “‘Everett Cartier, security, etc.’ Who puts ‘etc.’ on a business card? You trust this guy?”
Sebastian doesn’t strike me as the sort who hires from anything less than the top tier, but for Fallon’s safety, I want to be sure.
“Yeah, he’s excellent. Brennan recommended him.”
Fucking Brennan. Why does everyone trust this guy so much when he’s a fucking criminal?
Still, I picture Fallon’s expression when he showed me those weird greeting cards, the concern he tried to keep off his face. I stick the card in my pocket. Maybe I’ll ask some of my rich-ass clients as well. Just to be on the safe side.
Like I told Wes, I’ve grown attached to Fallon. I’m going to take it personally if someone tries to hurt him.
More than that, I’ll make sure they regret it.