5. Ellie
Ellie
Jinx has been busy this morning.
There's a mouthwatering breakfast spread on the kitchen island fit for a resort buffet. French toast with caramelized bananas, turkey bacon arranged in neat little rows, a bowl of mixed berries, and coffee that smells dangerously strong.
Just the way I like it.
He's already eating, perched on the counter in his usual spot with his legs swinging, scrolling his phone with one hand and forking French toast into his mouth with the other.
This morning, Kade sits at the table. He's got an empty plate in front of him, black coffee, and no food. Just the coffee and his lighter, which he flicks open and closed hypnotically, spacing out, which means he's either thinking or about to set something on fire.
Both options concern me equally after the other night.
He doesn't look up when I walk in, of course. He's still pissed.
But Jinx does. His eyes find mine right away and he gives me his usual bright smile, but it's a little stiff and anxious. There's a warning in there.
Minefield ahead. Tread carefully.
"Morning, Princess. French toast? I did the cinnamon swirl thing you like."
"Thanks." I take the plate he already prepared and start glancing around for a place to sit.
There's the island, where Jinx is.
And there's the table, where Kade is.
Switzerland does not exist in this kitchen.
So I choose the island. Closer to the food, closer to Jinx, and frankly, closer to the door if Kade gets pissed and I need a quick escape. I hop up onto the barstool and cut into the French toast. Golden crust, soft, gooey center, with the sliced bananas still warm.
It's perfect.
Kade's lighter clicks again.
Jinx chews and tries not to let on he's watching him.
I count the strawberries on my plate. Seven. I move two to the side of the plate so there are five arranged just right in a cluster in the middle.
Jinx stares at me, but he doesn't say a word.
Nobody does, actually.
The awkward tension is killing me as I nibble at my French toast and take sips of coffee, even though I took an extra half of a pill this morning.
Just to preemptively take the edge off.
Kade's chair scrapes back after a few minutes. He stands in silence, taking his untouched coffee to the sink to unceremoniously dump it down the drain. Then he sets it in the dishwasher and walks past me without a word, disappearing into the hall.
Jinx exhales. "Well. That was fun."
"He's still pissed about me and Tank," I mutter.
"Oh, most definitely. Was it worth it?" he asks with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.
I snort. "Definitely."
"Then let him be pissed," he says with a shrug that pulls a few strands of gold over his shoulder.
He has a point. I have no regrets. None whatsoever, consequences be damned.
But Kade isn't the only one who's been weird lately. And this might be my only chance to bring it up without the others around.
"Um. Jinx. Can I ask you a question?"
"You can ask me anything," he says without looking up from the berry he's trying unsuccessfully to spear with his fork. It rolls around his plate, half-destroyed.
"The other day, when you met my friends," I begin slowly, already hating myself for sounding like an insecure idiot. "You said something about not being each other's type. And I guess I was just wondering… is that true?"
His berryless fork scrapes hard against the plate and his eyes widen.
"What?" Jinx stares at me for a few seconds, looking like a deer in headlights and Armani. "Holy shit, no," he says quickly, dropping the fork completely with a clatter and pushing his plate aside. "I just said that for your friends. So they don't think you're… you know."
"So they don't think what?" I ask, confused.
He shrugs, looking away. "Shacking up with… someone like me."
I frown. "Someone like you?"
"You know. White trash, bisexual disaster." He gestures broadly to himself before taking a sip of orange juice. "It's just… you're obviously into Tank, and I'm about as far from Tank as it gets."
He's rambling now, and uncharacteristically flustered.
It's kind of adorable.
But the little insecurity demon that's been chasing its tail in the back of my brain since that day stops running in circles.
I reach across the table and put my hand over his and he freezes completely, his eyes blowing wide.
"I am into Tank," I admit. "But I've always had varied tastes. I seem to recall you making me enough mixtapes to know that."
His full lips twitch into a sheepish smile, and he wraps his hand around mine, engulfing it completely. The rings sit cool on my skin as he laces his tattooed fingers with mine and a stupid little flood of dopamine hits my brain that's more effective than any pill.
"You are very much my type, Princess," he says softly, and the way he says it makes it sound truer than any words he's ever spoken to me.
Definitely truer than the ones he said to Maren and Sofia.
"I'd be happy to show you just how much, so why don't you hop up on this table and let me eat you for breakfast? "
Heat floods my face, but he grabs me and snatches me off the chair before I have the chance to respond. I gasp as he drops me onto the edge of the table, moving his own chair closer between my legs.
"Jinx…" My hands find his long hair, my fingers sliding through those golden tresses.
He's already working my panties down over my hips, and the chill has only a second to hit my pussy before his mouth is on it, hot and hungry.
"I fucking love mini skirts," he mutters, shoving the short layer of denim up further as he buries his face in.
I go from zero to soaking in an embarrassingly short amount of time, but the way he eats me out definitely leaves no room to doubt that he wants this as much as he does whatever goes on between him and Cyrus.
A mystery I find far more intriguing than I probably should. But the thought of Cyrus behind him, fucking Jinx while he eats me out like this, gets me even wetter. Especially knowing what that piercing feels like firsthand, thinking about the sounds Jinx would make against me when it hits his—
Both our phones buzz on the table at once, and Jinx growls into my pussy in irritation. "Ignore it," he mumbles, licking another stripe up my slit.
"We should," I choke out between pants, "probably not ignore that. It's the group text."
"Mmh, 's fine," he slurs in between licks.
I reach for my phone, my hand trembling as I open my messages and try to remember how to read with what he's doing to me.
"It's from Cyrus," I gasp. "It just says 'Office. Now.'"
Jinx groans against me, finally lifting his head. Those full lips are glistening with my arousal, flushed and swollen. He licks a slow circle around them, his eyes dark as they flick up to me. "Fine. But this isn't over."
Holy shit, these men are going to kill me.
I reach for my panties but Jinx snatches them out of reach and brings them to his face, breathing in deep. Maintaining eye contact the whole time.
"You smell like strawberries, Princess."
"Give me those," I say, snatching them out of his hand halfheartedly. He laughs as I stumble into my panties and follow him down the hall.
Tank materializes from somewhere, falling into step behind me. His hand brushes my lower back as we walk. The touch is so brief it could be accidental if I didn't know him. If I didn't know Tank is a man who doesn't make any contact he doesn't strictly mean.
When it comes to his "work," that contact is lethal.
When it comes to me, it's nothing but gentle.
Kade's already in the office when we arrive. Leaning against the wall by the door. His arms are crossed, the burn scar on his left arm visible beneath his pushed-up sleeve. He doesn't acknowledge any of us, he just stands there like a sentry, his gray eyes fixed straight ahead on Cyrus's monitors.
Guess it's a good thing there aren't monitors in the guys' rooms.
I take my corner chair, the same cool leather one I sat in while Cyrus hacked federal databases, before he called me over and fucked me on his desk chair. I cross my ankles, trying to look like I belong at a criminal briefing.
Cyrus doesn't waste any time, even though his gaze briefly flicks between me and Jinx, as if he has an idea of what he interrupted. And I can't help but wonder if he'd like to join in later. He's standing at his desk, the three huge monitors lit up behind him like stained glass windows.
There's nothing sacred about what we're doing here, though.
Righteous, maybe.
In a certain type of way.
I've done a lot of things I regret, and plenty of things I've spent sleepless nights thinking about. But Todd's murder will not be among them.
"The Southside bust from last week," Cyrus starts, pulling up a screen.
Mugshots tile across the monitor. I recognize most of them from the other day.
"Fifteen arrests, most for drug trafficking, weapons charges, and conspiracy.
They all should have been a slam dunk for the DA's office, and yet every single one of these fuckers walked within forty-eight hours. All charges were graciously dropped."
He clicks, and a new face fills the center screen. A big guy in his fifties with gray hair and a bland political smile I've seen a thousand times before at Todd's parties. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've seen this one. I just can't match the face to a name.
"This is DA Carl Rosman," Cyrus continues. "He personally intervened to dismiss the charges, citing 'insufficient evidence.' Except the evidence was as solid as it ever is. There were wiretaps, surveillance footage, and two confidential informants. Rosman, for some reason, buried all of it."
Another click. Financial records spill across the screen in a dizzying array of columns, but Cyrus has highlighted the relevant entries in red.