7. Trips
Chapter 7
Trips
S ushi for breakfast is gross. There’s no other way to put it: it’s thoroughly disgusting.
Why the fuck didn’t I just fry an egg?
I shove another bite of fridge-cold fish into my mouth, forcing myself to chew. Frying an egg takes time, effort, and knowing how to fry an egg. I have time, but that’s about fucking it.
A knock on the wall brings my attention to a shirtless Walker in the doorway, the same doorway that leads to Clara’s rooms and the backyard. He’s carrying his shirt and shoes in one arm.
Fuck.
I know he and Jansen are all cuddly with Clara, but this looks different. He looks different.
“Hey,” he says .
I wait, shoving more fish into my mouth. Maybe I should have gone with the miso soup. I bet that’s a bit more like breakfast.
“So do you want to hear about the fence?” he asks.
I guess we’re skipping past the half-naked and likely recently laid part of the story. I raise a brow, just to let him know I know what he’s been up to, and nod.
Fucker pretends he didn’t see the brow and plows onward. “So NightAntiques, well, he’s a she. She told me her name was Jasmine, but I don’t know if that’s legit or not. And she wanted to meet because she’s debating taking the Rubens job from us.”
Fuckity fuck fuck. I glare at my plate of half-eaten fish. “Why?”
Walker comes the rest of the way into the room, setting his stuff on one end of the island, pulling out the stool farthest from me, staring at the counter. “Because I messed up that Guthrie Theater job this summer.”
I get up and pull the vat of leftover miso soup from the fridge. Scooping some into a bowl, I toss it into the microwave before turning back to Walker. “We did everything right. That damn kid fucked it up. But either way, how do we keep the gig? It’s not like she’d go through the trouble of finding us if she didn’t still want to work with us.”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“When do I ever like things going to shit?”
Walker sighs, running his hands through his sex-tousled hair. Lucky bastard.
“We have to audition. ”
“What, are we a fucking a cappella group now?” Anger flares in my chest, but I force it back down. Always back down, locking it into a twenty-gallon drum in my chest like the expensive-ass therapist my dad got me when I was a kid taught me to do. Push it down, keep people safe. Let it out in a healthy way later. Ha. I’m sure he’d be horrified by the few times I’ve overfilled the barrel and finally let it out.
Walker shakes his head. “She said we’re one of three teams, a battle royale over Thanksgiving weekend.”
I start up a pot of coffee. Three hours of sleep is not enough to process this. Caffeine is necessary. “Clara was at this meeting too, right?”
Walker glances at the back hallway, something dark crossing his face. Maybe the dream girl wasn’t all he’d dreamed she’d be. Although, I’d suck my own dick if that were the case—no way Clara isn’t a hot fucking lay. “Of course. I needed backup. I had her watch, but stay silent.”
“Wake her up.”
“She needs to sleep.”
The irritation blooms, and I bite it back. “Walker, you asked her to watch. Did you find out what she saw?”
“Well, no, but I’m sure she didn’t get anything more from what happened than I did.”
I close my eyes, mentally counting down from ten. Yet another thousand-dollar lesson from my youth. “Walker, how do you think she survived two years with her ex?”
Walker’s confusion is colored by anger. I struck a fucking fuse, apparently. “She’s damn strong, that’s how.”
“Maybe, but more importantly, she watched, Walker. She watched every fucking twitch, every grimace, every sigh. She watched and learned to read every movement, to know what they meant, to figure out how they tied together and how she should behave to keep herself safe. She watched, Walker.”
I wait, but Walker doesn’t say anything. He’s too busy glaring at the countertop. The microwave beeps and I pull the soup out, nearly burning my hands before I get the bowl to the counter. Fuck. Too long.
“Listen, I chatted with her dad at her race a few weeks ago,” I continue. “Her mom is also borderline psycho. She learned to watch and read body language practically before she learned to speak.”
Walker nods. Apparently, he knows more about her mom than I do.
“And she’s an only child, man. No other kids to play with. She’s been watching adults her whole life, trying to make sense of words and situations that most kids would just let flow over them. She’s been reading people, analyzing them, basically forever. She was the exact right person to have your back in a blind meet, and I will bet you a thousand dollars that she picked up on shit that you totally missed. Wake her the fuck up, Walker. We need to know what she saw.”
Walker glares at me, and it’s like he wants to pick a fight. Fucker usually isn’t so high-strung. What the hell happened last night? “Is this a full board meeting then?” he asks, challenge coloring his words.
Jackass. “Sure, whatever. Wake up RJ and Jansen too.”
“I’ll wake up Clara and RJ. I’m not going to try with Jansen. You want everyone up, Sleeping Beauty is yours.”
I roll my eyes. “Send Clara. He’ll wake up for her. Maybe. ”
Walker almost leaves the kitchen but turns back in the doorway. He’s wound tighter than a freaking day trader minutes before market close, but he forces out a question. “Are you asking her to join the team?”
I scoop a bite of soup while I think. “I mean, she’s hot as fuck and smart. She’d be an asset, and with some training, probably a better faceman than you in most cases. A pretty girl opens all kinds of doors we can only dream about. And it’d free up your time to do what you do best: make fancy shit people will pay out their asses to get their hands on. You know, once the rest of us make the switch.”
Walker clenches his jaw so tightly I swear I can hear his teeth grinding from across the kitchen. “So more studio time for me, more risk for her?”
I shrug. “Maybe. I’m still not sold on her role in all this.”
He glares over his shoulder, as if he could see down the hallway to the girl in question. “Is this meeting an interview before Clara joins the board?”
Shoveling more soup into my mouth, I try to figure out how I want to answer that. I mean, she’s a beautiful piece of work, but could she actually be part of our organization? I hadn’t thought that far ahead.
I try my damnedest to keep Clara out of my mind whenever possible, even if the girl in question weasels in there more often than I’m comfortable with. “I guess we’ll see. I trust you guys with what we’ve built. She’s still an unknown. We can’t have a fucking FBI agent on the board of our criminal enterprise.”
“You still think she’s headed to the FBI? ”
God, I hope not. One, she’d be dangerous playing for the other side. Two, she’d be abso-fucking amazing as an agent. No criminal should have to go up against Clara at her best. And three, I’d be left dragging around three lost puppy dogs whining about what could have been if only they’d taken better care of their little chew toy. So do I know if she’s still planning on playing for the other team? No idea. But I really hope she isn’t.
Walker’s all agitated by the thought, though, so I decide to poke the bear a bit. “I don’t see why not,” I answer.
Walker’s hands clench up, just like I expected. What I don’t expect is a hint of fear I read in his eyes. Clara’s not the only one in the house who had to read body language to survive. “You didn’t see her when she was working to get you out of jail. She’s got the bug, Trips. As much as I hate it, I don’t think she’s going to end up on the right side of the law.”
I scoff at the earnest defense of his newest fuck buddy. “And what, you’re going to help her onto our side?”
He glares at me for a moment, and if I were to guess, he doesn’t want her in our world. He wants to put her up on some fucking pedestal and praise her beauty or some shit. He wants her separate, and maybe all to himself, even if she is the natural everyone has been telling me she is.
I’m about to call his bluff, but his posture loosens, a brittle grin slicing across his face, and he laughs at me, cutting the tension, breaking it before we can fight. But I can see through his mask. He’s all fucked up in the head over the damn girl. “We brought her into this. Now, no way she’s going to be happy with the white picket fence life she’d imagined. She’s made for this, whether or not we like it. ”
He looks away, his nostrils flaring. When he turns back, he’s got on a snake’s grin, his eyes rock hard. “You know what? I’ll take your thousand-dollar bet, but not about her being good at reading people. I’ll bet you a thousand dollars that she’s a full member of the board in less than a year.” He raises one eyebrow, challenging me to take the bet.
Fuck. That’d be permanent. This isn’t some normal, boring business with board members moving on and changing positions. No, we set up our board to last, considered retirement, death, a whole life of our talents tied together, with exit only allowed by member vote. It must be unanimous, and you never get back in. Once in, you’re in. Once out, you’re out.
A thousand dollars that Clara will be in this for the long haul. That she’ll be working alongside us forever.
Yeah. Right.
Give a fool enough rope, and they’ll hang themselves. I can hand her a nice silk one and see what happens. And I’ll start with today’s meeting.
I hold out a hand. “Deal.”
Walker takes it, sealing the bet with a shake. A shadow passes over his face, like he expects to lose, barely visible behind his goddamn grin.
The second his hand clasps mine, my stomach rolls.
If I’m so sure I’m going to win, why do I feel like vomiting?
It must be the fucking fish.