Chapter 20
BONER
"Who's this clown?" I slipped into the chair beside Cass and jerked my head at the man he was sitting with. He looked like he got a strap-on stuck up his ass during a particularly vigorous session of anal. My advice? Make sure you use enough lube. Otherwise, you might end up looking like this guy.
"Who the fuck are you?" Grumpy-ass snarled. Which, I supposed, was a fair question. I had come at him pretty hard, figuratively speaking.
"Jules, this is Boner," Cass said, looking suitably embarrassed.
To be completely honest, I loved the way people looked when they said my nickname out loud. Until they got used to it, it was good for shits and giggles.
I reached over to offer my hand to Jules. "You're Cassius' brother. Tell me, do they call you Tits?"
Jules looked at my hand like if he touched it, it might set him on fire. I wished it could, because that would be an awesome party trick.
"No," he snapped. "What sort of name is Boner?"
I sat back and grinned, unbothered by his rejection of a perfectly civil handshake.
"That should be obvious. An awesome one."
"It's a nickname," Cass said, his lips barely moving. "His name is really Edward."
"Figures," Jules muttered.
I had no idea how it figured, but whatever. It wasn't like he wasn't going by a nickname too, technically.
"So, Jules, what brings you to Angel's Rest?" His presence was clearly due to more than the empty bowl in front of him. I wondered if his dinner was anyone I knew, but of course I kept that thought to myself. This guy looked like someone who would report Harlow to the health department.
"Augustus was his brother too," Cass said softly.
Jules and I immediately had something in common. We were both looking sharply at his younger brother.
"What is this about Auggie?" Jules demanded.
"Yes, please do elaborate," I said, my voice dangerous. If he'd gone running his mouth off around the city, we could all be in very big trouble. Specifically Cass and his brother. They could end up tomorrow night's special.
"He can help," Cass insisted.
I rubbed the sides of my nose, where the vagus nerve was, trying to relieve the rapidly building tension. This conversation was using up my spoons. Once I ran out of those, all I had left was knives. And my garrote.
"Who's helping?" Archer grabbed the back of the chair beside mine, pulled it out and flopped down.
"Evening, Hardberg," I said.
"Hardwick," he corrected firmly.
I responded with a barely audible grunt. “What are the statistics on the amount of people who can effectively keep a secret? I was thinking it was four. Cass here seems to think it's five."
"I don't think anyone's done research on that," Archer said, taking in both brothers. "But I saw a meme the other day that said three people can keep a secret if you get rid of two of them."
Jules was staring at the rest of us, his head slowly swiveling back and forth.
"You're all out of your fucking minds. Cassius, who are these nut jobs?" He looked ready to stand up and storm out, which was fine by me as long as he paid for his meal. And left a hefty tip.
"I'll explain everything when Harlow is here," Cass said, his cheeks suddenly pink.
I still wasn't sure we shouldn't keep him out of this. His reaction to those photos said everything we needed to know about his ability to deal with what was to come. The last thing we needed was for him to pass out in the middle of everything. He could put all of us at risk. Especially himself.
Come to think of it, especially me and Harlow too, which I strenuously objected to.
"The chef? What does she have to do with this?" Jules looked so confused, his expression was almost funny. If we were talking about anything but what we were actually skirting around, I'd have a good laugh.
Instead, I scanned the room, watching the last of the customers file out the door, talking and laughing.
Harlow's staff hurried around, picking up the last of the dishes and carrying them to the kitchen. Also talking and laughing.
This place of Harlow's, it was a pocket of warm and cozy in an otherwise dark world. Yeah, I know, so poetic. Accurate though, amiright? Of course I am.
"The truth is," I drawled, "we're gathered here tonight to talk about baking club. Now the first rule of baking club," I held up my finger, "is that we don't talk about baking club."
Archer snorted a laugh and Cass smiled.
Jules looked as confused and irritated as ever. "Baking club? What the fuck are you baking? Weed brownies? Looks to me like you've had too many of them."
"And you haven't had enough," I told him. "If you had, you'd be much more zen. Like my friend Hardcore here." I placed a hand on Archer's shoulder. "He's not easily excited." At least, not as far as I'd seen.
"Hardwick," Archer corrected. "I'm not, but it's not because of weed. I haven't smoked any of that in weeks."
Jules shook his head. "I'm not baking. Whatever the hell is going on here, I don't want anything to do with it." He placed his hands on the table, to either side of his empty bowl, and started to push himself to his feet.
Cass' hand snapped out and grabbed his wrist. "You're going to want to hear this. Sit down."
I think I speak for everyone at the table when I say we were all surprised at his tone. And a little bit aroused.
Even more surprised when Jules actually sat.
"Better be worth it," he muttered.
"Good night," Harlow said as she ushered her staff out the door before closing and locking it behind them. She leaned against it for a moment, her eyes closed, breathing out through plush, pursed lips. Lips that I was now imagining wrapped around my cock. That really would make for a good night.
She shoved herself off the door and walked towards us, taking the last seat at the table. Giving Jules a look like she wished he'd evaporate into thin air.
What do you know, we had something else in common.
"Jules should know what's going on," Cass said, his tone between the commanding one he'd used with his brother, and his normal geek voice. He wanted to be heard, but wasn't convinced we wouldn't dismiss the idea out of hand. Or that Jules wouldn't.
"Can we trust him?" I leaned back and placed my hands behind my head, eyebrow raised.
"I trust him," Cass said. "He knows what happened to Auggie and who did it."
Jules' eyes looked ready to burst out of his face. Which would be fascinating, but unfortunately didn't happen.
Next time, maybe.
"What does this have to do with Gr—" Jules closed his mouth with a snap of his teeth.
"Granger Fairfield," Cass finished for him. "You said you wanted to kill him."
I glanced over to Archer.
He sighed. "There's also no research on how many people say they want to kill someone but don't actually act on it. I'm going to say a high number."
I nodded and turned back to the rest of them.
"Right," Jules said carefully. "It was hypothetical."
"Like people laughing their heads off," I offered. "As far as I know, that's never literally happened."
"Yeah, what Bonehead said." Jules shrugged.
I chuckled. "Bonehead, that's a good one." Although, it fit him better than it fit me. Clearly he was projecting.
Jules smirked, then his expression changed as his brain caught up.
"You're being literal. About Granger Fairfield. You really think you can kill someone like him?"
I'm good at reading people, but I couldn't tell if he was hopeful, or still thought we were out of our minds.
Under the circumstances, it might be safe to guess he was hovering right about the middle.
He wanted the asshole dead as much as we did, but the average person didn't get together to plan a murder with other people. Not that I know of anyway.
Hey, if there's actually an Evening Murder Club, hook me up, because I'm there.
But I digress.
"We don't just think we can, we know we can," I said.
"The question is, do you have the balls to help?
" In my experience, casting aspersions on the size of a man's testicles was a very good way to get him to throw his hat into the proverbial ring.
We all liked to prove we were blessed with nuts the size of the average-sized moon.
Of course, any bigger than that would be silly.
"He can help," Cass said. "Jules has skills."
I caught the expression on Harlow's face. She was torn between wanting to give Cass what he wanted and kicking Jules' ass out the door.
Totally relatable vibes. I was feeling them myself.
"What sort of skills?" Archer asked.
"Whoa, hold on a minute." Jules raised his hands in front of him, palms out.
"Who says I want anything to do with this?
You're talking about…" He lowered his voice and whispered, "Killing someone.
This is insanity. I'm getting the fuck out of here.
Following you to this city was insane enough, but this… "
He pushed himself to his feet and stalked over to the door. Placed his hand on the handle and tried to wrench it open.
The door, being locked, didn't move.
"I can break this fucking door down, or you can unlock it," Jules snarled.
"If we let him leave—" Harlow started.
"He won't say anything," Cass said, his eyes intent on his brother. Staring at him through one eye, since the other was covered with unruly hair.
I have to say, Titmus the Younger was starting to grow on me. That bossy tone was threatening to make my cock grow.
Harlow sighed and stood, pulling her keys out of her pocket and stepping over to unlock the door. "Cass better be right about you," she said darkly. "If you say anything about this to anyone…"
He leaned so his face was right up in hers. "You'll do what, sweetheart? You gonna kill me too?"
She didn't flinch. She met him angry gaze for angry gaze.
"Not at first," she said. "Maybe after a day or two. Maybe three or four. By the end, you'll regret every breath you ever took and every word you ever said."
He looked like he wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and strangle her. The tent in his pants spoke another story. One that was remarkably similar to mine.
She was so fucking hot when she was threatening people. I'd have to work a bit harder to piss her off now and again so she could threaten me like that. Right when she was riding me would be perfect. I'd come then and there.
"You're out of your fucking mind, sweetheart," Jules growled. "You need to get some help."
She stepped away from him and turned to smile at the rest of us, still sitting nicely around the table.
"I already have all the help I need," she said. "Now get the fuck out of my restaurant unless you have something useful to add." Like the meat for tomorrow's lasagna.
I had a feeling he'd be chewy as hell and probably bitter. Someone like him would leave a bad taste in anyone's mouth.
He gave her a last, long look before stepping out into the night and striding past the window and down the street. His footsteps hard on the sidewalk. Punctuating his departure.
She firmly closed the door behind him and locked it again. Shame it didn't hit him on the way out.
"Now," she slipped her keys back into her pocket and returned to her chair. "Where were we?"