Jagger #2
Mrs. Bentley’s. My friend’s housekeeper made burritos so good that we literally flew them in from Dallas.
And I had just run out yesterday. Either that or my housekeeper, Ms. Nesbitt, had thrown the last one out…she did tend to get jealous of Mrs. Bentley.
“Tell me you have another one of those,” I growled, feeling kind of desperate all of a sudden.
Maddox stopped chewing, and his eyes narrowed before he sighed like a man carrying the weight of the world and very inconvenient friendships. “I knew this day would come,” he muttered.
He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to pull a second burrito out of there, right? When I asked if you had another one, I didn’t mean literally.”
He hesitated for exactly one second, like he was debating his life choices, before producing another foil-wrapped burrito with visible irritation.
“You’re welcome,” he said dryly, tossing it onto the counter. “A lesser friend might carry a pen. Maybe a spare charger or a gun. I, however, come prepared with breakfast.”
I snatched it off the counter in case he changed his mind and peeled back the foil. “I know you also have a gun in there, so what you just said doesn’t apply.”
He scoffed. “The gun is standard. The burrito is friendship. There’s a difference.”
I took a bite and hummed approvingly. “This tastes so good I’m not even mad anymore that you weren’t appropriately impressed with my dick.”
He shook his head and pulled out his phone, frowning as he read the screen. “One day I’m going to tell people this story, and I’m definitely going to mention how heroic I am,” he said distractedly.
I took another bite, finally feeling human again. “I’m sure you will,” I said around the mouthful. “Make sure you include the part where you risked your life transporting eggs and salsa in your pocket.”
Maddox snorted at that, and I grinned as I kept eating.
Why couldn’t women be as good as Mrs. Bentley’s burritos? I’d never fall asleep during sex if they were.
I was halfway through the burrito when Maddox cleared his throat. It was a subtle sound, but it was also the sound he made when the joking part of the conversation was over.
“Carl’s panicking,” he said.
I didn’t look up right away. “Carl wakes up panicking.”
“That’s true,” Maddox went on evenly.
I lifted my gaze. “So that’s why you’re here? To calm him down? You just decided to take a detour to my place first?”
“No.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m confused right now.”
“Carl is panicking,” Maddox replied. “He’s just not the reason I’m here.”
I swallowed, set the burrito down, and leaned back against the counter. “Continue, and maybe start with why you’re being deliberately vague right now. You’re losing hero points as we speak.”
He exhaled through his nose, his eyes flicking briefly toward the windows like the city might be listening. “Cruz wants you to handle something downstairs.”
I straightened at the mention of my best friend. “Cruz?”
“Yes.”
I picked up my glass and took a slow drink. “And why didn’t Cruz just text me?”
Maddox’s mouth twisted. “He’s busy.”
I lowered the glass. “Busy with what?”
He shrugged. “He didn’t say.”
“That’s new.”
Maddox pursed his lips. “I know, and I’m not thrilled about it.”
I’m sure he wasn’t. Maddox was Cruz’s cousin.
But even if they weren’t family, Maddox would still have been annoyed that he didn’t know what Cruz was up to.
Besides keeping burritos in his suit pockets, Maddox also kept files of all of us in his head.
He was the group stalker and prided himself on knowing everything about everyone in our group before anyone else did.
If he didn’t know why Cruz was being vague, that meant Cruz was deliberately hiding something from him.
“Interesting,” I murmured.
Maddox’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not the word I’d use.”
“It is when I’m being handed a mystery instead of an explanation,” I said. “Alright, so what does Cruz want me to handle?”
Maddox typed something on his phone before answering. “There’s a guy in the high roller area,” he said. “He’s quite the spender…and he’s from Boston.”
Someone listening to the conversation would think we were discussing a VIP, but I knew exactly what Maddox was talking about. My jaw tightened. “He wouldn’t happen to be Irish, would he?”
Maddox’s mouth curved slowly. “You’re catching on.”
Ah.
That explained Carl’s panic.
Boston money wasn’t an issue. Boston Irish money, in our casino, was something else entirely.
A smile pulled at my mouth as I immediately turned and headed toward my room. If I was going downstairs, I wasn’t doing it in sweats.
Three minutes later I came back out in a suit, and Maddox nodded approvingly. “Better.”
I adjusted my cuffs. “I’m glad I have your approval,” I drawled.
“Someone has to maintain group standards,” he said coolly as he stepped in front of me before I could pass.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Maddox?”
He smirked. “I just wanted to remind you that you can’t shoot someone in the high roller room.”
I stared at him, confused. “I know Cruz didn’t say that, because he shoots people literally everywhere.”
Maddox snorted. “He didn’t say that. But you still can’t shoot someone down there. I know you know that, but I’m saying it anyway because that smile is concerning.”
“It’s a very reasonable smile.”
“It’s the smile you had in Miami.”
My smile grew thinking about that particular trip. “That was different,” I said.
“Was it, Jagger?”
I held his gaze for a second longer, then brushed past him toward the elevator. “I’m not going to shoot anyone,” I said as the doors slid open.
“Good,” Maddox replied calmly. “Because that paperwork is exhausting.”
I winked at him as the doors began to close. “Thanks for the burrito,” I called.
He growled in response because he knew…
I was probably going to shoot someone down there.
Read Jagger’s story in Don’t Say Mafia HERE.