23. Mack #3
They should be running, but whatever. Poor guys don’t know any better. Not yet, at least.
They stiffen when they see us looking their way. Smiles fall off. Shoulders hunch to their ears.
“I can smell their fear from here,” I chuckle. “And it’s fucking glorious.”
“Much better company than her,” Hux says, shaking his head. “I’m going to lose my shit if I actually have to walk down the aisle with her. I don’t know—” He folds his lips together, a hint of vulnerability showing through his eyes. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive that.”
“I’m still looking,” JJ offers, lacking the confidence Huxley needs. “But the contract they signed in agreement to your nuptials has been ironclad. There doesn’t seem to be an inch we can take, and if you pull out or can’t make it, Franco loses everything to Preston and vice versa.”
“Or, and hear me out, we can ditch this shit, change our names, and go with our original plan.” I grin, exposing my teeth, hoping they’ll agree.
I know they won’t. We’re too deep into this. Franco made sure of that. We can’t leave, even if we wanted to. The only chance we’d have is if someone took Franco out and blew up the entire Franco Syndicate.
“I wish,” JJ mutters as we slowly inch away from Amanda, who stands in the same spot, pouting as we leave her.
“Good riddance,” I mutter, waving at her with a big grin.
“Stop antagonizing her,” Hux grumbles, grabbing my hand. “You’ll only encourage her to be more annoying.”
I groan. “If we have to live with that, I might choke her in her sleep.” I give him a pointed look.
“Well, keep your hands to yourself. She isn’t moving in any time soon. In fact, I’m hoping to ship her off. Anything to get rid of her…”
“You know, we know some people. We can take care of all of that.” I wink at him.
“Shut up. Or I might be tempted,” Hux mutters, slightly shoving me. “You know what kind of wormhole that would open up?” He runs a hand down his face. “Maybe I should fake my death. It seems to work.”
“Uh, don’t forget about us.” I give him a skeptical look.
“Faking our deaths,” JJ says flatly, with no traces of humor lacing his voice. “It’s genius.”
“Not a bad idea, right? We could start over.” I wiggle my brows, jokingly—okay, not so jokingly—trying to convince them my plan could work.
“He’d know,” Hux says grimly. “He’d track us down. There’s no way to make it look real. Not with us.” He shakes his head. “It might work with other people.” Huxley gently touches the necklace he never takes off with a sigh.
“We’re not stuck, damn it.” I raise my chin until Hux whirls around, staring straight into my eyes.
“Yes. We are stuck. But not forever. We bide our time and play our parts. Like we always do.” I swear we have these talks at least once a month.
“Until when?” I whisper, horrified by his response. “When will it all end? I’m up to here in bullshit,” I manage to choke out while gesturing to my eyeballs with my hand, trying to swallow all the emotions bubbling to the surface.
I don’t have time to cry or look weak in front of all these people.
Not that crying is a weakness in my eyes.
Crying makes you strong. It helps to release all the bullshit pent up inside you.
Especially when you haven’t been able to fight for more than a week.
It’s why I sit at Liv’s grave and let them flow freely.
“Okay, okay. This isn’t the time,” JJ says, coming to put his hands on both of our shoulders and gently squeezing. “Keep it together for now. Later, we can vent your frustrations. Okay?” He eyes us both up and down until we’re nodding like idiots.
“Fine. But later we need to work this out of our systems.” I give Hux a pointed look.
“You don’t have to ask me twice. It would make my day punching your lights out.” He grins at the prospect.
“All too eager to punch your favorite friend,” I say, earning a glare.
“Define favorite,” he jokes, shaking his head.
I snort, taking another drink of my champagne and finishing it off.
JJ and Hux trade a few more jabs, finally laughing and letting loose.
I, on the other hand, take in the crowd again, watching the smiling faces of the elite and everyone in between.
Everyone in this room is an ally of Franco’s.
The police in his pocket. The firefighters.
The school board. The politicians. The health care workers.
They’re all here, gushing about the man who doesn’t give a shit about them. Only their money and what he can do for them.
Even Dr. Rhodes is here, meandering through the crowd with his cane, helping him balance, as he awkwardly makes small talk with different groups.
“Huxley, JJ, and Mack. Your father needs to see you in private.” I’m pulled out of my dismal musings by Rico, Franco’s favorite guard, standing in front of our semi-circle with pursed lips. An eerie feeling slithers through me when he raises his brows, waiting for us to answer him.
“Lead the way,” Hux answers for us, gesturing for him to walk, and then we follow him through the private door into Franco’s office.