Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Thirty-Eight
Scarlett
When going to war, it’s important to have soldiers who know how to fall in line. Also, good shoes.
Storm is late, like I knew she would be.
But she’s ready to roll, so I forgive her a little. At least until she starts eye-fucking Rory again across the room.
“Lay off it already,” I tell her. “He’s nobody’s puppet.”
“Except for yours.” She smiles sweetly. “I bet you he’d do whatever you told him to. And who says I’m trying to get with him, anyway? Maybe I just like to piss you off.”
“That’s probably more accurate,” I agree. “Did you bring the stuff?”
She tosses a large suitcase onto the hotel bed and opens it up.
“Pick your flavor.” She gestures over the rainbow of wigs and disguises. “We got cherry, vanilla, black licorice, chocolate, even an assortment of bubblegum if you feel frisky.”
I grab a short blonde wig and a brown one too, holding them up to examine them. Rory’s watching me now, waiting to see what I pick.
“Should I be Daisy or Jordan?” I ask.
“You should be Scarlett,” he whispers in my ear.
And then he reaches for a chin length hot pink wig instead, dangling it between his fingers as he hands it to me.
“And wear this one.”
The heat radiating off him from behind digs into my back. I make a mental note to give Storm an IOU for the wig later on.
“Take these too,” Storm instructs, handing me a small case. “They’ll really pop with that pink.”
I open it up to find some vivid blue colored contacts.
Over the next twenty minutes, we apply the finishing touches to our hair and makeup while Rory gets ready in the bathroom.
When he walks out in his costume, it’s my turn to be all hot and bothered. He’s donning a white dress shirt and black vest, complete with a shoulder holster and fedora. He’s the hottest gangster I’ve ever seen.
“Look at you in your native habitat.”
“Figured you like that,” he says.
He smiles, and it’s been a while since I’ve seen it, and I’ve missed it.
It’s easy to forget, in the fun of dressing up, what we’re really here for.
But the solemn reminder comes with the alarm on his phone.
“Ten minutes,” he says.
We go over the plan one more time. Storm and I need to lure Quinn and Duke away from the party. Considering the army of private security detail they’ve both hired, it won’t be easy.
There’s a knock at the door, and I glance to Rory.
He gives me a nod, telling me it’s all good. And when he opens the door, he has his own small army on the other side.
Crow, Reaper, Dom, and Conor.
I don’t know how comfortable I am with the idea of them helping, and judging by the look on Crow’s face when he glances at me, I doubt he believes I deserve it either.
“When one of us goes to war,” Crow says, “we all go to war.”
It’s his way of telling me not to fuck with Rory anymore. I don’t bother telling him otherwise because actions speak louder than words. He’ll believe my loyalty when he sees it for himself.
They all filter inside, taking over the room and going over the plan with Rory.
“Alexei will kill the lights on our cue,” Crow says. “Dom’s taken care of the backup generators, but you’ll only have about a five-minute window to get them outside. Rory showed you both where the cars will be?”
“Yes.” Storm and I say in unison.
“What about the security?” Reaper asks.
“Alexei will take care of it after,” Rory answers.
“Well then,” Crow says. “No time like the present. I have a baby to get home to, so let’s get on with it.”
Thirty-Nine
Scarlett
And though she be but little, she is fierce- Shakespeare
The ballroom is a sea of excess. Champagne and diamonds and strings of pearls and feathers falling from the sky. The men stroll with big fat cigars hanging out of their mouths (unlit, of course) and women sparkle in gowns soaked in wealth. Music roars from the speakers, loud and fast and hard.
A Little Party Never Killed Nobody.
Quinn’s family is hosting the party for their youngest daughter (sixteen) and she’s piss drunk already. Socialites and celebrities abound, relaxed and playful in their natural habitats.
“What the fuck have we just walked into?” Storm asks from beside me.
“Welcome to my world,” I tell her.
“There’s a lot of security here tonight,” she says, and it isn’t an exaggeration.
I honestly don’t know how we ever thought we could pull this off.
But when I glance at Rory, my faith is restored. He is calm, steadfast, ready. The way he looks before a fight.
This is what these boys do for a living.
They fuck shit up, and they pull off impossible feats all the time. I don’t know how many jams I’ve seen them get out of in the short time I’ve known them, but one thing is for certain. Quinn’s army can’t compete with mine.