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I power on my phone and it reads seven forty. Twenty minutes until the proverbial Reign of Terror midnight for minors. “Sure.”
He inclines his head to the clubhouse. “I gotta say some goodbyes.”
It’s implied he’s telling me to stay. I grin an okay and he does that heart-stopping caress one more time before looking over at Oz and Chevy. They both nod at whatever he silently requested.
“Do you visit Snowflake often?” I ask Emily after Razor disappears into the swarm of bodies.
“Not as much as I’d like. Eli’s all paranoid about the Ri—”
Oz interrupts her with a clearing of his throat and her cheeks redden. Something important was about to be revealed and my mind grabs the mystery. There’s a heavy silence that follows and none of us can figure out what to say to make it any less awkward.
I choose the old standby for awkward. “Do you mind if I use the restroom?”
The thought of going back into the clubhouse causes my stomach to flip, but it’s the only excuse I can think of to get me and Emily alone.
Emily shifts off Oz. “I’ll take her to the cabin.”
“Eli said no one but you and the board goes into the cabin.” There’s a bit of repentance in Oz’s expression, but his words are firm enough that he obviously won’t break this rule.
Emily stiffens like his statement was a blow. “I like her, and she shouldn’t have to go into the clubhouse if she doesn’t want.”
“And you promised to follow the rules,” Oz says as if he’s implying something else.
Emily shrugs like she doesn’t care and pivots away from him. “Fine. Then I’ll show her where the bathroom is in the clubhouse and then you should go home or stay in the clubhouse or do whatever you want, since that rule means you can’t come in the cabin, either. And according to the rules, I’ve been ordered back to the cabin after eight, so have fun without me.”
Oz’s head falls back as Emily snatches my hand and weaves us through the throngs of men.
“You don’t mean that,” Oz calls out, and I know he doesn’t see Emily’s smirk. Oh my God, she’s a little devil playing him like a violin.
“Yes, I do,” she yells back, then spins in his direction, smirk completely gone. “Have fun being by yourself tonight.”
The men around us laugh and I blush when someone suggests something about Oz becoming good friends with his right hand. I expect Oz to be angry, but he chuckles as he and Chevy stand. Emily pulls on my hand again and sweeps me into the clubhouse. I don’t understand any of these people or how they interact with each other.
Oz and Chevy track us. It’s weird yet chivalrous and it’s then I understand what Razor was asking them to do—to protect me.
We enter a hallway adjacent to the kitchen and there’s a deep line for the woman’s bathroom. Most of the women don’t have cuts like Rebecca’s and there’s more skin than there is clothing.
“It must be getting seriously close to eight,” Emily mumbles, then shouts, “Eli’s daughter coming through.”
“Emily!” Oz yells, and I wish I could own the flirtatious yet angry expression Emily throws Oz.
“What?”
“She can use the bathroom in the cabin.”
Emily places a patronizing hand to her chest. “Why, thank you, Oz, what would we ever do without you?”
She lets go of me when Oz invades her space. Every part of them touches. “I have a few ideas of what we can do together.”
Emily smiles wickedly up at him, winks, then grabs my hand again. It’s a blur as we slink past bands of men and eventually we trot up the stairs to the log cabin. Once we’re in and she checks to see that Oz and Chevy have chosen to stay on the front porch, she whispers, “You have questions, don’t you?”
“Yes.” It’s total disorientation. The clubhouse was so...beyond normal and this...this is like a modern-day storybook cottage. I’m shocked. In a good way. The walls are made of massive tree trunks, but everything about it is straight out of one of my mother’s home magazines. Nice but comfortable furniture, a television, bright lighting and pictures. A ton of framed pictures hang out on tables and bookcases.
“Breanna,” Emily urges. “We don’t have much time. What do you want to know?”
I jerk back to reality. Questions. Razor. “What is the RMC?”
“I had a feeling you were going to ask that,” Emily says as a curse, then peers outside. At the foot of the stairs, two huge men with cuts that say Prospect stand as if they are sentries to a kingdom. “We can’t have ears for this conversation.”
