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It’s got nothing on the Cirillo one, but it’s still on the impressive side.
“Don’t tell me, this is all funded by crime too?”
“No, actually,” Seb answers for me. “Sloane’s family business is legit. Her father, grandad and all those who came before have always had their fingers on the newest technology and invested in all the right places.”
“Great,” she mutters, sounding bored out of her skull. “As long as that means they’ve got plenty of decent alcohol inside, I’m all in.”
“Didn’t think you wanted to come,” Stella pokes.
“We’re here now, and I’m more than ready to get away from that prick,” she says, nodding toward me, “and get wasted. If I’m really lucky, not every guy inside is a pig-headed, entitled dickhead who thinks the world owes him something.”
“Wow, don’t hold back, Em,” Seb mutters before getting out and opening the door for the girls.
“Have I ever sugar-coated, Sebastian?”
Emmie takes off toward the open front door without bothering to wait for any of us.
“Well, she’s in a good mood,” Stella mutters. “What exactly did you say to her in the elevator?” Her eyes hold mine for a beat before dropping to my neck. “Because we all know what she did.” Her eyes sparkle with excitement.
“She can try to mark her territory all she likes. It won’t make an ounce of difference.”
“If by that you mean that Sloane is such a whore she won’t care about having another girl’s lipstick stain on your neck, then, no, it won’t. But if you mean—”
“Seb, rein your girl in. I don’t need this shit.”
Seb just laughs. “I thought you knew by now that Stella’s a law unto herself. I have no chance of controlling shit.”
“Never thought I’d say this, but I think I like you both better when you’re fucking. At least you’re not giving me shit.”
“Nah, just a raging hard-on,” Stella shouts, helpfully ensuring it’s loud enough so that everyone loitering out here hears, their eyes dropping to my crotch in amusement.
“Did you bring your Vaseline?” Seb’s voice booms before I step into the house and get swallowed by the music pounding from the speakers that have been set up in what’s usually the Thompsons’ formal dining room. But for tonight, everything has been cleared out in favour of a DJ.
I walk through the gyrating bodies on the makeshift dancefloor and head toward the kitchen where I assume the rest of the guys already are. And if I’m really unlucky, it’ll be where Sloane’s waiting for me, too.
I quickly discover I’m right, because not two seconds after stepping over the threshold into the kitchen does she appear through the mass of bodies and bound over to me.
Her dress is small and… cute, I guess. It's not really my thing. It’s more something Alex or Nico would go for. I like my girls a little… darker.
“You came,” she exclaims, her voice high-pitched and slurred.
Her arms rest over my shoulders, her fingers immediately brushing over the short hair at the nape of my neck.
Her touch sends a shiver down my spine, and not a good one.
“Where else would I be?” I ask, giving her entirely the wrong idea.
I might not have a choice about attending this thing, but rest assured, spending the night with Sloane is not the reason.
We have boys here tonight, just like we do at every Knight’s Ridge party, distributing, working, and I’ll be fucked if I’m not here to keep an eye on them.
We’ve had enough things go to shit recently. I’m not risking one of them offering goods up to the wrong people and having the cops turn up at the door.
She tenses against me, her fingers stilling, and I know why. She’s found Emmie’s lipstick.
I could have wiped it off, I’m more than aware of that fact, but something stopped me. A fucked up, twisted part of me likes it.
And more than that, I fucking love Sloane’s reaction.
