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“It’s how I roll.” I smiled as I tugged on his jacket. “You look smart.”
“You don’t,” he teased.
“Hey! I resent that.”
“You’re wearing shitkickers, Star. To a funeral.”
“It’s my uniform.” I shrugged. “I won’t apologize for it.”
“Never asked you to. I’m only saying it’s against the law to wear jeans to a funeral.”
“They’re black! So’s my tee!”
His lips twitched. “Come on, G.I. Star. Let’s get this show on the road, hmm?”
Huffing, I let him lead me out of the suite we were staying in and toward the elevators. As the doors opened, my brows arched when I came across Tryn Bowen.
Conor froze then did the sweetest thing—attempted to shove me behind him. When that didn't work, he stepped ahead, growling, “This is a private elevator.”
Bowen merely smiled. “I own the hotel. Nothing is private to me.” He held out a hand. “A pleasure as always, Star.”
“You know this guy?” Conor demanded, twisting around to study my expression as I shook Tryn's hand.
“You do too. By name, at any rate. This is Tryn Bowen.”
Conor frowned but when Bowen kept his hand out for him to shake as well, he accepted it. “Four Horsemen, right?”
Bowen smirked. “One and only.”
“Which are you?” Conor mocked. “Death, pestilence, war, or famine?”
“Oh, I’m pestilence,” Bowen retorted, amusement lighting his eyes. “Harder than VD to get rid of.”
“I’m sure.”
“Irish Mob, no?”
Conor hummed. “That’s me.”
“I always make a point of meeting any factions who wish to stay at one of my hotels.” He eyed me. “Even more so when they come with an intriguing entourage.”
“I was in and out of London,” I argued. “There wasn’t time to meet with you first.”
“You make time, Star. You know I don’t like being kept out of the loop. See what happens when you do—Ovianar is dead. If I’d known—”
“If you’d known, there was dick you could do. She could have contacted you but she didn’t. Why is that?”
“Because she thought her involvement with Jorgmundgander was unknown to my cousins and me.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand as his gaze trickled over me. “You’re attending the funeral? I’m not sure Minerva invited you.”
“She didn’t, but I’m showing up anyway.”
A gleam appeared in his eye that had Conor settling a possessive hand around my waist. “Crashing a funeral,” he tutted.
“I aim low,” was my bitter reply. “Is there a reason you’re here, Tryn? Just to piss around your hotel like a dog marking his territory or…”
“I was curious when you didn’t arrange to speak with me.”
“I didn’t think I needed to. I’m literally just here for a funeral.”
