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Christ, the way he’s lookin’ at me, you’d think I killed the goddamned cat. “Got a shave and a haircut,” I say, crossing my arms defensively. “Ain’t nothin’ special. Reaper and Eight don’t got anymore hair than I do.” I nod towards Coyote who’s followed Hangman into the room. “And that bastard wears a rodent on his head.”
Hangman looks like he just bit into a lemon. “Why would you do something so stupid?”
This is one of those Trigger-should-have-kept-his-fucking-mouth-shut moments. “Gonna meet Evanee’s parents.” Even before the words are out, heat creeps up my neck.
Everyone erupts in laughter.
“Never thought I’d see the day Trigger was pussy-whipped,” Blood mutters, shaking his head like it’s a cardinal sin to clean up before ya meet the relatives.
They think it’s funny, but then they’ve never seen Evanee’s pussy. Of course, it’s gonna stay that way. “We’re gettin’ married. Big wedding.” To Rocky, I sneer. “You’re gonna be the bridesmaid.”
Deflection works, because now Rocky’s the centre of attention and I get a chance to do what I came here for.
I head over to Coyote. “Gotta talk to you,” I mumble, though no one can hear except Hangman. “In private.”
Coyote motions towards his operations centre while Hangman furrows his forehead. “She’s fuckin’ leadin’ you around by your dick. Next thing, you’re gonna be shinin’ your boots and dressing like this asshole.” He jerks his thumb at Coyote.
It’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard come out of Hangman’s mouth and Coyote and I exchange amused glances. It’s not often Hangman gets flustered and I’m proud to be the one to do it.
“I’ll probably start wearing a suit and tie, Captain.”
“Fuckin’ fuck up,” he mutters as he stalks off to his office.
Coyote and I head to the ops room.
The operations centre is where Coyote does the tech stuff for the Jury. It’s full of screens, drones, bomb-making equipment and other shit. Can’t figure out most of what he does, but then again, I don’t have the brain-cells my brother does. None of us do.
“What’s up?” Coyote asks as he drops into his chair and leans back, hands behind his head.
I park my ass on one of the tables and it groans under my weight. “You still got your place here in Sagebrush?”
He nods. “Yeah. Haven’t gotten around to selling it.” Until shit hit the fan a few weeks ago, we all thought Coyote lived in Sagebrush, but turns out he has a posh penthouse in Reno that he calls home.
“Wonder if I can borrow it for a couple of weeks while me and Evanee sort out our living arrangements.”
He shrugs. “You can have it.”
That’s him in a nutshell. He’s got more money than Elon Musk and Bill Gates combined. He doesn’t throw it around or rubs our noses in it, but like other rich assholes he don’t get how the little people live.
“I’m not a fucking charity case,” I say gruffly. “I need a place to park for a month or two is all.”
Coyote sits up. “You could buy it.”
I know the fuckin’ townhouse will be posh and expensive, and while I’m not exactly broke, I can be a free spender, so don’t have the deep pockets some of my brothers do. Coyote’s idea of what I can afford will differ widely from mine.
Still, I think about it. “Can’t make the decision alone. Evanee’s got to see it.”
He shrugs. “Coming from her background, she’s going to like it. You don’t have to worry about that. And you’ll be doing me a favour by taking it off my hands.” He hesitates, then says, “I know you’re not a charity case, but this isn’t about that. I don’t need the fucking thing, don’t want it, so why can’t I give it away?”
Jesus, for a guy who’s supposed to be a genius, he can be an idiot sometimes. “What I’m saying is I don’t want to be the asshole who mooches off his friends.”
“It’s not mooching, for god’s sake. It’s a gift.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks, Santa. And what do you want for Christmas this year?”
He throws his hands up. “Okay, I get it. Rent it then. If you and Evanee like it enough to buy it, we’ll have the conversation then.”
That seems fair. “What do you want for rent?”
