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“He cleaned up and fucked off back upstairs.”
“Probably on his knees groveling for forgiveness from your girl,” Aubrey suggests. “Something you might want to think about doing too.”
I level her with a glare. Anyone else might do me a solid and at least pretend to be scared. But not Aubrey.
“Eat shit,” I mutter, twisting the top off a beer before grabbing a second for Griff.
“Hey,” Aubrey complains when I drop onto the other end of the couch without passing her a bottle.
“You can get your own, seeing as you’re now fully accustomed to my kitchen.”
“Not my fault you fucked off and abandoned dinner to have a sulk.”
“I wasn’t sulking, I was getting things in motion.” Turning my attention to my uncle, I say, “I spoke to M. He’s been digging further into the locations from Luciana. Thinks he might be getting closer.”
A smile spreads across Griff’s face as I talk about one of his boys.
“I don’t doubt it. Told you he’s the best,” he says proudly.
“I’ll get my own beer then, shall I?” Aubrey asks, finally getting the memo.
“I’ll have one too, if you’re offering,” a deep voice says from the doorway.
“I wasn’t,” Aubrey snaps as JD walks over.
“Everything good, man?”
“Yeah. Alana and Mav are sleeping.”
He lowers his ass to the couch beside Griff and rests his elbows on his knees. The deep frown lines on his forehead and the darkness in his eyes give me pause.
“What’s wrong?”
He scrubs his hand down his face, keeping his eyes on the coffee table.
“She’ll… uh… She’ll forgive us, right?”
Aubrey scoffs over my shoulder. “As if you deserve it.”
“It’s like living with a bunch of teenagers again,” Griff mutters.
“She understands,” I assure JD. “She’ll forgive us.”
“Better get working on your groveling skills,” Aubrey advises. “Preferably on your knees.”
JD sits up straighter, his chest puffing out.
“She’ll have no issues there. My tongue can work magic.”
“There you go then, no issues. Now, this meeting with Saint tomorrow,” Griff says, getting the conversation back on track. “What’s the contingency?”
Taking a pull on my beer, I study my uncle. He’s got more lines around his eyes than the last time I saw him, and more gray at his temples. He’s still a force to be reckoned with though. They might not look all that alike, but his strength and aura remind me of her.
I don’t know much about their childhood. The stories Mom always told we’re good ones. Of fun times and laughter. But the more I’ve learned about Mom’s life before Harrow Creek, the more I wonder about it.
If life was so good, how the hell did she end up here with Victor Harris?
“We don’t need one.”
