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Ouch. What the fuck is happening here?
Ivy squeezes my hand, as if asking the same question.
Liam raises his beer bottle to his mouth, his eyes swirling with both mirth and irritation as they slowly, deliberately, rake over Celeste’s curves. “Don’t flatter yourself, dollface. I had you figured out in less than a minute. You aren’t that deep. Horny, desperate, and hiding behind your pearls. Case solved.” He sputters when Ivy stabs him with a reproachful glare. “But,” he continues, “even if it had taken days, it would’ve been worth it. Hearing from you made our girl happy.” He digs into his jeans for his cigarettes, but as helooks at them, his eyes snap to Ivy, so he shoves them back down and stands. “Taking care of Ivy is what matters.”
Noticing his hesitation, Ivy shimmies off my lap to stand, too, pointing for Liam to sit. “Keep Wells company. Celeste and I are supposed to rescue Rena.”
At first, I’m assuming that’s completely fabricated, but Axel and Ryker are laying into an exasperated Rena about God knows what. That poor girl will never find a guy with those two hovering and the other three close behind, even with Ivy in her corner.
“Don’t be long. It’s getting dark.” I rise up to kiss her cheek, my hand sliding possessively over her lower back. “Fireworks.”
Although the Noire brothers are coming and going in shifts because of their duties at the resort, they’re setting the fireworks off for us. Jax, in particular, enjoys explosions, so he’s experienced. Ivy even smooth-talked him into coordinating it to classical music for my benefit.
“I’ll be back. Fifteen-ish minutes.” She shrugs at Liam for confirmation, and he winks, letting her know that’s adequate.
As soon as she and Celeste wander away, I resume my seat and glance at him as he lights a cigarette and pulls a lengthy drag, plunking into the chair Celeste was occupying.
“Thanks,” I tell him, impressed he thought of the precaution himself.
He blows a plume of smoke up to the sky. “Don’t thank me until I quit.”
“Quit?” The question wheezes out of me in shock. He called me a cocksucker when I quit, insisting thebrain doctorpsycho-manipulated me into it. He loved Tom, but I think it bugged him that I was influenced by someone outside the four of us. Little did he know, it was the brain doctor’s daughter.
“That’s the plan. Can’t have this shit around them.” He flicks the glowing cherry, and my lungs tighten. I’m awed by that level of commitment from him for my wife and child—his family too. The Little Storm strikes again. Liam doesn’t change for people.
“Listen.” His inflection shifts deeper, business mode. “I’m not sure what I’ve got, but something fucked up is happening with Carver Homes.”
That’s Frank Carver’s company, Celeste’s father. He isn’t clean by any stretch. He’s a member of The Order, but his dirt and indiscretions are generally well covered in his construction sites.
“Elaborate.”
“I can’t.” He pauses for a hit, releasing it with his clarification. “Looked like a steep contract out against him. Not sure for what. Dark web chatter. Parts missing. It was a shadow, taken down, but from what I can tell, it involves the Skulls.”
“Fuck,” I hiss.
The Skulls are an underground group. They operate by no one’s rules—ugly and rabid. You do what they want, or you pay in blood. That’s their mantra. But they never mess with KORT. That’s asking for war—a war that would end them, although not without catastrophic loss to our organization. They aren’t to be taken lightly.
“Get security on the Carver family,” I order. “Eyes on them twenty-four/seven. I’ll contact Frank. Keep digging. Do you have tracking on Celeste’s phone?”
“Got it.”
“What’s with you two?” I ask, noticing the vexed cut of his jaw. “Is this because she accused you of faking your death or keeps rubbing the misconception of Ivy’s rejection in your face?”
That’s all behind us. We’ve come to an understanding, and he’s content with how things are between him and Ivy, between all of us.
“No.” He sighs. “Not that specifically. I’ve never felt rejected by Ivy. The opposite actually. So, the jab doesn’t bother me. But Celeste bugs the shit out of me—so goddamn pompous.” His face twists in aggravation.
“She’s important to Ivy,” I remind him.
“I know,” he says, the ashes of his cigarette growing longer as he stews. “That’s why I held my tongue.”
“Right,” I roar before barely coughing out the words, “Welldone, brother,” and shoving a handful of Sour Skittles into my mouth. No scotch today. I’m suffering alongside my bride.
IVY
On our way to rescue Rena, Celeste and I run into Ty. Although a more accurate depiction would be that Ty accosts me. He beelines for me from across the yard, where he was playing bartender, abandoning a conversation with Luca and Rosaline—Wells’s grandparents.
“Hey, girls,” he chirps, addressing us both before cutting our brief greetings off by pulling me close, planting a cold, miniature water bottle in my hand, and launching into an interrogation about what I’ve eaten.
