Chest still sore from Gray trying to off him by instigating a head-on collision with a massive pine tree, he grimaced. Camera aimed his way, she snorted. “Seriously, what does a girl have to do to get you to smile?”
An inappropriate image of Gray on her knees popped into his head, and he felt his scowl take on the properties of a lascivious grin.
The lens tilted toward her lap. “Ew. I don’t even want to know what you’re thinking, dickhead.”
“Don’t ask, don’t tell, sunshine.”
The simultaneous pinging of multiple JTT secure phones announced the arrival of the message they’d been waiting for.
Davis read the two-word text from Chase aloud.“It’s done,” he said, before returning his worried gaze to Gray.
She stood and nodded sharply. “I need a drink.”
“Roger that,” Cody said, entering the great room and limping his way to the wet bar tucked into the corner behind the pool table.
As Doc and Jay joined the group, Cody lined up seven shot glasses and pulled out a bottle of Gray’s poison.
“Why seven?” Davis asked as Cody poured the Goose.
“One for Tara,” Doc said, pushing a shot glass in Davis’s direction and picking up his own. “It’s tradition.”
One by one, the men raised their drinks, a ring forming around the glass that remained on the bar. With trembling fingers, Gray picked hers up last and closed the remaining gap. “To Tara,” she said, downing the vodka and placing the shot glass upside down on the counter. Starting to her left, each man followed her lead in turn.
“To Tara,” Davis whispered last. Hazel peepers bright with unshed tears, he tossed his head back, swallowed the vodka with a grimace, and carefully placed his glass upside down. With a finger, he pushed it into position, finishing the circle around the shot that remained.
The toast in Tara’s honor complete, Gray mumbled something about heading off to bed. Grabbing the Goose by the neck, she left with the bottle in search of some comfort she was familiar with.
“Will she be all right?” Davis asked, earnest eyes looking around the men assembled and landing on Grant for reassurance. Even though Davis had spent his youth shuffling from one foster home to the next, the seventeen-year-old was still a sensitive kid.
Grant clamped a hand around the back of the teen’s scrawny neck and gave a light squeeze. “She’ll be fine,” he said with more conviction than he felt. Dropping his arm, he poked the kid in the chest. “How about you? You okay?”
Davis opened his mouth and closed it again without speaking. Dropping his head, he fixed his stare on the hardwood floor.
Leaning against the bar, arms and legs crossed, Doc intervened. “Spit it out, kid.”
“I’m glad he’s dead,” Davis said fast, his voice rising with his head. “Tom Hood deserved to die for what he did.” The one to find Tara first, Davis would never forget the sight of the young woman—beaten, broken, and left to die on the warehouse floor.
“You got that right,” Jay said.
“No question,” Doc added with a nod.
“Oorah, kid.” Coming around the bar, Cody elbowed Davis in the upper arm. “How about a quick game of pool? You and me against these two.” He hitched his head in the direction of his JTT buddies. “Twenty bucks each to the winners.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Doc said, shoving off the bar.
“Oh, for fuck,” Jay grumbled. “You know the kid’s a pool shark, right?”
Grant laughed. Hands down, Davis was the best pool player in the house. And Doc? The biggest sucker for a losing bet.
This would be fun to watch, but first, he had a text to send. Chase would want to know Gray was flirting with a bottle of oblivion. And as much as he hated to admit it, if anyone could stop her from self-destructing—it was that bastard.
Comfort couldn’t be foundin a bottle of vodka. Courage absolutely. Comfort? Not so much. At least, not in Gray’s experience. Sitting on the edge of the bed she shared with Chase, she stared at the bottle of Grey Goose on the bedside table.
Lift her arm. That’s all she had to do. Lift her arm, grab the Goose by the neck, and disappoint everyone around her. With a quick twist, she could forget about everything.
Forget about Tara. Jackson. Her father.
Chug fast enough and she wouldn’t feel the pain that had been her constant companion these last weeks. Down the clear liquor, and she wouldn’t feel a thing until her body rejected her attempt at drowning her sorrows.
