“Jules knows,” I return.
“Ohhhhhh!”
“Motherfucker, hewentthere!”
“Cuckold! Ka-BOOM!”
They all erupt like a bunch of sophomoric frat boys.
“You fucker!” Reuben pelts an ice cube at me. “Just for that, you’re banned from my monthly barbecue.”
“Eh.” I shrug. “Tripp’s are better anyway.”
“Shots. Firrrred!”
These grown-ass men have zero chill.
Reuben turns on Tripp next, but I tune them out. Needing to feel the weight of my favorite knife in my hand. Needing to slice skin, smell blood. Anything to get rid of the persistent burn in my chest.
“All right, with all this shit talk, let’s head upstairs to the card room and put our money where our mouth is,” Trent says, jumping to his feet. “A grand a hand.”
“Game on, motherfucker,” Tripp agrees.
True roars at the sky with his arms stretched wide. “Prepareth for the wrath of thine hammer!” He mimics the sound of rolling thunder. “I am theegodof poker.”
Reuben splashes beer at him. “Shut the fuck up, you lunatic.”
“I’ll be up in a bit,” Torin tells them as they boisterously head for the house.
This is the end of the evening for me, though. Learned a long time ago to avoid playing cards with a Garza unless I want to go broke. They’ve been at it since they were boys. Their father was a world-renowned poker player. It’s in their blood. Only a Garza can beat a Garza at cards. Reuben’s insistence on trying to win against them is like a masochistic dog returning to its vomit.
“You’re heading out?” Torin asks, taking a swig of beer.
“Yup. Youtruffatoriaren’t taking more of my money.”
He snorts. It’s the closest to a laugh I’ll get.
“Seeing as we only talked business for all of five minutes tonight, are there any directives you wanted to give me regarding your Saudi Arabia trip tomorrow?” I ask. “Do you want to go over the format I assembled for the extraction?”
“No.” He looks at me dead-on. “You tell me where to go, I go. You tell me what to do, I do. I trust you.”
He does. More than anyone should ever trust anyone. But it’s been long earned, not given. And fuck if I don’t yearn to know what that’s like, to be able to trust someone without reservations.
“Been wondering...” He scratches his jaw. “This thing with Tillie and Trev Nelson’s kid. Is it serious?”
Bitter bile sours in my throat.
Something’s on fire in my chest. Might need to seeil dottorefor a checkup earlier than planned.
I reach for the jug of melting ice and pour myself another glass of water.
“T’s usually private about that kinda thing, you know?” he continues. “But this one’s all over her social profiles. According to Lyra, that means they’re ‘official.’”
Blow a shotgun through my chest, why don’t you?
I throw the water down my throat in an attempt to put out the flames. “Non lo so. I haven’t been paying much attention since I assigned Allard to her stress calls.”
His stare burning into the side of my face is palpable, but I keep mine straight ahead.
