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“Why not?” Nick lifts his hand, holding Zar’s. “She’s one of us already. We’re close with her.”
I don’t want to pry into my brother’s sex life, but when it comes to Ruby? She’s MY sex life. She’s my future wife. I haven’t fucked another woman since I met her because rituals don’t count. I onlywantRuby. And yes, it’s been a year. It’s another reason I’m ablaze, feral, and about to explode. “Howclose?”
Zar chuckles. “Notthatclose. First, her sister, Scarlett, will kill me. Then, you will.”
“Touch her, and Iwillbe the first to kill you.”
Zarlaughs even harder. “You haven’t met her sister.”
“Ruby comes to our parties,” Nick explains. “But we’re just friends.”
“So,” the logic hits me fast, “you three are just friends, but what aboutyourfriends? The other players? Are they all gay, or are some…”
Fuck, I don’t want to know. Iwillkill for Ruby, and half of me relishes the instinct to do it.
“We’re gentlemen,” Nick answers. “If you want to know something about a lady, don’t ask us.”
“Exactly,” Zar smirks, “if you want to know about your future queen, ask her.”
CHAPTER FOUR
RUBY
Axel’s future queen?
What the hell does that mean?
My mind races with a hundred questions while I sit at my desk, typing away. To my colleagues, I’m using my earbuds to listen to a witness statement. When really?
Imighthave bugged Axel’s office.
Just a little.
You know … as part of my stalking-the-stalker revenge.
I saved for a month to buy a high-quality WiFi audio bug, which I planted under Axel’s desk. Every week, I sneak in and recharge it so I can use the app on my phone to listen to live audio or recordings triggered by the voice-activated technology.
I thought it would be exciting. You know—eat your heart out everyCSIshow.
But mostly, it’s mind-numbing. All I hear are Axel’s conversations with his clients, and I skip those. Or I hear him clicking and typing. Or flipping pages in his trial binders. Or doing God knows what while Tchaikovsky lulls from the speakers on his desktop. It’s the cure for insomnia.
But when some random man disappears into Axel’s office, I start listening.
Who wouldn’t?
They’re usually hot, tall, jacked AF, and hiding ink under their collars. They might as well walk in with a name badge stuck to their black jacket that reads:
HELLO, my name is…
Michael the Mobster
Yep, there’s some mafia shit going on.
Axel and his men often talk about a job, a mission, or intel, and they have way too much style, ink, and money to be in the FBI.
That’s also how I know “Michael Cummings, Esquire” is Axel’s pseudonym. I heard his friend, Nash, use Axel’s real name in their umpteenth fight about “kings claiming queens.”
Though I have no idea what Axel’s last name is or why they talk like they’re British royalty, circa King Henry VIII.