Page 18 of A Quick Buck

“I’ve been aware of how unhappy you are in your position for quite some time,” Alistair said, his finger still pointed. “Perhaps we should make an effort to discuss your complaints instead of letting them fester and seep out as some misplaced pillow talk?”

“It was a mistake. I am very, very sorry.” Medina didn’t seem so cocky now. He looked terrified.

Noah beamed smugly.

“And you, dear Noah.” Alistair dropped his hand in favor of picking up his wine. “Your manners, or the lack thereof, continue to be appalling.”

Mace put his gun away, but Erasmus did not. He had the white-handled one still drawn, and the glimmer of the inlay caught Noah’s eye. It was pearl.

“What?” Noah blinked at Alistair. “What the fuck is wrong with my manners?”

“A discussion for another time.” Alistair eyed Noah’s pants. “I do hope you’re changing for dinner?”

“I just let you know that fuckin’ bastard is talkin’ shit about you!” Noah scoffed. “Where’s the gratitude, huh?”

“Probably where you left your inability to speak a single sentence without using the word ‘fuck’ in it.”

“Wait, what?”

“Take him upstairs.” Alistair sipped his wine and turned his attention back to Medina. “You’ll be going home.”

“Thank you, sir,” Medina said graciously. “I am so sorry—”

“Erasmus is going with you.” Alistair smiled. “Until we find Patrick Allan, I insist you stay safe. He already killed Jason. You could be next.”

That sounded like a threat.

Noah wanted to hear more, but Junior and Crybaby dragged him up to his room. He had more questions than ever before, and his guts were chewing on shame and that apple. He hated himself for being so clearly duped by Medina, especially how easy it had been.

All he wanted was someone to care about him, to want him the same way…

Fuck.

“So, you really fucked Medina?” Junior blurted out.

“Yeah.” Noah went straight to his bedside table and dug around. There were some airplane bottles of vodka, and he grabbed them all. “I thought his name was Brad.”

“No last name?”

“I don’t remember, okay? It was just, he was just Brad!”

“You spent two wholedaysfuckin’ a guy and bein’ all up on his fuckin’ taint, and you didn’t even knows his last name?”

“Look, goddammit, just fuck off!” Noah tipped the first bottle back.

“Men are pigs,” Crybaby said sagely. “Sorry ’bout it, kid.”

“Thanks.” Noah went for a second bottle. “Who is he? Really? He’s one of you?”

Crybaby and Junior exchanged a look that said he wasn’t.

“You’ll have to ask Mr. Star,” Crybaby said. “Not sure what he wants you to know or not.”

“It’s okay. Fuck you guys.” Noah hissed after chugging the third little bottle. This was barely enough to give him a buzz, but the mere act of drinking was somewhat comforting. “I got this.”

“Yeah?” Crybaby smirked. “Do you?”

“You guys think Medina mighta had something to do with that Carbone guy being killed.”