Page 67 of Hurt

Not to mention the fact that Noah was the White Sand Mesa heir. They didn’t need the Vegas knowing about his presence.

There was a stubborn set to Noah’s jaw. “I don’t need your protection.”

Jamie came into the bar then, swiping the sand and debris from his hair. He looked up at Jackson and nodded solemnly. There was no trace of his goofy grin, and he didn’t make a single quip.

“Holy shit,” Noah said, understanding finally dawning on him. “Jamie is being serious.”

Elijah realized he was still holding his hand. “Noah,” he grasped for the words he didn’t have articulated. “The outcome of this meeting probably won’t be good. There’s a good chance you won’t see me for a while.”

On an impulse, one that Elijah would look back on and die of embarrassment from, he brought Noah’s fingers up to his lips and pressed a kiss on his knuckles.

“I need you to stay safe, okay?”

Noah’s cheeks were beet red as he stared at the hand Elijah’s lips were brushing against. “W…what about you?”

“I have Jamie watching my back.”

“That does not comfort me.”

Elijah smiled and dropped Noah’s hand. “Go, before anyone else shows up.”

With a last lingering look, Noah disappeared out the door. Elijah was grateful the stubborn boy listened to him.

Returning to his spot beside Jackson, he was surprised to see the tall man watching him. “Have you put your personal interests aside?”

Elijah nodded. “Yes.”

A moment later, the Weaver brothers arrived.

Grant and Roland walked in quietly. There was no fanfare, no announcement. Roland nodded to the men gathered, but Grant smiled when he saw Jackson.

“It’s been too long,” he said warmly, clasping hands with the mercenary.

Jackson ducked his head. “You always bring me in just as things get interesting.”

“Wouldn’t dare do it without you.”

They exchanged a look that spoke of their long history before releasing their grip.

Grant didn’t need to brief Jackson. The man already knew everything he needed to. He hated the Vega Cabal more than anyone, and only Grant knew why. It was a secret they both would take to the grave.

Roland glanced around the bar once before walking to his seat, pulling it out so that his legs would be clear of the table, and then taking a seat. He specifically took the chairs with their back to the wall rather than the door. Elijah and Jamie stationed behind the chairs—they would not be sitting for this meeting.

Grant and Jackson moved to the table.

Despite the tense atmosphere, Grant felt his eyes straying around the establishment. He had yet to see Kurt. He hadn’t seen him since that day, and he didn’t know how he was recovering. Grant had tried to prepare for this meeting with his usual fastidiousness, but he was woefully distracted. His thoughts kept straying to Kurt—waffling between the way he looked under the stars with Grant’s jacket around his shoulders and the broken way he was crumpled on the floor.

As if his thoughts summoned the man, Kurt appeared. He was walking stiffly, and half his face looked bruised. Feeling Grant’s stare, he looked up at him. They stared at each other across the bar. There was something unreadable in Kurt’s eyes. Something Grant hadn’t seen yet.

He was about to ask when the Vegas arrived.

Ezra led the way, with his sniveling younger brother trailing behind him. They brought a few underlings—men Grant couldn’t be bothered with.

The Vegas walked in like they owned the place. Sunglasses in place, Ezra looked like a pompous dick. His hair was gelled back, and his handsome face curled into a gross smile. Removing his sunglasses, he slid them into the pocket of his leather jacket.

“Well, we meet again,” he said with a cocksure smile, yanking out his chair and falling into it without preamble.

Asher slunk in behind him, his chubby face downturned when he caught Roland’s eyes following him in.