Page 60 of Jazz
Gina smiled, stood and walked over to the dark mahogany cabinet on the other side of the room. The back light lit thebottles of expensive spirits, golds and ambers glowing through cut glass like molten jewels. Crystal decanters stood in a perfect line, each one glinting beneath the low red light that soaked the room.
“So, you’re here again for the dust to settle, Charlie? Sounds like old times.”
I glanced nervously at Jazz, who was sitting again now, but on the edge of the red velvet sofa like she might jump up and take a swing at Gina any second. And that’s where their similarities ended. Gina played on words; she yearned to be adored, to be lusted over, to be noticed. She was intelligent, like Jazz, but in a different way. Shrewd. A businesswoman in a tough world, but careful and measured. Jazz was impulsive. And as sensitive as a fucking bomb. There were no undertones with her, no hidden agendas. Just a purity of spirit far greater than Gina’s would ever be.
“Not quite, old times, Gina. But if you can put us up for a few nights, I’d be really grateful.”
“Love it when you’re grateful, Charlie,” Gina’s back faced us as she mixed a drink, but I caught the look on her face in the mirrored background of the cabinet. “Anyone else want a drink?”
“Yeah, please.” Jazz responded, her voice as stiff as her body.
“Preference?”
“Something strong.”
“Gotcha.”
Gina passed a crystal tumbler to Jazz, the liquid inside a deep amber that caught the red light and burned like fire.
“Smoky Mezcal Old Fashioned,” she said with a knowing smile. “Figured you’re not the type for sugar or fruit. You strike me as someone who likes to taste the bite.”
Jazz took it, eyes flicking up in a silent challenge, like she’d half expected to be handed something sweet and girly and was grudgingly impressed she hadn’t been.
“Thanks,” Jazz mumbled, sniffing at the liquid and recoiling slightly.
“It’s volatile. Think you’ll like it.” Gina smiled.
Jazz’s eyes locked with Gina’s, pressing the tumbler to her lips and taking a long hard swallow. A swallow that made her jaw clench and her eyes darken. I watched her throat bob and then tense, the burn chasing a line of colour up her neck as she controlled the recoil that I expected from her. And, fuck, if it wasn’t the hottest thing I’d seen all day.
“And for you, Charlie.” Gina pushed a glass towards me, a little packet of white hanging between her fingers. “Vodka on the rocks and a chaser.”
I took the glass. “Don’t do the coke these days, G.”
For a second she looked disappointed, but then it was gone, replaced by that seductive, arrogant smile.
“You cleaned yourself up then, Charlie boy?”
“The Rats helped with that.”
“So, what are you going to do now you’re no longer a Rat?”
“I’m still a Rat.”
“Course you’re not. If they’d kidnapped her and you’ve let her go…”
“Jazz,” I reminded her brusquely.
“If they kidnapped Jazz. Who are you in the Northern Kings, by the way?” Gina turned back to the woman staring at her with venom in her eyes.
“I’m Fury’s sister.”
“Fury. Ah. A Gray. I see it now.”
“How the fuck do you know that?”
“I know things, kiddo. In my line of work. People talk in their sleep.” Gina grinned at her, like she had scored a point and was pulling ahead in the game. Whatever game this was. Then she turned back to me. “What does Mikey say in all of this?”
“Mike’s dead.”