Page 107 of Killer Confections

Before he can hang up, the shrill sound of a moan cuts through the speaker and my eyes widen. I slam my finger on the end-call button, staring at my phone like it’s going to explode.

I have no idea what the fuck my brother is doing to Loxley’s friend, but if I find out, I’ll be guilty by association. I quickly erase the rest of the conversation from my head, pretending to be blissfully ignorant before heading back to the kitchen.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Loxley

I’m not sure what I was expecting when Atlas said we were going to a barbecue held by someone in the syndicate, but walking into the backyard of the large brick house and seeing the adults sitting around the shaded patio with drinks in their hands, sunglasses over their eyes, and wide smiles as they shout back and forth at each other isn’t it.

The smell of cooking meat reaches me from the grill on the other side. Four men of varying ages stand around as the youngest of the bunch flips the burgers. Light music plays from a speaker perched on a windowsill and I’m struck by just howmundanethis is.

Everyone under the carport, man and woman, is an assassin. They all have kill counts nearing the hundreds, according to Thalia, who sits near a couple at the far right corner of the party. She divulged a little to me on our girl’s trip, but I find it so hard to believe after taking in the scene before me.

Atlas moves the tray of cakes to his right hand as he points a finger to the couple beside Thalia. “There’s Alana and Connor.”

My eyes widen as I realize the soft, dark curls look familiar. She’s seated on a broad, muscular guy’s lap as he shows her something on his phone. They’re smiling at the screen and I finally get a good look at Connor.

He has a huskier build, with wide thighs and shoulders. His hair is a dirty blonde that’s styled into an undercut and his stubble is nearly red. He has a strong jaw and a crooked noselike he lost one too many fights.

Alana looks delicate on his lap. She’s anything but delicate in tough situations, but here, next to him, she looks soft and happy. Like she doesn’t have a single problem in the world. It’s obvious they care about one another.

Unlike Thalia, who sits slumped down in her chair with her legs spread wide as she guzzles down a beer.

“The picture of poise,” I giggle.

Atlas shakes his head, lips twitching. “I’m about to offer her up to a family of raccoons. They would have a better chance of getting through to her.”

I smack his chest playfully as a woman with warm brown curls and a broad, kind smile walks over to us. Her brown skin is glowing in the afternoon sun and she quickly takes my hand in hers. “You must be Loxley! We’ve been waiting to meet you! I’m Raven and this is my husband Devin.” She motions to an older man sitting in a chair with a beer in his hand. He tips his drink towards me, giving me a beaming smile before returning to the chat he’s having with a few other men. “We’re Alana’s parents. We’ve heard so much about you.”

I smile coyly at Raven, shaking her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you. I hope all good things.”

She laughs, the sound delicate and lifting. “Of course, honey! Mrs. Jade!” she calls over her shoulder.

An older woman with bright white hair comes out of the glass sliding doors with a grin before she puts her hands on her hips and lifts a brow at Atlas. “You know where my damn kitchen is, boy. Don’t just stand around. Bring that inside.”

Atlas huffs a laugh before giving the elder a kiss on the cheek. “Good to see you too, Mrs. J.”

“Tell my grandson to come over,” the elder gripes. “Dominic is always hiding instead of socializing.”

Oh.

This is Dom’s grandmother?

The family resemblance isn’t noticeable at all. This woman is short, stout, and loud as a train. A stark contrast toher quiet and scowling grandson.

“You know him,” Atlas says as he walks to the doors. “He thinks he’s Batman or some shit.”

That gains a few laughs from the others sitting around. Even Mrs. Jade coughs out a chuckle before turning to address me.

“And you must be Loxley,” she sizes me up. “The baker?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nods. “Figured as much. What’ll you have to drink?”

“Nothing from your witch’s kettle,” Thalia quips as she snags my hand and pulls me to where she’s sitting next to Alana and Connor.

Mrs. Jade gives the dark-haired assassin a very vulgar hand gesture that I thought was illegal for anyone over the age of sixty to use.