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23

STAR

THE FOLLOWING DAY

“Good job, Vana,” I muttered under my breath as I took in the selection of headlines in front of me.

Peering over my shoulder, Conor picked up one of the papers that declared:

Nevada senator claims leaked footage is a deep fake.

“I wish it didn’t smack of kink shaming.”

“We’re not kink shaming.”

“The US public is. That’s what we’re relying on—a bunch of prudes.”

“It’s our Puritan souls. We can’t handle foot fetishes.”

“It’s not even that big a deal.”

“You got something you want to tell me?”

His grin was a wicked slash that tempted me to kiss him. “That I like you in heels and boots?”

“Good to know,” I teased. “Shall I let Vana drag me to a salon for a pedicure?”

He hitched a shoulder. “Sure. Go for bright red.”

“Blood red?”

“Like I need the reminder you’re more of an assassin than anything the developers of Assassin’s Creed could come up with.”

Snickering, I shoved him in the side then picked up another paper.

Boston congresswoman claims terrorists are behind recent influx of headlines that are ‘destabilizing the nation.’

“How right she is,” I crooned, skewering her in the face with my fingernail.

“How many more reveals?”

“At least ten.”

“On top of these six?”

“Yup. Vana’s helped me stagger them. We’re keeping the cops plenty busy, and if the politicians start whining about these privacy infractions being a terrorist attack, then that’s where the alphabets will shift their focus.”

“A job well done?”

“Uh huh. Aoife hasn’t heard from her dad?”

“Finn didn’t say anything to indicate Davidson had been in touch. That he isn’t photographed on any of the front pages is telling in itself.”

“He’s keeping his head down,” I agreed. “Smart man.”

“Ish. He dumped Aoife for a chance at the White House. That was a dumb move.”

“Men rarely appreciate something until they’ve lost it. He was cut up about meeting with me and not her.”

He cupped my shoulder. “It’s between them. Don’t meddle.”

I arched a brow at him. “Who said I was going to meddle?”

“I can hear it in your voice.”

I sniffed.

“That only confirms it,” he retorted. “Anyway, the car will be here in five. Are you good to go?”

Though I nodded, I released a yawn. We’d arrived late last night and though our alarm call had been for ten AM, my circadian rhythms didn’t agree.

Dumping the paper I’d been reading on the dinner table, I stretched. “I’ll be glad when this is over with.”

He curved an arm around my waist and I let him haul me into him. “It’s a good thing you’re doing.”

“Being Minnie’s target practice?”

“Yeah. She needs someone to blame, and she can’t blame Ovianar yet even if, in the grand scheme of things, Minerva knows she was living on borrowed time.”

“How do you always cut to the heart of the matter?” I grumbled, turning away from the windows that showed London’s cityscape to bury my face in his chest.

“Because neither of us appreciates bullshit?”

“Katina speaks fluent bullshit.”

“We’ll cure her of it.”

“Nah. It’s a good skill to have in this fucked-up world we live in. Imagine her in PR?”

He whistled under his breath. “You make a good argument.”

“It’s how I roll.” I smiled as I tugged on his jacket. “You look smart.”

“You don’t,” he teased.

“Hey! I resent that.”

“You’re wearing shitkickers, Star. To a funeral.”

“It’s my uniform.” I shrugged. “I won’t apologize for it.”

“Never asked you to. I’m only saying it’s against the law to wear jeans to a funeral.”

“They’re black! So’s my tee!”

His lips twitched. “Come on, G.I. Star. Let’s get this show on the road, hmm?”

Huffing, I let him lead me out of the suite we were staying in and toward the elevators. As the doors opened, my brows arched when I came across Tryn Bowen.

Conor froze then did the sweetest thing—attempted to shove me behind him. When that didn't work, he stepped ahead, growling, “This is a private elevator.”

Bowen merely smiled. “I own the hotel. Nothing is private to me.” He held out a hand. “A pleasure as always, Star.”

“You know this guy?” Conor demanded, twisting around to study my expression as I shook Tryn's hand.

“You do too. By name, at any rate. This is Tryn Bowen.”

Conor frowned but when Bowen kept his hand out for him to shake as well, he accepted it. “Four Horsemen, right?”

Bowen smirked. “One and only.”

“Which are you?” Conor mocked. “Death, pestilence, war, or famine?”

“Oh, I’m pestilence,” Bowen retorted, amusement lighting his eyes. “Harder than VD to get rid of.”

“I’m sure.”

“Irish Mob, no?”

Conor hummed. “That’s me.”

“I always make a point of meeting any factions who wish to stay at one of my hotels.” He eyed me. “Even more so when they come with an intriguing entourage.”

“I was in and out of London,” I argued. “There wasn’t time to meet with you first.”

“You make time, Star. You know I don’t like being kept out of the loop. See what happens when you do—Ovianar is dead. If I’d known?—”

“If you’d known, there was dick you could do. She could have contacted you but she didn’t. Why is that?”

“Because she thought her involvement with Jorgmundgander was unknown to my cousins and me.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand as his gaze trickled over me. “You’re attending the funeral? I’m not sure Minerva invited you.”

“She didn’t, but I’m showing up anyway.”

A gleam appeared in his eye that had Conor settling a possessive hand around my waist. “Crashing a funeral,” he tutted.

“I aim low,” was my bitter reply. “Is there a reason you’re here, Tryn? Just to piss around your hotel like a dog marking his territory or…”

“I was curious when you didn’t arrange to speak with me.”

“I didn’t think I needed to. I’m literally just here for a funeral.”

“You’re never ‘just’ anything.” His gaze flickered between Conor and me and because he was a Bowen, I knew that he didn’t miss a damn thing. Something he confirmed when his focus drifted to my hips where I’d planted my left hand. “You’re getting into bed with the Five Points?”

“She’s already in the bed,” Conor growled, which made me shoot him a perplexed glance. “And she’s going nowhere.”

Bowen clucked his tongue. “Star’s a viper. I hope you have plenty of antivenom on hand for when she strikes.”

“I’ve built up an immunity over the years,” Conor drawled.

“Interesting.” He tilted his head to the side. “We can ride down together.”

It wasn’t a request.

I glanced warily at Conor whose mouth was a taut line, but he graced me with the slightest of nods.

“Sounds good,” I answered.

When the doors to the elevator closed behind us, Bowen asked, “When do you leave?”

“You want to get rid of me already?” I mocked.

“Where you go, trouble follows,” he retorted, wrapping both hands against the rail at the back of the elevator. Body language alone told me he was in full-on ‘I own London’ mode.

Rolling my eyes at him, I mused, “And trouble leaves London alone when I’m out of the city?”

“For the most part.” He pursed his lips as the elevator stopped on the first floor. “I want to speak with you before you leave. I’ll leave the details at the reception desk.”

I scowled. “We’re flying out tomorrow.”

“Is that the truth I hear?”

“It is. We’re leaving in the early hours.”

“Then we can speak this evening.” He dipped his chin at me then Conor. “Until later.”

When he left, Conor demanded, “Did you have a relationship with him?”

My brows lifted. “No.”

“He wants you.”

I snorted. “Is this you being jealous? If it is, it’s cute.”

His glower faded. “That’s not funny, Star.”

“Sure, it is.” With that glower still aimed at me, I mused out loud, “You do realize you’re the only guy I’ll allow to touch me, Conor?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that now , never mind years ago when I first came across Tryn, the notion of a guy touching me sexually makes me heave.” I fought the urge to retch at just the possibility. “As for the past, I used men, Conor. Every one of them I came across was a fool waiting for me to lead them around by their dicks.”

“And I’m not a fool?”

“And you’re not,” I said easily, reaching up to run my hand along the sharp edge of his jaw, hoping that would soothe him rather than incite. “Got your ring on my finger,” I reminded him.

“You do. What happened with him?”

Sad that he didn’t feel secure enough to let go of this, I hitched a shoulder. “He doesn’t like my methods. Can’t blame him. The guy thinks he walks on water. He was just asking to be pulled off his pedestal.”

For the first time since Bowen had interrupted us, amusement gleamed in Conor’s eyes. “Why does he want to speak with you later?”

“He’s full of his own importance,” I dismissed then checked my watch. “We’re going to be late if we don’t get going now.”

Though he nodded, when I stepped away, he grabbed my hand and tugged me into him. When I barreled into his chest, he stared into my eyes. “No secrets between us, Star.”

“No secrets. But I’m not going to detail who I’ve fucked and when, Conor, just like I don’t expect you to share that information with me. Especially as both of us have admitted that we always fucked and ran in the past.”

He grunted.

I took that to mean he agreed but didn’t want to verbalize it.

I smirked at him as I hovered my mouth above his. “I love you, Conor.”

He grunted again. “Love you too, Star.”

More amused than ever by his begrudging tone, I dragged him into the foyer and the concierge drifted alongside to guide us toward the door where a car was waiting.

Upon seeing us, the driver moved to the back seat and opened the door so we could slip inside.

The ride to the cemetery was short but not exactly sweet thanks to the usual traffic that riddled the streets. I pressed my hand to the window, watching my body heat steam up around my digits as we drove through Kensington toward the outskirts of Central London.

It was a good thing we’d elected to avoid the church service and intended only to watch the coffin be interred because we were later than anticipated when the driver, apologizing all the way, pulled up outside the cemetery.

By the time we were walking down the gravel path toward Ovianar’s plot, it had started to rain.

“Fucking England,” I muttered. “Always raining.”

Conor tipped his head back. “Nothing wrong with rain.”

“They’ve said we can’t drink the rain now. It’s too acidic.”

“Since when do you drink rainwater?”

“Hey, don’t judge. Sometimes rain is the only water source for miles around.”

He hauled his arm over my shoulders and dragged me into his side. “If we ever get stuck in the wilderness, you’ll totally save our asses, won’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m good in dire situations,” was my dry retort, but my words faltered when I saw the people gathered around the grave.

He squeezed me, murmuring, “It’ll be over soon.”

“I know. I’m just?—”

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath at Minerva’s shriek.

“Has she got eyes in the back of her head?” Conor queried in surprise.

“Sixth sense, more like,” I groused, shrugging off his arm so I could catch his hand as we made our way toward the plot. “I’ve come to pay my last respects,” I called out, well aware that I hadn't just knotted our fingers together—mine were practically superglued via sweat to his.

“Last respects? You’re the reason she’s dead,” Minerva spat. “She wouldn’t want you here and I sure as hell don’t!”

With a glance around the crowd, who were gawking at us, I happened to see Tryn Bowen standing at Minnie’s side, his hand firmly fixed on the shoulder of a young boy, his cousins like his personal bookends hovering around him.

Wondering if he had a magic wand that let him attend the funeral on time, unlike us, I narrowed my eyes at the humor in his expression before pinning her in my focus.

“I made a mistake,” I said calmly. “I’m sorry, Minnie.”

“Don’t you dare call me that.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated, then, deciding to go for broke with the truth, I admitted rawly, “If I’d known she was in danger, I’d have made sure that she was secured. I’ll regret it until the day I die that I let you both down.”

My honest words earned me a sneer. “I’ll regret the fact that you knew each other until the day I die.”

I flinched but Conor was the one who stated, “We’ll stand here until the service is over and we’ll pay our respects then.”

That seemed to infuriate her even more because she shoved off a woman’s arm who’d been holding her back and stormed forward. Hair flickering around her face, she snarled, “You’re not wanted here."

Bowen surprised me by stepping toward her and pressing his hand to her arm.

Head whipping to the side, she snapped, “Leave me the fuck alone. It’s my right to throw out unwanted guests.”

Bowen’s touch gentled, but to us, he directed, “I think it’s best if you return to the hotel.”

“You knew she was in the city?” Minnie cried, shooting him a look of betrayal to which he heaved a sigh.

“Of course I did. Ovianar and her were close at one time, Minerva. It’s only natural that she’d?—”

“Get her killed? Everyone around you dies, Star,” Minnie spat. “You’re fucking poison. I hope to God I never see you again. Get away from my family. O’s the only one you can’t hurt anymore and I’m not willing to risk having you around the rest. Go. GO!”

I staggered back at her dismissal. Her vitriol came as no surprise, but it didn’t stop the tears from pricking my eyes as I tugged on Conor’s arm and prompted him to retreat with me.

He was silent on the walk back to the car, and the silence continued on the drive to the hotel because I wasn’t about to take more of a verbal beating from Minnie for sticking around to pay respects that only needed to be given for a miscalculation on my part.

I was relieved about the quiet because I didn’t feel like talking, not even when Conor tucked a Jolly Rancher in my hand.

Minnie’s words had hit a sore spot. Hell, the sorest of spots.

“You’re not poison. Nor are you cancer.”

That was the first thing he said to me once we were back in the suite, and I shot him a tired look. I didn’t bother arguing with him though. Just patted his chest and returned to the dinner table where this morning’s papers were still spread out.

He ordered coffee for us, two club sandwiches showed up at the same time, and he pulled out his laptop and did some work while I read through the headlines.

It was a testament to how the papers were flooded with dirty gossip from the Capitol that the article was barely more than a couple inches long.

Disgraced ex-Chief Justice DeLaCroix found dead in his cell.

My brows lifted as I read the rest of the column before I told Conor, “DeLaCroix’s dead.”

He smirked. “Finn owes me brownies for life.”

That had me blinking. “What does the one-time head of the Sparrows dying have to do with you getting brownies for life from Finn?”

“We had a bet on when he’d die.”

“You should have said. I’d have asked Troy?—”

“Nah. We agreed we wouldn’t manipulate the outcome.” He stretched his arms out in front of him. “Feels good knowing that the bastard’s dead?”

I hummed. “Someone gave him a cyanide capsule. Wonder who was behind that.”

“How very Nazi Germany of them.”

My lips twitched at his dry humor. “You’d be surprised how many spies still carry them around.”

“Death before dishonor?”

“No. More like death before waterboarding. I didn’t mind waterboarding. Not my idea of a good time but?—”

He gaped at me. “You’ve been waterboarded?”

“Of course.”

“Of course?” he screeched.

“Part of training,” I tried to appease, seeing his distress was real.

“ We did that to you?”

“Prepares you for the worst.”

“Yeah, sounds like it if agents are still carrying cyanide pills around with them.” He rolled his eyes. “I swear you’re going to give me a heart attack before we’re done.”

“When will that be?” I half-teased, but a wariness had filtered into the words which was a direct result of today’s interactions with Minerva.

Everyone left me, after all.

Why should he be any different?

“‘Til death do us part,” he murmured, the saying purposeful. Meaningful .

I swallowed. “I think I can handle that.”

“Good.”

And that was the end of that conversation.