Page 20 of Need (Men of Inked Sinners #3)

LULU

“Are you ready for this?”

Oliver looks at me and then back to the exterior facade of the Hook & Hustle. “I don’t know.”

He’s adorable when he’s like this. He’s always so sure of himself with his cocky grin and pushed-back shoulders, looking larger than life.

I take his hands in mine and smile. “They already love you.”

His forehead crinkles in just the right way to make him look more distinguished. “Why?”

“Because you’re a protector.”

“You mean I have a record.”

I shake my head, keeping my eyes on his. “My family doesn’t care about that. Hell, my grandpa has a record too, but his crime wasn’t noble like yours. And you don’t have a record, Oli. It was wiped away. ”

“Don’t get me started,” he grumbles, still salty over our field trip to Mark’s apartment. It’s going to take time for him to get over it.

“You’ve met almost everybody anyway,” I tell him, ignoring the sour look on his face. “There are only a few more.”

“But all at once.” He draws in a deep breath and cracks his neck. Ouch. I don’t understand how people can do that without using their hands, and even if they can, why the hell they’d do it in the first place.

“Come on.” I pull him toward the door because my stomach is rumbling, and it’s not warm enough to stand outside much longer to have a conversation.

When the door opens and we step inside, everyone turns their attention our way.

“Fuck,” Oliver whispers.

“Hey,” I call out, giving a one-handed, half-assed wave to my entire family.

But in true Gallo fashion, a second later, they go back to their conversations and ignore us.

“See,” I tell Oliver, pitching my thumb toward the dining room where everyone is milling around. “They don’t care.”

“Sure,” he says, his front plastered to my back. “They’re luring me in and making me feel safe.”

I swat at him over my shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Zoey waves her hand, drawing our attention. We move through the dining room, stepping around clusters of other cousins in conversation to get to Zoey’s table.

“Hey there. Welcome,” Zoey says to Oliver. “Want a beer or something?”

“Sure,” he says, but there’s a quaver to his voice.

“We won’t judge if you drink a beer, Oliver. We own a bar, for shit’s sake,” Zoey tells him. “You want something stronger to get through this night?”

Oliver’s shoulders finally relax. “Just a beer, Zo.”

“You want to have a margarita with me?” I ask my sister, hoping she’ll make them too.

“You got it, sis,” she says before she gets up from the table and stalks toward the back of the bar.

“Going for the hard stuff tonight?” he asks me as he sits down in an empty seat, and I take the one next to him.

“Are you judging me?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Just wondering if you weren’t entirely truthful about how the night will go.”

“It’ll be fine,” I tell him. “I just like the taste of a margarita, and Zoey makes the best ones in the world.”

He studies my face, and for a moment, I don’t think he believes me. “We’ll see who’s right.”

I roll my eyes, wishing he’d understand my family is the least judgmental group of people he’s probably ever met in his entire life.

“It’s good to see you again,” my uncle Vinnie says, holding out his hand to Oliver as soon as he’s close enough.

“You too,” Oliver says, shaking my uncle’s hand while maintaining eye contact with him.

“I’m Vinnie. The uncle.”

Oliver gapes as who Vinnie is—or, I should say, was—finally hits him. “Wait a minute.”

Vinnie’s hand stops moving, but he doesn’t let go of Oliver’s. “Yeah.”

“You played football.”

“Yep. A few years.”

“You were my favorite player growing up.”

That’s so sweet. My uncle Vinnie loves to hear from fans, even after all these years. The man adores anything that fuels his ridiculously large ego.

“Shit, I’m a dinosaur. I know that’s supposed to make me feel better, but now I feel ancient.”

“I meant when I was a teenager. You made me want to shoot for playing football professionally. I thought I could do it.”

“And did you?”

I watch the two of them bonding over sports. I hate anything that makes me sweat, and therefore, all athletic things are off the table for me. The moment is sweet.

“No. I went into the service instead.”

“Honorable,” my uncle says, giving Oliver a genuine smile.

“I watched every game of yours besides the few that happened while I was at boot camp. No television there.”

“Really?” Vinnie asks.

Oliver nods. “There wasn’t shit. No TV. No newspaper. No phone. No internet. No communication with the outside at all. The world could’ve ended, and I wouldn’t have known the difference.”

“I could never,” Vinnie says softly, shaking his head. “I’m too addicted to my phone.”

“You don’t say,” I tease my uncle. The man is on it a lot, checking his social media and my aunt Bianca’s.

“Zip it,” he says to me with a smirk on his face. “You kids aren’t any better.”

I love that he still calls us all kids, even though we’re fully grown and Tate has her own.

I don’t think the older generation will see any of us as adults for a very long time.

We’ll have to have gray hair and a smattering of wrinkles before they realize we’re grown up, but I’m not sure even that’ll be enough.

“Everything okay from the other day?” Vinnie asks Oliver.

Oliver grunts as he slices his eyes to me. “Zoey and Lulu took matters into their own hands.”

Vinnie’s gaze snaps in my direction, and I wish I could scurry under the table and hide.

“Tattletale,” I mutter to Oliver.

“What did you two do?” Vinnie asks.

“What are we talking about?” Zoey asks, oblivious to the conversation as she sets down two margaritas and Oliver’s beer.

“Your field trip,” Oliver says to her.

Zoey freezes before she has a chance to take a sip. “Um, what field trip?” she asks, pretending not to know anything.

I pull the margarita in front of me as my stomach rumbles but, this time, not from hunger. “We didn’t do anything any man in this family wouldn’t do if they were in our shoes,” I say with confidence because every word is the truth.

Men do whatever they want. They don’t ask for permission, and they sure as hell don’t worry about the consequences, especially when someone they love is in danger.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” I say, challenging my uncle and Oliver.

“Well, no,” Vinnie says, placing his hand on the back of my chair. “You’re not wrong, kiddo. But we have the strength when something goes wrong because it usually does.”

“She had pepper spray,” Oliver says.

I reach over and smack his arm. “Whose side are you on?”

“The side of you staying alive.”

I grunt, and my eyes go wide as I spot my dad walking our way.

“What’s going on?” Dad asks as his gaze moves around the table before landing on his brother .

“We’re talking about a field trip,” Vinnie tells him, ratting us out.

What is it with the men in my life not being able to keep their big mouths shut? It’s so annoying.

“What field trip?” Dad asks through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw, but this time, he’s staring only at me and Zoey, who’s next to me.

“The charges were dropped against Oliver,” Zoey says without answering his question and incriminating us in something we don’t need to be lectured about like we’re teenagers again.

“What are we talking about?” Mom asks as she comes next to Dad, sliding her arm into the crook of his to lock them together. “I’ve seen that look before, and it doesn’t mean anything good.”

“Your daughters took a field trip,” he says to her.

“This is my moment to dip,” Uncle Vinnie says, giving me a wink before he peels away from the table, leaving us with a mess to deal with.

Jerk.

“Did you go to the Mag Mile?” Mom asks, and I love her for not thinking anything bad immediately, unlike my father.

“Sweetheart,” Dad whispers as he pats her hand softly where it rests on his forearm. “I don’t think it was that type of field trip.”

“Oh.” Mom’s eyebrows rise. “Let’s sit.”

Shit .

“It’s not a big deal,” I say, trying to alleviate the tension that’s starting to bubble around us.

Mom and Dad sit across from Zoey and me, looking at us with an expression I saw one too many times as a teenager. “Talk,” Dad says in that voice that always made my asshole pucker a little bit as a kid.

“It was my idea,” Zoey says with her chin held high, looking like the badass little sister I always knew she was. “I wanted to take the power back.”

“Shit,” Mom mutters.

“And what does that mean?” Dad asks, wanting more details because he can never move on without a full explanation. He should’ve been a detective because he would’ve solved every case with his inability to let shit go.

“Do not tell me you talked to Mark,” Dad adds.

“Talk?” Oliver barks out a bitter laugh.

Dad’s look only hardens.

“I couldn’t let Oliver go to jail,” Zoey explains. “Mark doesn’t get to have that power.”

“Go on,” Mom says in a voice that is soft like she totally understands and is going to be on our side when we finally give them all the details.

“We went to his place a few nights ago, and Zoey talked to him.”

If I thought my dad’s body posture was stiff before, I was wrong. His back is ramrod straight, and I’m not even sure he’s breathing because he’s so still. “You fucking did what? ”

Oh boy.

When he throws out the curse word so casually, we know we are in trouble.

Zoey glances at me and I cringe, but I’m happy she’s in the middle of the shitstorm with me.

“Dad, we’re grown, and if Zoey wanted to confront him, I was going to have her back. I went with her to make sure she was safe.”

Dad’s gaze slides to me, and he doesn’t look the least bit at ease by my statement. “You should’ve called me or tried to talk her out of it.”