Page 23 of Queen Crow
When we arrive at the bunker, Lips gets straight out, smirking again at the way I wait around for Aodhan to open my door. I don’t get the chance to snark at her for it, because the door swings open and Jackson stands there in a pair of old sweatpants and a tank top that has seen several lifetimes.
My skin immediately crawls.
“You’re late.”
I raise an eyebrow at him as Aodhan tucks me into his side. “We’re exactly when we said we’d be here, don’t be an asshole. Where’s Viola? I much prefer her hospitality.”
He smirks without answering and waves a hand at us to follow him. Lips walks after him like this is all nothing to her, but I have to take a deep breath before we step over the threshold, my eyes bouncing around at the dark space as we follow him down the stairs. It’s cleaner than even the last time I was here, clearly Viola is doing a great job of upkeep, but it’s still too dark and creepy for me to be comfortable.
There’s also the smell.
I can’t describe it, the electric smell of too much going on in here at once, but I just hold my breath as much as I can and let Lips take the lead.
“Your lead was too fucking good, Lips.”
I hate the way he says her name, it’s a little too gleeful for my taste, but she just nods back at him. “Jericho loves drugs too much not to know every last one of the cartel in the country. He’s jumpy though, shit is getting harder for imports.”
Jackson sits down at his desk as he snorts. “Yeah, and your brother dearest is the reason for that. This is all one twisted fucking web and right there in the middle of it is ol’ sperm-daddy-o, Graves. He’s one of Arias’ buyers, you know? Loves pushing drugs out everywhere.”
I frown, but Lips is the one to try to decipher his rambling. “Arias? Start at the beginning, Jackson, and give us the whole fucking story.”
He smirks again and fills in the blanks. “Santiago Arias, the Colombian drug lord father of one Amanda Donnelley. Y’know, he’s got a lot of business here that she tiptoes around? There’s a whole lotta shit you can exploit here in this pile. It’s good to have you back, Wolf. We needed your usual connections to get Queenie outta this shit.”
Lips grimaces as takes the giant box of paperwork from him, glancing over at me. “I’ll never be gone like that again. The cleanup isn’t worth it.”
* * *
We find ourselves in a church at nine o’clock on a beautiful Sunday morning.
Lips looks gorgeous in the relatively simple white dress, a blue diamond hanging around her neck in a halo of smaller blue diamonds on a delicate platinum chain. She’s wearing a pair of simple Dior sling-backs that I got her for Christmas that complete her outfit beautifully. With her hair and makeup done by me, she looks unbelievably stunning, like a polished version of the perfectly gorgeous, but rough around the edges, girl we all fell in love with back in high school.
Ash almost disgraced himself when he saw her walk down the stairs. Harley and Morrison were also struck by her, but Ash always did have an obsession with dressing her up in the most luxurious things we could find for her.
The lace detailing gets to him and, while it’s completely disgusting to think aboutmy brotherloving this outfit a little too much, I’m also always going to be happy and grateful that they found each other.
They all found each other.
I’m also in white, the diamonds around my own neck encased in the little ornate cage, and the white Louboutins have three extra inches on Lips’ sling-backs. Every little part of my outfit and appearance has been carefully thought out and chosen for today because I never really thought that I’d be chosen to be a godmother, and certainly not by the biggest, most bloodthirsty heathen I’ve ever met.
Yet here I am, standing in front of a priest in the biggest and most prestigious church in Mounts Bay, with a handful of people I’m closest to on the planet, who also have body counts in thethousandsbetween them.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Lips murmurs as the priest starts the ceremony. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead and a tremble in his fingers, so clearly he’s feeling the pressure. I almost feel sorry for him, it’s not like this would be the easiest job to do with Harbin and Roxas standing at Odie’s side with their cuts still slung over their shoulders, completely irreverent to the mood in the room.
I respect that.
“Odie wanted it and, honestly, I want Johnny protected. This feels more official,” Illi murmurs back, waving a hand at the priest when he stumbles over his words at the interruption.
They both continue to talk through the ceremony.
“You think it’ll take a baptism for me to kill for your son? That baby is my blood—anyone goes after him and I’ll skin them alive.”
Illi grins at her, his eyes still on the giant cross in front of us all. I’m a little surprised none of us have burst into flames yet.
The priest turns his back to fuss with the water for a minute, and Illi leans down a little to murmur, “I want him to know that we love him enough to dress him in that shit, stand in this fucking room, and give him godparents who would step up for him if anything happened to us. The other shit doesn’t mean anything to me.”
I smile and flick him a look of approval. He’s a great father, exactly how we all knew he would be, even if it is still a little jarring to see him holding a little bundle of white baby blankets and beaming.
When the priest presses his hand on Illi’s forehead, I almost lose my cool and dissolve into the fit of giggles bubbling in my chest. If looks could kill… and the priest knows it too, the sweating becomes a river down his temples as he freaks the hell out.