Page 78 of The Crowned Garza

Eleven months later

“LOOK, ALL I’M SAYINGis, shorty’sphat. With a P. I’d hit that. With a hard D.”

Trent smacks the back of his twin’s head.

“What?” True asks with a laugh, rubbing his head. “She’s legal. The same age as Tillie, right?”

Reuben flicks an ice cube at him.

True looks around. More so in Tripp’s direction. “Or did someone else call dibs on that ass?”

Tripp pretends to be tuned out, but the jumping tic in his jaw belies his apathy.

Since True is nothing if not obnoxiously unruly, he goes on about his feigned fascination with Sunny, drooling over her pictures on social media, talking raunchily about her breasts and ass and what he would do to her. Going all out to get under Tripp’s skin.

All while the others restrain their amusement. Reuben’s shoulders shake silently as he hides his laugh behind his fist. Trent shakes his head into his liquor glass.

We’re in Torin’s backyard for his monthly twilight alfresco dinner meeting with the core team. Trent, True, Tripp, Reuben, Torin, and myself. “Monthly” is a bit of a stretch, though, considering these dinner meetings can happen only when no one’s overseas or out of state on a job. Realistically, that’s a random occurrence every couple of months.

At these dinner meetings, “business” discussions would only last for about ten to fifteen minutes before the alcohol kicks in, conversation goes off the rails, and nonsense ensues. To be fair, at this point we’ve all surmised that Torin uses these dinner meetings as an excuse to bond. But it’s unspoken.

On the table, my phone vibrates a split second before a specific chime comes in. The chime—triggered by the trackers in her car and devices—that alerts me whenevermia piccola reginaleaves work or home and deviates from her usual routes.

As if it’s been rubbed with poison ivy, my palm itches to pick up the phone and check. But I fight the compulsion because Torin is right next to me.

“Hey, Guy,” Tripp calls, finally snapping. “That new chick we just hired in private security, can you shoot me her number? What’s her name again? Eiffel Tower?”

True, who doesn’t have nearly as much guise or self-restraint as Tripp, reacts instantly. “It’sLondon, you jackass.”

“Oh, yeah, London. She’s got a nice ass on her, doesn’t she? Guy, do you think—”

“Keep me out of it,” I snip.

London Bridge, a new hire to the private security department, has history with True. And it’s been obvious to everyone that the two have unfinished business. Despite True being a notorious womanizer, it’s crystal clear where that entanglement is headed.

As they continue to grind each other’s gears, with a thoroughly entertained Torin shaking his head at them in amusement, I take advantage of his distraction and check the alert.

I shouldn’t have.

Mia reginettahas clocked out from work and is headed to the address programmed in her car’s satnav. That’s the fourth time this week. Is this her routine now? From home, to work, tohishouse?

I rub my chest with my fist to chase off the sudden burn there. Probably shouldn’t have had that second ginger beer.

She’s never been this consistent with her playthings before. She messes around and fucks about. Collects jarfuls of wins and adulation. Never serious or committed. So what the fuck’s going on with this one? She can’t be falling for him, can she? No way. No fucking way.

I slam my phone down then chug a glass of water to cool the intensifying burn in my chest.

Torin’s voice hits me from the right. “You all right, man?”

Glancing up to find him watching me, I mumble, “Yeah.”

“We need to start spiking his ginger beer with gin,” Reuben comments. “Always wound so fucking tight. Doesn’t drink alcohol. Doesn’t fuck around with women—”

“Or men,” True interjects. “You know, in case he’s into men. No exclusions, please.”

Trent snorts.

Reuben continues to ask, “How do you unwind, man?”