Page 25 of Pretty Threats

I take the middle seat, moving close enough to her that her arm brushes mine when she puts dressing on her salad. The smell of vinegar and oil and pasta sauce are strong enough to make it hard for me to smell her anymore. Nothing against a well made dinner, but it’s been too long since I inhaled the scent of chestnut-scented shower gel on her skin. I lean a few millimeters closer, trying to see if I can catch it.

“So… are ya fucking kidding?” Jamie says, breaking the silence. He leans forward to look down the island at the rest of us.

Raine’s forkful of salad freezes halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“You’re not going to tell me you’re as quiet as these two Neanderthals, are you? Because I was looking forward to having some dinner dialogue, for once. In this place, carrying the conversation always falls to the pretty ones. Tonight, that’s you and me, sweetness.”

Sweetness? My fist is seconds from smashing into his face and knocking him off his fucking barstool.

Raine glances at me.

“Och, don’t look at him,” Jamie says. “You don’t need his permission to talk, do you?”

My gaze cuts to him. “Sit back.”

“Are you serious right now, mate?” His Irish accent sounds like he just set foot in America yesterday. My recollection is that he’s been here almost two years.

“You call yourself a ‘pretty one’?” Raine asks, the corners of her mouth curving like she’s trying not to laugh.

“Well, who wouldn’t?” he says, stroking his jaw. He’s sporting enough fuzz that I wonder if he’s gonna try for a beard. Be interesting to see whether he could grow a decent one.

When War doesn’t shave, he’s practically got a full beard by sunset. And I’m not far behind. Ranks on that are clear.

“So me, I’m from Ireland, as you can tell. You don’t have the Boston accent I hear sometimes from Killian. So, what part of the States are you from originally, Raine?”

“The Midwest.”

“The middle west? That’ll be where? Utah, Idaho area?”

Raine laughs softly. “No. I was born in Ohio. The Midwest is like Michigan, Ohio, Illinois, Wisconsin. I don’t know why it’s called the Midwest actually. Maybe that area was named when the US had less territory?”

It’s good that Raine’s acting normal. Her chill attitude, as though nothing crazy happened earlier, will help convince the other two we don’t need to kill her. And of course, Raine’s good at pretending there’s nothing unusual going on, even while keeping secrets and living under threats. Because of me, she’s had years to perfect the technique.

Flicking the edge of her plate with my index finger, I say, “Eat.”

I’m almost finished with my food because I’m shoveling it down. War and I are going to need to head out soon. Before we go, I want her sequestered in my room. Maybe I’ll lock her in my wardrobe.

Raine goes back to eating, and Jamie stands and tosses his dish in the sink before going to the living room area with the tree-trunk coffee table. He sits on a black couch and puts his feet up on the glass and then opens his laptop.

War steps back from the island. “Time.”

I glance at the clock. Yeah, we need to get on the road. The place we’re going is between Foxgrove and Boston, but closer to the city. The drive could be shorter if we were taking my Corvette, but War doesn’t like sports cars. Too cramped for him.

Standing, I draw in a breath. Then I pull Raine’s barstool back. She’s startled, and her food drops off the fork and onto the counter. It nearly fell on her dress, which neither of us would’ve liked.

“I’m coming with you?” she asks in surprise as she sets her fork down.

“No. You’re going to eat the rest in my room.”

“Oh. Okay.” She gathers her plate, napkin, and fork.

I grab her glass of water.

“Seriously?” Jamie says as we pass him. “There’s pistachio gelato. When I break it out, should I leave her bowl outside the bedroom door?”

“She can have dessert when I get back. Don’t bother her.”

“Mmm. I see how it is,” he says.

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