Page 49 of To the Grave

“Hard to say,” Wolf said.

“Did Brandon have an address on Mayer?” Otis asked, still tinkering with the clock.

Wolf shook his head. “Said the guy is cagey, likes to keep to himself. Apparently he’s got a place in the mountains, doesn’t like company.”

“Yeah, but he’s a Barbarian, right?” Otis asked.

“Sure,” Wolf said, “but it’s not like we can roll up to their compound and start asking questions.”

“Maybe,” Otis said. “But it’s almost Halloween.”

It took me a few seconds to figure out what he was getting at. “You’re thinking about the party at the Strike.”

Otis shrugged. “It’s for Halloween.”

Wolf sighed. “Well, if we have to go to the Strike, going masked is probably the best chance we’ve got.”

Chapter 35

Daisy

“This seems like a bad idea,” I said, looking down at my costume while the Beasts made last-minute adjustments to theirs in the living room.

“It’s Halloween,” Otis pointed out, smearing another dollop of black makeup on his face. It wasn’t thick — just enough to make his face look dirty — but it would do the job of making him less noticeable as Otis Cole, and it worked with the orange jumpsuits he and Wolf were wearing as part of their prisoner costumes.

“Yeah, but we’re talking about the Strike,” I said, “and I’m dressed as a cop.”

The Lucky Strike — called the Strike by locals for as long as I could remember — was technically open to the public, but everyone knew it was the main hangout for the Barbarians.

Definitely enter at your own risk.

“Someone had to go as the law for our group costume to work,” Wolf said, “and better you than one of us.”

I checked the full-size antique mirror that leaned against the wall. I’d discovered it in the attic and had found the perfect place for it in the living room. “I guess.”

I knew what he was getting at. The costume — suitable for a cop only if that cop was also an exotic dancer — that appeared on my bed earlier in the week didn’t leave much to the imagination.

It might have helped if it had pants, but it had a skirt instead, one that barely covered my pussy and didn’t even bother trying to cover my ass. Between that and the halter top, complete with a faux badge and plunging neckline, I didn’t look like any officer of the law I’d ever seen.

Jace, sitting in one of the wing chairs by the fireplace, eyed me hungrily. The chairs were beautiful, newly upholstered in blue-gray velvet and delivered earlier in the week, but it was Jace who commanded my attention. He would play the warden in our little game of dress-up, a leather mask covering the upper half of his face to avoid him being identified, seeing as how he was supposed to be dead.

He was manspreading on the chair, his distractingly perfect chest on full display without a shirt, his leather pants seeming to highlight the significant bulge between his thighs, although that might have been my horny imagination.

And I was horny. Jace had been back for almost three weeks and I hadn’t touched any of the Beasts since. But my resolve was wavering, and who could blame me? It wasn’t easy living with three of the hottest guys on the planet and not fucking them — especially when they made it clear they were dying for the opportunity.

I could see it in Jace’s eyes now, roaming my scantily clad body from head to stiletto-clad toe (yeah, I know, the sham of all shams when it came to the believability of my police officer costume). I’d put my hair in a high ponytail, the ends curlingaround my shoulders, the hairstyle highlighting my cheekbones and making my eyes look bigger.

If Jace’s reaction was any barometer, the Barbarians at the Strike would have zero objections to my law enforcement costume even though everyone knew the Barbarians were even more shady than the Blades.

Better a slutty female cop than a giant imposing male one.

“Is my face okay?” Wolf asked, turning away from the smaller mirror over the console table, the tube of black makeup in his hands.

He was wearing the same jumpsuit as Otis, his face suitably scruffy, the black makeup smeared to look like dirt.

“It’s good,” I mumbled, because even in the orange jumpsuit he was crazy sexy, his light blue eyes smoldering like a fire about to roar to life.

Fuck Wolf and fuck his smoldering.

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