Page 33 of Unveiled Wounds

Dead and I both said no at the same time.

“None of you give her enough credit. You fucks just see the obvious shit that Flo does, like the Christmas party. How many brothers in this room know that Buster is trying to figure out how to maximize the space in the banquet center?” Dead sat back in his chair, eating a banana.

“My hiring record is still intact.” Count pumped his fist in the air.

“I’m not really worried about it. Once she gets going, it’ll be fine,” Sabre said.

“It’s more than fine, asshole. None of you questioned when we voted on the banquet center. We all expected Flo to do great things. When Meredith makes this club millions, I’m going to throw it in your faces every time one of you tries to dog her.” I puffed out my chest, very much the proud husband. I took a swallow of my coffee, hiding my amusement. It gave me hope.

“She might design, but it remains to be seen if she’ll actually make the club money. If you ask me, this design firm is more of a hobby for a bored housewife.” Cyph opened the refrigerator, grabbing an energy drink.

I had no clue what he was talking about, but I didn’t like how any of it sounded.

“If she wants to be an Old Lady, then she needs to act like one. I’ll never vote her in.” He popped the top on the drink before taking a long swig.

“You need to be careful before you make statements like that. What are you talking about?” Meredith must have thought none of this was important because she hadn’t told me. I’d have to ask her about this in case I needed to squash the animosity.

“Your bitch doesn’t understand her place.” He was turning to walk away when Dead threw his banana peel at the back of Cyph’s head.

“You fucked up,” Dead said. “Instead of accepting it, you want to throw her under the bus like everyone else.”

My breathing had picked up, and I gripped the bottom of my chair so that I wouldn’t attack before I had the entire story.

“I didn’t do a fucking thing. You might kiss her ass, but I don’t answer to her. In fact, I’m done catering to the broken doll act.” Cyph spat the last word.

“Bent, but not broken. I’m going to need some answers, so one of you needs to talk. Now!” My hands were clammy, waiting for the story that I knew I would instantly hate before I started swinging.

“Count told Buster to talk to Cyph about a new laptop for the design firm. Supposedly, there’s software she needs, but when she went to go ask, fucknuts over there thought screwing a club girl was more important than an Old Lady making the club money.” Dead crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you get the erectile dysfunction checked out?”

“He couldn’t get it up?” Pretty was the first to catch the implication. He threw his head back and laughed so hard he snorted, hitting the back of his chair.

“Next time, be nice to her,” Dead told Cyph.

I’d won an ally, but I was seriously considering if he was trying to steal my wife.

Chapter 14

Who The Fuck is Gabe?

Meredith

I was so busy, I barely even noticed the lockdown. After Cyph had given me the laptop, I went to work protecting Grizz and the club. I hit up all the online hotspots where I knew people chatted about upcoming projects. I prepared a couple of business proposals, but when they went over well, the hiring managers asked for my portfolio. That was a problem. I had completed well-known commercial projects, but they weren’t technically mine to share. Instead, I made up a lie about being new to the area and looking to establish roots, but no one wanted to take the risk.

After three denials, I did the next best thing. The Old McMillan Place needed a fuckton of work, and Grace couldn’t say no to free labor. It would keep the renovation costs down, and I needed a portfolio project with a glowing review. Win, motherfucking, win.God, this place is rubbing off on me.I just didn’t bother to tell her what I was doing.

It was mammal week on the animal channel, and Dead and I were sitting on the couch. He was watching the program, and Iwas drawing in a notebook I’d found lying around. I knew Grace had plans to host multiple types of functions, so I wanted to give her a blank canvas. It needed to be generic enough to transform for the client’s specifications, but also maintain beauty and elegance. Kind of like Grace. I would just leave that part to myself.

I was having a hard time coming up with the basic concept. The place was old, and the rooms didn’t have connecting walls from what I remembered. If Grace needed more space than one of the smaller rooms could accommodate, she’d have to sell the ballroom at an upcharge. I had to make this work so that Grace didn’t lose customers over something stupid, but nothing was coming to me. I sighed.

“What’s up, girlie pop?”

“I can’t get this to work,” I said, ripping the page out of the notebook, crumpling it up, and throwing it onto the floor.

“How much space is between the rooms?”

My head snapped towards him, but he was still watching the program. This seemed to be a common occurrence for us. I’d say something half-assed, not wanting him to be involved, only to find out he’d been discreetly paying attention all along.

“I’m not sure. I put in a request with the county to prepare the blueprints, but they haven’t scheduled the pickup appointment yet.” Drawing again, I didn’t like the direction of my thoughts, so I ripped the page and threw it on the floor.

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