Page 22 of Riot Reunion
This should not feel so casual. Should it? Fuck, I don’t even know what’s normal anymore. “Handgun. Definitely a handgun.” I’m not stalking around Seattle with a sawn-off shotgun tucked inside my fucking jacket. That would beinsane.
Genesis nods beatifically. “We have a no-return policy on firearms, Lord Lovett. Once you’ve signed for it, it’s yours. It will also be your responsibility to dispose of it when you’re finished with it. If you’re caught with a firearm that we’ve supplied to you, under no circumstances are you to tell the police or any other outside party where you obtained it. Do you agree to these terms?”
Jesus Christ. I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine. Do I need to sign something?”
She laughs politely down her nose, eyes sparkling with mirth. “No, Lord Lovett—”
“Seriously. It’s Dash. Please.”
She’s trying so hard not to grin. “We prefer to avoid a paper trail when it comes to these things, Dash. We operate on a ‘my-word-is-my-bond’ policy here at The Creston."
“Seems like it might be difficult to police.”
“On the contrary. The ramifications for breaking your word in this regard would be…uh,severe. Our guests know that they would pay a high price if they were to jeopardize our establishment in any way. I’m sure you understand. Yes?”
She cocks her head to one side, waiting patiently for me to confirm that, yes, I do get it, and that I acknowledge I’ll likely lose a limb if I fuck The Creston over in any way. I give her the answer she’s waiting for. “Absolutely. That sounds very fair indeed.”
Genesis beams. “We like to think so. Please wait here. I’ll be right back with the item you’ve requested.” She drums her fingernails against the cool marble top in front of her, spinning on her lethally high heels and disappearing through the heavy door behind her. Jeez, the damn door looks like it’s made out of reinforced steel.
No more than a minute passes before Genesis returns with a small, black, rigid case in her hands. She places it between us, and I see that there’s a combination dial on it rather than a traditional lock and key. “The code is one zero six seven. You’ll find both handgun and ammunition inside. If you’d be so kind as to wait until you’re off the premises before you open the case, that would be appreciated.”
I take custody of the case, grasping hold of the handle, drawing it toward me. It’s too small to be mistaken for a briefcase. It’s very clearly aweapon’scase, which is pretty fucking inconvenient considering that I have to make it back to the rental now, and lord only knows who’ll see me carrying it.
“I understand you’ll be visiting with some friends of The Creston this evening. Please pass on our regards to them. If you need anything else from me, as I said earlier, I’ll be more than happy to assist you. I’ll be here, within the building, during the entirety of your stay.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine for now. Thank you, Genesis.”
“You’re most welcome, Dash.”
I turn, about to head back to the elevator, so I can head down to the parking garage beneath the hotel, but Genesis clears her throat respectfully. “Our mutual friend arranged for a car service for you this evening. He thought it might make parking at your destination a little easier.”
“So thoughtful of him,” I grunt.
“Yes. Our friend puts a great deal of thought into everything he does. Things tend to run very smoothly thanks to his foresight.”
I keep my mouth shut. If I don’t, I’ll wind up saying something scathing, and it sounds like Genesis, here, has a bit of a hard-on for Carrie’s guardian; it isn’t hard to imagine that my comments might find their way back to him if I make some salty quip.
Outside, a sleek black car—murdered out, naturally—lurks curbside like a silent, stealthy shark. I’m trying to figure out exactly what kind of car it is, but there isn’t time; a blonde guy wearing an oversized ‘Kill Crew’hoody climbs out of the driver’s seat and makes his way around the car, opening the passenger door. “Get in,” he commands.
“I’ll sit in the back if that’s cool?”
He looks at me in a way that makes it very clear that it isnotcool. “This isn't a fucking Uber. I don’t have all night, man. Just get in the car.”
“I don’t even know who the fuck you are.”
“I’m Mason. I'm a Pisces. My favorite color's purple. There we go. Now we're best friends. Are you getting in or not? There are fifteen other things I’d rather be doing than runningyourlordship’sass around town right now. If you wanna fuck off, you can be my guest.”
He says ‘your lordship’ with heaping scorn. Clearly, he doesn’t think much of my birthright; his derision makes me kind of like him.
“Fine. Whatever.” I get into the passenger seat, and this Mason guy, whoever he is, climbs back into the car—I can see now from the badge in the center of the steering wheel that it’s a Charger of some kind. Heavily kitted out, though. Even the interior mods are insane. “Sick ride, man. I take it this is Michael’s?” I place the hard case containing the gun onto my lap.
Mason curls a lip in my general direction. “It’s mine.”
“You’re not his chauffeur, then?”
“Fuck you, dude.”
“Then why are you running around inyourflashy car, opening doors for people like you’re the hired help?” I shouldn’t bait him, but his attitude is spiky as hell, and I am not in the best of moods. I’m lethargic as fuck, and my balls are aching something fierce; I guess that’ll happen when you’ve just flown across the world and nearly fucked your hot-as-hell girlfriend, only to be interrupted by dumb shit that has absolutely nothing to do with you.
