She shrugs. “It’s just a party.”
I harrumph. Third time is not the charm.
“You don’t find it odd that every one of these men has the same tattoo?”
She lifts a shoulder, her face impassive. “Not at all.”
“Please, please tell me what I’m missing.”
She frowns. “You don’t know anything?”
“No. Is this a gang?”
She squelches her laughter after gauging my expression. “No, not like that. But if they were to bust us right now, I’m sure half of these assholes would serve time.”
“For?”
“Their crimes.”
Questions and evasive answers. It’s becoming an infuriating pattern and I can see she’s sympathetic. I go at her at a different angle.
“So why do you come here?”
“Because I believe in this.”
“And this is?”
“A party.”
Annoyed, I glance around and look for a sign of either Sean or Dominic and come up empty. The longer I look around, the less faces I recognize. My garage guys are also nowhere in sight.
She sees my panic and does her best to study me. “You have nothing to be afraid of. This is just a meetup. It happens once or twice a month.”
“Like Masons?”
She nods sharply. “Sure. Like a club.”
“But you can’t tell me about the club? Like rule number one of Fight Club?”
“What’s that?”
“A movie,” I run my hands through my hair in frustration. “Never mind, so this is a club?”
“Sure, and I guess you could say this is the clubhouse.”
“So that necklace…”
“Means I belong to someone or am with someone in the club.” She grimaces. “Right now, it’s my brother.”
“So, who is the leader?”
“There’s no leader at a party.”
“I thought this was a club?” I counter.
“A club party.”
More evasion, another thousand questions popping up that I have no doubt will go unanswered.