Ruckus (Sinners of Saint 2)

Trent flew out to Chicago to get Luna—his parents were waiting for them in Todos Santos and were going to help him pull through this nightmare—and Jaime and I immediately called off the bachelor party. It was Trent who threatened us with physical violence to go through with our original Vegas plans. His reasons:

He was going to Chicago to discharge his daughter from the hospital, where she stayed with a very freaked-out, thoroughly scarred babysitter, so it wasn’t like he was loitering around waiting for our royal asses to come hold his hand.

Vicious was only going to get married once (considering his bad temper and fuck-all attitude, we all knew that there will not be a second Millie to tolerate his shit).

#$%%VTCF#$^$^ Val fucking bailed on his daughter and he had no time to deal with our first-world, white-men problems, anyway.

It was a Sunday in August, and The Strip was bustling with tourists, drunk half-naked girls, and angry, radical Christians with a mic trying to pull all the sinners back to the light. After we dumped our duffel bags in our presidential suite, Vicious toed his leather Oxfords off and said, “I love my future wife, I really fucking do, but I hope we’re not going to bump into her annoying-ass friends too many times this trip. I need to see more of her younger sister like I need a bullet to my fucking head.”

“How do you mean?” I took off my Rolex and multi-colored Versace shirt, heading to one of the bathrooms. I needed to throw up and take a shower to feel human again. Nina had called me multiple times during the short flight—fifty? Sixty? I stopped counting—leaving several voice messages I didn’t bother listening to.

The shit with Trent had reminded me of how much I needed to stay away from her and him, even if curiosity burned every bone in my goddamn body. It just wasn’t fair, and even though my dad was right—life isn’t fair—I was the one to call the shots on this one, and my decision was to never meet him or her.

And that decision was fucking final.

“They’re going to be here in Vegas. Rosie changed the plans at the last minute. They’ll be staying at this hotel.”

I pivoted, brushing a finger over my lower lip.

“Baby LeBlanc is in Sin City?”

Vicious let loose a malicious grin, scanning me with his cold, dead eyes. “Will be in two hours. They took the next flight in. Why, what the fuck are you going to do about it, man?”

“Whatever she’ll let me.” I kicked my shoes off.

“Make Rosie run it by Emilia first.” He threw a soft pack of Marlboros we used for the blunts—and missed—purposely. “I know Em doesn’t give half a fuck about you, but I don’t want her feeling betrayed by her sister.”

Jaime strolled into the vast space from one of the bathrooms before I had the chance to inform Vicious that I neither answer to his ass nor to Millie’s.

“Trent is going to be a little fucked-up after this.” Jaime sighed, picking up the discarded Marlboros.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” Vicious turned on his heel, walking away from the room, probably to get into the shower himself. Jaime bumped his shoulder into mine, unscrewing a bottle of water and bringing it to his lips.

“Does he know you’re fucking his girl’s sister?”

“What gave it away, Sherlock?” I snagged the Marlboros from his hand and texted my guy in Las Vegas simultaneously, asking him for weed ASAP. Even if I wasn’t going to smoke, it wasn’t fair to deprive Jaime and Vicious of their favorite pastime.

Jaime plopped down on the arm of the plush, white sofa and took another sip of his water.

“Talk about Captain Obvious. Besides, you eye-fucked her at the rehearsal dinner when no one was looking. It was subtle, which means you actually give a damn about what she thinks about you.” He paused, his eyebrows dropping down. “But I paid close attention, so even though you tried to hide it, I still saw it. You wanted to bend her against the table and fuck her raw with her face pressed against someone else’s entrée.”

Thank you, Jaime. I was going to pin that thought and tuck it into my spank bank for a rainy day.

“Is she worth the hassle?” Jaime cocked his head sideways, lifting one eyebrow. I patted his shoulder. Fucking adorable, this guy was.

“She is the hassle.”

“Happy for you, bro. It’s been a while since you were occupied with something other than booze and work.” He grinned. “But we still need to talk about the potential complications. Last time Vicious and you went head-to-head, you compromised Fiscal Heights Holdings in the process. I won’t let it happen again.”

Refraining from correcting him—I didn’t go head-to-head with Vicious, he hired and slept with my ex-girlfriend without my knowledge after separating us while we were kids—I blinked, showing him that his words were barely acknowledged. I was always under control, and Fiscal Heights Holdings never suffered. Most importantly, no one—no goddamn exceptions—was going to come between me and what I wanted.