Me: I’m alive to tell the tale . . .
Win: Surprising.
Me: You better take me someplace good for dinner since I just took one for the team.
Win: The team, huh?
Me: Team Constantine.
Win: I was thinking Italian for dinner. Fancy a breadstick, Cinderelliott?
Me: You’re an asshole.
Win: It’s like you’re surprised.
This time, in a role reversal, he sends me heart eye emojis to which I respond with middle finger ones.
Winston Constantine is an asshole, but he’s the asshole I’m falling helplessly for.
21
Winston
What is my mother doing?
She’s not nice for no reason. She doesn’t take people out for spa days. She’s up to something. Eventually, I’ll find out what it is. I’m just thankful Ash seemed to have made it out unscathed.
My phone buzzes from an incoming text.
Xavier: We have what you asked for.
Triumph surges through my veins, and I nearly knock my desk chair over in my haste to stand up. I grab my bag and lock my office.
“Leaving early, Mr. Constantine?” Deborah asks, a curious expression on her face.
“I have business to take care of.”
I walk straight over to Perry’s office, but it’s empty. I find him sitting in Nate’s office, peering at a notebook that’s resting on his knee while Nate taps away on the computer.
“Perry, time to go,” I bark out.
He nearly knocks his notebook onto the floor and rushes to his feet. Nate frowns, his gaze darting between us.
“Important meeting?” Nate asks.
“Something like that.” I smirk. “Hold down the fort.”
Nate frowns, but I don’t stick around to explain. Perry grabs his bag, locks his office door, and then we’re headed to the parking garage.
“I’ll drive,” he offers, laughing when I grimace. “What? I drive great.”
“It’s not how you drive. It’s what you drive.”
He whistles, unaffected by my insults as we climb into his orange abomination. The engine is loud, echoing off the parking garage walls, sounding like there are twenty muscle cars in a row, not just his. As he backs out of his parking spot and then peels out, gaining speed quickly, a thrill shoots down my spine. This car might be ugly as fuck, but it rides like a beast. He turns on some classic seventies rock as we drive to our destination. I nearly roll my eyes at how fucking corny he can be sometimes. “Cherry Bomb” by The Runaways blares through the speakers, and this idiot sings along, banging on the steering wheel like he’s a drummer in the damn band.
I try my damnedest to ignore my brother, my mind scattered in a hundred different directions.
“Barracuda” by Heart comes on next, and Perry grins at me. His excitement is infectious. I smirk back at him. We discussed this moment in great detail on the plane ride back from Paris. I wasn’t sure how long we’d have to wait, but my men are pretty good at doing what they’re told, especially when you throw a huge bonus in if they can deliver sooner rather than later.
Perry guns it down the road, weaving in and out of traffic, making my heart thunder in my chest. He wrecks boats for fuck’s sake. I don’t trust his driving, especially in a car like a ’69 Chevelle with more power under the hood than a boat could dream of. Thankfully, rather than killing us, he turns his blinker on like a good boy and darts his vehicle into a parking garage of a building we own.
He sings along loudly when “Just What I Needed” by The Cars comes on. I have to hold on to the dash to keep from flying all over the place as he drives around and around, taking us higher up the parking garage to the top level. Since the building is being renovated, there aren’t any cars. But when we reach the top level, a black Mercedes SUV waits parked next to a white Porsche Cayenne.
He kills the engine, thankfully ending his obnoxious singing. We climb out and walk over to the SUV where Xavier and Todd are waiting. Both men are dressed in black T-shirts, black jeans, and black boots. They’re ex-Navy Seals and mean-ass motherfuckers. And on my payroll. Naturally. Only the best for the Constantines.
“You have what I asked for?” I raise a brow at Xavier.
“It’s insulting you even have to ask.” Xavier laughs and motions to the other side of the SUV.
Perry and I walk around to discover that Xavier and Todd delivered. Times three, in fact. Seeing the three little fuckfaces in the flesh, after what they did and tried to do to Ash, has anger exploding inside of me. I want to beat the fuck out of each of them.
But that’s how a Morelli would do shit.
I’m a Constantine. We’re classy.
“Aww, look what we have here,” I taunt, squatting down in front of one of the triplets who’s hogtied and glaring at me. “The ringleader. Scout.”