Absinthe closed his eyes, reliving those few moments after with her, holding her in his arms, wanting her to know she was his world and he would spend his life making her happy. He tried to tell her, but she just kissed his throat and snuggled back into his arms, sliding right back into sleep. She was naked and warm, and he had gone to sleep as well, this time undisturbed by the demons in his past.
Something white came at the side of his head and he picked a wadded-up napkin out of the air. Storm grinned at him. “You’re looking goofy. Ice gets that look when Soleil is under the table on the balcony in the morning giving him head while we’re trying to have a discussion about the price of gold going up.”
“Bullshit,” Ice said. “You’re jacking off, not talking.”
“I was trying to talk. It’s a little difficult when you two go at it. She gets very enthusiastic. And you’re always pointing to your feet and then taking off her top when we’re having breakfast. What the hell do you expect?” Storm defended. “I like watching. It’s a fuckin’ turn-on.”
Absinthe wasn’t certain how to feel about that. He’d had a hand in that as well. Exhibitionism and voyeurism. The twins had been beautiful children and had been forced to perform continually for Sorbacov and his friends. Demyan and Absinthe had tried to help them overcome their reluctance and disgust. Now it was ingrained in them to want, even need, the sexual gratification of both traits. He sighed. Scarlet would tell him to let it go. Maybe she was right.
He glanced at Destroyer. He hadn’t been raised with them. He’d been in a prison, a completely different environment. There was no way to know what he was thinking. No expression crossed his face and those dark glasses were very dark, hiding his eyes. He might not have heard any of the exchange, although Absinthe knew better.
Alena handed him the plate of potato salad. Destroyer murmured a polite and succinct “Thanks” before she could turn away. She nodded abruptly without looking at him. Absinthe didn’t think they were going to be friends any time soon. He couldn’t tell with Ice and Storm. Her brothers hadn’t given any indication of where they were leaning as far as Destroyer was concerned. Savage and Reaper were the kind of men who were black or white. If he made one wrong move, they’d kill him. If he worked with the team, he was part of Torpedo Ink and welcome.
“Coming up the embankment is Holler, the last one of the day managers. He manages the Devil’s Palace. That’s the most hedonistic club. They have quite a back room set up and a basement with a bullshit dungeon,” Savage informed them. “Guess they don’t want trouble with the cops because nothing in that dungeon is the real deal.”
“Too bad,” Reaper commented. “You would have some fun with these boys. They’d find out they don’t know shit about what they were doing with that woman.”
“They’ll find out,” Savage said. “I’ll re-create their work and critique it for them.”
He stood up and stretched, a lazy ripple of muscle, much like a panther. “You about done with that salad, Destroyer? Thought we’d take Holler since he’s so set on givin’ us the opportunity.”
Destroyer nodded and handed Alena his empty plate. “Big difference,” he admitted. “You’ve got a rare talent.”
She’d opened her mouth to protest that he’d given her the dirty paper plate to dispose of but pressed her lips together at the compliment. Destroyer sauntered off, not a whisper of movement or sound even in the grass following in his wake.
Ice and Storm were all business, both retrieving sniper rifles to cover the two men as they crossed the asphalt-covered parking area to intercept Holler as he came toward the upper parking lot where the vehicles, mostly motorcycles, had been left. A couple of bored prospects guarded the bikes but paid no attention to the trucks and two cars the women had brought to carry chairs and food. The prospects had their backs to the stairs carved into the side of the embankment Holler climbed.
Destroyer casually wrapped the Venomous club member up as he swaggered past, one hand over his mouth, muffling any sound, while Savage injected him directly in the neck, putting him to sleep almost immediately. The two carried him back to the other end of the lot where Torpedo Ink’s trucks and cars were parked along with several others enjoying the sunset. It took all of five seconds to finish stowing him under a tarp.
Savage glanced at his watch. “Wings and Jacko have a little rendezvous planned in a few minutes with an underage girl they’ve been corresponding with online. They’ll be coming up those stairs any moment. We’ll have to be their welcoming committee. She’s very young. Black hair. Hot as hell. Sent them her picture and everything. Wearing a string bikini to show them her smokin’-hot bod.”