Page 12 of Diamond In The Rough

Felix doesn’t want to rule the family; he only wants everyone outside our circle to think he does, so when shit gets tricky, he’s the first on the list of five hits that must be made.

“You smacked me,” he sniggers, speaking quietly but flicking his fingers forward in a discreet signal to his men to watch the club and not us. “You want me to retaliate?”

“At home.” I sit back, my lips twitching and my chest still cooling after my run. My lungs search for fresh air, but there’s none to be found up here—not for as long as my brother sucks on a cigarette in his spare time. “We’ll hit the gym at the house and settle shit.”

I peer toward Tiia and her friend again. “Why’s she making me look twice, Lix?”

He drags his eyes from the side of my face and looks across to the bar instead. “Because she’s sex on legs, and you’re still a virgin?”

I snort, soft laughter rolling along my chest. “Might as well be. No one I’ve taken to bed has ever scratched my itch exactly right.”

“You’re picky,” he teases. Then he nods Tiia’s way. “You wanna take her for a spin?”

“I introduced myself as Micah.” I drop my hands and chew the inside of my cheek. “Just Micah. No ‘Malone’. And still, she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

“Maybe your previous ‘scratches’ have spread gossip that you’re worthless in bed.” His smile widens, playful and taunting. “Maybe your reputation precedes you, and she’d prefer not to waste her time on a dud.”

“Fuckin’ dud,” I grumble under my breath. “Can you hold an intelligent conversation, ever? I’m trying to tell you she was skulking around outside our club, and when she got my name, she gave me the eyes. Like she knew who I was.”

“She’s a New York native.” He shrugs. “Everyone who has lived here for more than five minutes knows your name. Which means nice, normal, sensible girls are gonna wig out if they’re not looking to fuck a gangster. What’s she drinking?” He nods in the ladies’ direction. “Vodka?”

“Dunno.”

I reach into my pocket and snag my phone, then tugging it out again, I skip over the texts from a certain sexy doctor and clamp my lips shut, lest I alert Felix to something he doesn’t know.

Scrolling my contacts, I stop on the number for the phone by the bar, then hitting dial, I bring the device to my ear and wait only a moment before Gregory spins on his heels and grabs it from its cradle on the back wall.

“Hey, boss!” He shouts to be heard, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder before he spins back and continues pouring a beer. “You want something sent up for you?”

“What are those women drinking?”

Greg freezes, his eyes swinging up to me—though I’m not sure he can see me through the smoke and shadows—then he lowers them again and looks straight at Tiia and her friend.

There are hundreds of women inside this club at this very moment. But he looks to the two I reference without a single moment of hesitation.

“The redhead is drinking vodka, boss.”

“And the other one?”

“Soda water. Pretty sure she’s hard of hearing, too, because I’ve heard her shout ‘what’ at least seven hundred times in the last three minutes. Her friend is yammering on about you and Lix, and the brunette’s eyes are glossing over. She’s not listening. Not sure she can.”

“The redhead is talking about me?” I look to Lix, my instincts proven correct, and clench my injured hand in my lap. When I can’t massage it with my right, squeezing it into a fist is the next best thing. It stretches the tendons and scratches an itch—not the same one I mentioned already, but… similar. “What is she saying?”

“Giving the brunette a rundown of the family, I think. I’m only catching snatches, but the general gist seems to be the redhead is a writer, and the Malones have been pretty loud in the journalistic world this year. Old man Tim’s death, Felix being promoted to head boss. Ms. Cannon’s recent articles. The redhead is basically saying you’re famous. But she’s got no info that Ms. Cannon herself hasn’t published.”

“And what does the brunette say about it?”

Greg snorts, finishes pulling the beer, and sets the glass on a steel grate that catches run-off suds. “I honestly think she’s sleeping sitting up at this point. She gave her friend an uh huh a few minutes ago. A really? after that. But I’m not sure she actually gives a shit. She can’t hear well, so my guess is she’s given up on asking Red to repeat herself. She’s just sipping her soda water.”

“What are their plans for tonight?”

“Dunno, boss.” He turns and starts along the bar to fill someone else’s order. “Red mentioned dancing. Some dude named Roscoe is apparently heading this way, because he wants to catch up with them. But the pretty one is uninterested. I bet she excuses herself to the bathroom soon, climbs out the window, and heads home to her pyjamas and cats.”

I peel my attention from my bartender and study Tiia again. Her long hair, tied high in a cascading ponytail. Her slender neck, unmarked. No ink, no proof of a sex life, and no hunch from bad posture. Which eliminates desk jobs from my list of possible occupations. “She mentioned cats?”

“No,” he chuckles. “That was a gross generalization. I’m just saying she looks thoroughly unimpressed with her surroundings and would rather get out of here. It’s not even ten yet, so if she does, she could get home early enough to binge something on TV and still get to bed at a reasonable hour.” He pauses for a long beat, then asks, “You know her?”

“I met her. Watch them, okay? If this Roscoe turns up, you make sure he’s not trouble, and if anyone else should think to approach, you take care of that, too. I’ll be around. If she gets up to leave, you let me know right away.”

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