Page 65 of Ready to Cash Out

Ugo said something that sounded like a threat, and Emil’s face turned bright red.

“What was that?” Trev whispered urgently. “Because Emil’s head looks like it’s going to pop.”

“The price of pride is always blood,” Jupiter murmured.

Trev grimaced. “Cheerful.”

Sal put a hand on Emil’s shoulder, but Emil slapped it away. Emil left the table abruptly, snapping his fingers at Jupiter and Trev. “Come on. Follow me. I want to introduce our little friend to some people who will actually appreciate my fucking efforts.”

“Oh goody,” Trev mumbled.

Jupiter tugged on the leash and cleared his throat.

Trev bared his teeth in the closest thing he could manage to a smile.

Yes. Behaving.

Right.

Emil was only too proud to pull Trev around from one gangster to another, boasting loudly about how they had Boss Cold’s own brother strung up like a little bitch. Trev didn’t mind the language—he’d been called much worse, after all—but the way everyone poked, prodded, and grabbed him was driving him insane.

At the club, there were bouncers who handled this kind of thing.

No touching the merchandise was a sacred rule.

Too bad it didn’t apply here.

Everyone already knew who he was, so there were no introductions. Several people shoved him, smacked his chest, and a few even spat at him. It was humiliating and gross, and Trev was ready to grab the leash from Jupiter and choke out every last one of them.

Emil strutted like a peacock, bragging over and over how they’d snatched Cold’s little brother away. He, of course, failed to mention that Cold wasn’t quite as concerned as Emil was making him out to be.

Which did still leave a big question unanswered, perhaps the question—who had known that Trev was Cold’s brother? After all, someone had to have told the Luchesi family, but who?

Trev didn’t linger on it for long. He was more concerned with surviving this ridiculous pageant and was at least thankful that Jupiter was keeping a glass of champagne in his hand at all times. The urge to throw said champagne in Emil’s face was extraordinary, and he made a mental note to buy a very nice pair of shoes to reward his patience.

Emil eventually left them to tend to Ugo, and Trev chugged his champagne with a hiss.

“Hey, take it easy,” Jupiter murmured. “You’re only supposed to pretend to get drunk.”

“Hey, let’s trade places then,” Trev shot back haughtily.

“I mean it.” Jupiter plucked the empty glass away. “I know this is difficult?—”

“Lacing a corset up by yourself is difficult. This is bullshit.”

“I’m sorry.” Jupiter subtly ran his fingers over the edge of the collar. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

“Can I kick you in the balls?”

Jupiter snorted. “Seriously?”

Trev smirked.

Whether he trusted Jupiter or not, a swift kick in the nuts would feel extremely vindicating right now.

“It would be a really great start,” Trev teased.

“I was thinking more, like, a massage or?—”

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