Page 58 of Tempting God

“Has Blanc said anything about inviting Walt Ryans to join the Brotherhood?”

His dark eyebrows lift. “Not to me, but I’m not the Face of the Brotherhood.”

Meaning Brooks would be the one to ask…

My gaze dances around the room. Brooks is speaking to a group of new recruits, so it will be a moment before he can break away from them.

“I see Ryans is here. Is that why you want to know if Blanc is going to bring him into the Brotherhood?”

“Partly. Blanc said he couldn’t guarantee the Brotherhood supporting me in my campaign. Just a bit odd that now he’s suddenly friends with Ryans.”

Moretti takes a sip of his drink.

“There’s been a lot of changes happening within the Brotherhood.”

I scoff. “How very political of you. You may have missed your calling, Moretti.”

“So I’ve been told.” He turns to face me, positioning his body where no one can see what he’s saying. “Blanc is on the defense now. He’s likely looking to bring in new members who aren’t out to kill him.”

“Who in the fuck said I was out to get him?”

“No one, but you’ve got to be on his list of suspects. Hell, I imagine all the men in line for Elite Member spots are. You, Santos, Irons, Montgomery, and Wolfe all have something to gain with all these deaths.”

“Just as you and Brooks did.”

“Exactly. My point is that Blanc can’t trust anyone. Hell, his own best friend was planning a coup.” He gives me a long look. “He’s going to make moves to protect himself. Tell me, Carter, what would you do if you were in his shoes? Who would make the perfect pawn in his game?”

My gut tells me we’re no longer talking about Ryans.

“He’s already told me. He wants me to marry Greer. But she’s no pawn, and he’s a fool if he thinks that little of her.”

Moretti looks me over. “Be good to her, Carter, or we’re going to have a problem.”

He slaps my back and finishes his drink.

“I still don’t like you, Moretti, but I respect you.”

“Ditto.”

He leaves, going to speak to someone else. Brooks catches my gaze and I dip my head, letting him know I need to speak to him. He nods back.

Several people come to congratulate me as I wait. One person gets my attention, and I find myself truly smiling as he approaches. Dimitri Santos, one of my oldest friends, walks toward me, a scowl on his face. I don’t think I’ve seen the man smile since his wife passed.

“Santos,” I greet.

He grunts as he takes a glass of vodka from a passing server.

“Congratulations, Elite Member Carter. Let’s hope this is the last promotion for a while.”

His gaze is on Jones, who stands against the wall. An unusual place for Jones. He’s usually the life of the party, so to speak.

Brooks joins us and asks, “What are we looking at?”

“Jones.”

“Ah. I suppose this is rather hard for him. He and Zhang were seeing each other in secret.”

Suddenly, the man’s physical appearance and attitude make sense. He’s grieving the loss of a lover.

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