Page 11 of Kingmakers, Year Two

Everything is flawless. Till I spot another uninvited guest.

She’s standing over by the bar, sipping a glass of my extremely expensive stolen champagne, wearing a minidress that uses less fabric than an oversized handkerchief. I can see at least six different men hovering around her, waiting for their chance to swoop in, while she chats up the Cubs’ newest pitcher.

The pitcher looks like he took a pop fly to the head. He’s staring into Sabrina’s eyes with a dazed expression, failing to bring his straw to his lips as he tries to take a sip of his cocktail and pokes himself in the nose instead. Sabrina stifles a giggle, biting the corner of her lip.

I shove my way through the crowd and grab her by the arm.

“Excuse me,” I say to the pitcher.

He shakes his head, coming out of his trance. “Hey! We were talking!”

“She’s gonna talk you right into Cook County jail,” I inform him. “She’s sixteen years old.”

The pitcher’s jaw drops.

Sabrina scowls at me, an expression that only manages to make her look more beautiful. My cousin is fucking dangerous.

“Let go of me,” she says coolly.

“Not a fuckin’ chance. You’re gatecrashing.”

“Oh, please.” She tosses her long, dark hair back over her shoulder. “You’re letting anybody in here. That dude gave up three home runs to the Sox on Thursday.”

I keep dragging her toward the exit. “Yup. Everybody’s welcome except you.”

“Why not?”

“ ‘Cause I don’t want Uncle Nero to cut my fucking head off.”

Now Sabrina’s really pissed.

“Are you serious?”

“As serious as antibiotic resistance.”

“Miles!”

“Sabrina!” I’ve taken her all the way outside to the ivy-choked alleyway next to the factory. “Look, I get it. You hate being treated like a kid, and you just want to dance and have a couple drinks and make those dudes embarrass themselves for your amusement. On a normal night, I wouldn’t have a problem with it. But I’ve got a lot riding on this and I can’t keep an eye on you at the same time.”

“I don’t need you to babysit me!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know—you can take care of yourself. Go do it at some other party, ‘cause your dad’s already pissed at me.”

I whistle to catch the attention of a cab dropping off another load of partygoers.

Sabrina cocks an eyebrow at me. “You did steal his car.”

“I borrowed it for a photoshoot. And I brought it right back again.”

“With sand in the engine.”

I shove her in the backseat of the cab.

“Goodnight!” I slam the door in her face.

Whatever Sabrina shouts back at me is lost in the pounding bass emanating from the charcoal factory.

With a sigh of relief, I turn back to the party.

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