Page 30 of Breaking Storm

I touch Sean’s arm and say, “Well, don’t you look handsome.”

From a sideways glance, I notice Joey’s eyebrows crinkle, and the corners of his mouth turn downward. Just a little something to put him on edge, knowing he’s the jealous type. It’s payback for my muddled head. Since the orgasms he gave me, I haven’t been able to concentrate on anything, and his presence only revives the memories and desires.

Sean opens the door and I slide in, Joey next, and as his bodyguard for an extravagant night, Sean joins us while someone else drives. They discuss the gala, strategic planning in case something happens, and I half-listen looking out the window. It’s a pleasant night out, and I can see the stars glittering in the night sky. Joey’s hand slides into mine and locks while talking to Sean as if it’s the most natural thing to do, except he’s never done it in private. Maybe in front of others, but not when there’s no one to stake a claim in front of. Instead of wrestling it away, I ignore the gesture of his broad, callous hand enveloping mine. His thumb massages over my knuckles. The fact I’m enjoying his attention bothers me.

Before we exit the limousine, Joey glides his hand to the side of my face, fingers clasping the back of my neck. He isn’t rough but applies enough pressure to have me focus on him.

“Tea. This place is going to be swarming with the mayor and his entourage, celebrities, and other crime families. Please stick close-by.” He lowers his hand.

The idea of being around the crooked mayoral staff and cops is enough to freak me out. Add in other crime families, and my heart is galloping.

“Is anything going to happen I don’t know about, Joey?” He shakes his head. “Am I in danger?”

“You’re with me, Tea. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“That doesn’t sound too reassuring.”

My eyes flicker to the chair in front of me when tears prick my nose. I flutter my lashes to stop them from flowing.

Joey’s hand rests on my thigh. “Hey, you’re not in danger. Nothing has ever occurred at these functions, because if it did, it would make international headlines. I’m simply saying it’s best for us to stick together.” My eyes meet his and for a brief moment, Joey gives me the sweetest smile.

At the charity gala, Sean and Joey are on each side of me and my fingers squeeze their solid biceps. They had to surrender their weapons at the door. I guess even criminals follow rules. Go figure. With each step, the tension lessens, knowing they’re protecting me. We check-in to find our table arrangements, seated by Frankie and his wife, along with several men I remember from the barbeque. Joey and Sean’s heads haven’t stopped scoping out the room. When I gaze at Joey, he’s staring at someone, body stiff, and his arm coils around my waist. My head turns in the direction he’s looking, but I don’t see anyone who poses a threat.

He breaks his glower by pulling out my chair. Once I’m seated, he sits to my right, and Sean to my left. During dinner, most people remain seated aside from a couple of stragglers. The food is delicious. Better than the conversation. Joey’s been talking to Frankie while some guy on the other side of Sean has occupied his time. A woman glares at me from across the table. Her black hair is twirled and piled on top of her head, and the largest earrings I’ve ever seen dangle down to her shoulders. Thick eyelashes flap when her eyes shift from Joey to me. Her cheekbones are prominent on her gaunt face and her collarbones create a trench. A typical criminal underworld Barbie.

Dinner ends, so I decide to use the washroom to beat the crowds. When I stand, Sean does the same. I narrow my eyes and he crosses his arms over his chest. Without a word, I leave, and Sean falls in-line with me.

“You are not coming into the women’s washroom.”

He snaps his fingers and sarcasm drips. “Oh, darn.”

The door closes behind me and I can still hear him laughing. It seems I wasn’t the only one wanting to beat the crowds because there’s a small line. An attendant spritzes each stall with a flowery scent and offers the stall to the next person. The obnoxious smell blends into the hairspray clouds and expensive perfumes drenching the small area. These women love braising in fragrance instead of adding touches to erogenous zones.

Someone bumps into me, and when I look over my shoulder, it’s underworld Barbie. Her snare enhances the deep parentheses at the corners of her mouth. Up close, she’s a Giotto work-in-progress. Brows thick like moss hover above aging eyes. The tip of her nose curves upwards. She’s a gothic wreck. And when she speaks, it’s as if she guzzled moonshine and it choked the breath from her before her vocal cords gained traction again.

“So, you’re the one who snagged Joey.”

I let out a slight laugh. “Yes. I was fishing one day, and he got caught on my line.”

“Definitely live up to your name.”

My index finger presses against my chin, eyes wide as I ask, “Oh, I have a name?”

“A high falutin ghetto bitch.”

I cover my mouth when I laugh.High falutin.There’s a phrase I haven’t heard in a long time.Ghetto bitch? Which dirty family did she crawl out from? Doesn’t she know ghetto is what ghetto does, and right now, she’s slumming it.

Her hand raises, about to strike at me, but the door swings open and Sean comes in. Barbie stops mid-air and skirts around me into the unoccupied stall. Some of the women gasp while others gawk at him. A woman walking out slides her hand up his arm and winks.

“Sean, I thought you weren’t going to come in here.”

“You were taking too long.”

“What if I was taking a crap?”

Some older women grumble in disgust, shuffling out the door, while others look at me with revulsion. I don’t care. I might as well act ghetto in their company.

“Too much information, Teagan.” He gestures to an open stall. “Your turn.”

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