Page 73 of You Don’t Kiss Your Brother's Best Friends

“On the floor of the hallway, just outside the library.”

The floor. That little bit of information made me queasy. None of it made any sense.

“You’re right. Something’s up.”

Raif was an uptight asshole, but his presence was comforting. Even unknowingly, he’d acted as a buffer between us and Blight.

“What do you think happened to him?”

Bishop shook his head. It wasn’t a good shake.

“Well… shit.”

I’d gone the past two days trying to avoid this man as much as possible. Now that he was gone, I actually thought about going out to look for him.

“What do Kayden and Andre think?”

“They have no idea. But our first priority was to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine. Just… busy.”

“YO!”

As if he were listening in, Bruschetta Joe cried out. He pointed to a tray of drinks, and motioned me over with one hairy Italian hand.

“Go,” said Bishop. “We’ll talk again at dinner service.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t leave this room again,” he said, pointing to the garden door. “No more stepping out for fresh air.”

“I—I wasn’t—”

“I mean it,” he admonished. “Not even into the hallway. Stay here, with the crowd. It’s safest.”

Bishop pulled me in with one corded arm and kissed me so fiercely it made me swoon. His confidence was a huge turn-on. No matter how many eyes might be on us, he didn’t care.

“This time tomorrow it’ll just be us,” he growled, his voice raw with arousal. “We’re going to take care of you, Joce.”

He squeezed me once more before letting go.

“Allof us.”

~ 44 ~

JOCELYN

I wasn’t even remotely prepared for dinner service. Then again, no one was. This time around, it had nothing to do with the food, the kitchen, or even the staff.

No, it had to solely to do with Roman Wynter.

Any merriment or camaraderie that might’ve carried over from last night was squashed instantly, the very moment the mercenary captain entered the room. His expression was sour, sullen, and his body language radiated an underlying anger. He looked ready to take it out on anyone who dared even speak to him. The dark circles under his eyes hinted that he hadn’t slept a wink, either. So much for his nap.

The real issue however, was with his men. Upon arriving at dinner they immediately took over the room, and the usual security forces were nowhere to be seen. The minute the last seat was filled, they blocked the exits in an armed show of brute force that left no question as to who, in fact, was in charge.

But there was a great deal of animosity, too. A general disdain hung palpably in the air, hovering over the entire dinner service like a living, breathing thing. Dirty looks were being cast in every direction, course by course, and it set everyone on edge. Jacob Foley’s men were undoubtedly distraught by his disappearance, and their eyes gravitated to his empty chair. Victor Knox’s men, who’d waited an hour or more at the dockfor his arrival, were likewise pissed. Together with Foley’s men, both groups were distracted by the abrupt seizure of the room by Roman’s armed guards.

Blight, I realized, was no longer a mercenary company. It was three. What started as fissures had fractured the company into three distinct groups, each eying the other suspiciously, and sometimes far more than that.

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