Page 365 of Lodestar

He curved an arm around my waist and I let him haul me into him. “It’s a good thing you’re doing.”

“Being Minnie’s target practice?”

“Yeah. She needs someone to blame, and she can’t blame Ovianar yet even if, in the grand scheme of things, Minerva knows she was living on borrowed time.”

“How do you always cut to the heart of the matter?” I grumbled, turning away from the windows that showed London’s cityscape to bury my face in his chest.

“Because neither of us appreciates bullshit?”

“Katina speaks fluent bullshit.”

“We’ll cure her of it.”

“Nah. It’s a good skill to have in this fucked-up world we live in. Imagine her in PR?”

He whistled under his breath. “You make a good argument.”

“It’s how I roll.” I smiled as I tugged on his jacket. “You look smart.”

“You don’t,” he teased.

“Hey! I resent that.”

“You’re wearing shitkickers, Star. To a funeral.”

“It’s my uniform.” I shrugged. “I won’t apologize for it.”

“Never asked you to. I’m only saying it’s against the law to wear jeans to a funeral.”

“They’re black! So’s my tee!”

His lips twitched. “Come on, G.I. Star. Let’s get this show on the road, hmm?”

Huffing, I let him lead me out of the suite we were staying in and toward the elevators. As the doors opened, my brows arched when I came across Tryn Bowen.

Conor froze then did the sweetest thing—attempted to shove me behind him. When that didn't work, he stepped ahead, growling, “This is a private elevator.”

Bowen merely smiled. “I own the hotel. Nothing is private to me.” He held out a hand. “A pleasure as always, Star.”

“You know this guy?” Conor demanded, twisting around to study my expression as I shook Tryn's hand.

“You do too. By name, at any rate. This is Tryn Bowen.”

Conor frowned but when Bowen kept his hand out for him to shake as well, he accepted it. “Four Horsemen, right?”

Bowen smirked. “One and only.”

“Which are you?” Conor mocked. “Death, pestilence, war, or famine?”

“Oh, I’m pestilence,” Bowen retorted, amusement lighting his eyes. “Harder than VD to get rid of.”

“I’m sure.”

“Irish Mob, no?”

Conor hummed. “That’s me.”

“I always make a point of meeting any factions who wish to stay at one of my hotels.” He eyed me. “Even more so when they come with an intriguing entourage.”

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