Page 26 of Vegas Daddies

Brander nods. “That’s what he said. He was telling his men to make him a priority.”

“Did you find out how they were planning to—” I can’t even say the word. “Do it?”

“No. They moved onto a different conversation. Something about how much the gambling operation earned them this month.”

I sit back in the booth and tense my jaw. Great. Fucking great. I’m married, and my friend is top of the Bratva’s hit list.

“I need to call Peter.”

“Don’t,” Brander says, blocking my hand with his arm so I can no longer reach for my phone. “You’ll panic him, and we need to find out some more information first. Let’s?—”

RING! RING!

I jump out of my skin.

It’s not my phone. It’s Brander’s.

He slips it from his leather jacket, and winces when he sees the name. “It’s Alice.”

“Oh fuck.” I wince with him.

“Just answer it,” Match says. “Let’s get this thing over with.”

Brander enables the speakerphone and starts with a firm “hello?”

“Hey.” She sounds somewhat out of breath. “I need to speak to you. All of you. In person. Are you free tonight?”

Tonight’s supposed to be pool tournament night down at the clubhouse, and I’m on a winning streak. Tonight isn’t ideal, but the thought of seeing Alice again raises something unfamiliar in my chest.

“Yes, we can meet tonight.”

“My doctor’s office at seven,” I say. “Brander will message you the address.”

“Great,” she says.

And then the line goes dead.

We each share a look.

“How do you think this is gonna go down?” I ask.

Brander bites his lip. “Not good. She’ll probably ask us to fund the entire removal process.”

“Which we can’t do,” Match says.

The circumstances aren’t pleasant, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t please me knowing she’s walking around with my name on her ass.

Removing the tattoo would break a Venom Vultures code of conduct.

Tattoos canneverbe removed, especially the ones we give to women. It binds us together for the rest of our lives. Even if we enact an annulment, the tattoo ties us all to her in holy matrimony forevermore. It’s even more important than the ridiculously expensive ring we all paid for her to wear last night, because rings can be lost—tattoos can’t. Not unless the person attached to it is.

And under our protection, Alice will never be lost.

“What are we gonna say to her?” I ask Match.

For once in his life, he shrugs. “I dunno. I just guess we hear her out.”

We finish off our drinks and exit the club, returning to the blinding daylight outside. Sunlight is the starkest reminder that reality still exists. It always will.

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