Page 91 of Ruling Scar
“Do they have social media?” she asks.
“No,” Roma says with the air of an aggrieved man.
Russet talks to herself as she types on her phone. “Let’s check Lennie’s page and see if they’re under her friends profiles.”
She pops up in her chair and the image of a meerkat comes to mind. “Lennie posted on her stories. She never posts. Okay, let’s look.” She taps the screen.
“Does she always talk to herself like this?” Roma asks our brother.
Max sighs, sinking into his chair.
Russet’s mouth hangs open.
“What?” Roma asks, trying to peek over.
“Did you know they’re all hanging out tonight?” she asks me.
“With Isolde and Ren? Yes.”
Ivan informed me she’d arrived in the city several hours ago. I’m trying my best to ignore how he’s in closer proximity to Leonora than I currently am. It doesn’t help knowing I’m paying the man and when I asked him for an update earlier he didn’t reply. The bastard.
“They’re at a bar.” Her brow furrows and she sighs. At this rate, we’ll be here all night.
I take out my phone, bringing up Leonora’s Instagram. She last posted a year ago. A picture of a bookstore. She aptly captured it as ‘My happy place’.
After clicking her profile picture, I come to the conclusion that girl’s night isn’t taking place at Fujimori’s. My woman looks over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed. Her shoulders are on display and she’s wearing a pearl comb, the one I sent her this morning, in her hair. She’s a fucking goddess, but the way she bites her lip, you’d think she didn’t know it.
Fucking cock tease, my woman.
There’s a dark, moody interior but before I can figure out where she’s at, Russet gasps.
“That’s Tyler!”
“Who?” Roma asks.
“Tyler.” Russet shows him her phone, zooming in. “Ren’s speaking to Tyler.”
“Tyler,” he faintly echoes.
I click forward until I’m on the photo they’re discussing. The focal point is a gilded bar, but sure enough, in the background, Ren leans over, speaking to a bartender. I’ve never seen the man before, but from his position, if he chose to look down, he’d get an eyeful of Ren.
Where the hell would they go dressed up in evening wear?
Russet notices Roma’s fixation. “Tyler’s gay.”
“That’s Nancy’s son, right?” Max asks. He’s referring to Nancy Mulligan, one of the city’s best triggermen and formerly Russet’s next-door neighbor. She taught her how to shoot and Russet took the news of her death hard. “I didn’t take him for a bartender.”
She studies the photo, leaning near Roma so they can both peer down. “I mean sometimes he’ll pick up a shift. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”
“That she’s talking to the son of Nancy Mulligan?” Roma quietly says. He leans back in his chair, physically distancing himself from the photo.
“I’m sure it’s just business then.”
“No,” he says in that same pathetically, quiet voice. At some point, Ren and Roma have to stop this nonsense. “All business is taken care of at Fujimori’s.”
“Okay. . . well, I’m sure—” Russet slaps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God.” The words are muffled.
“What?” Roma asks, pausing his gentle bouncing of Sailor, who babbles away.
