Page 30 of Leather & Lark
Lark’s ice-blue eyes would slice into me if they could. “I’m the only person who can.”
My snort becomes a barked laugh as silence rolls on between us, Lark’s hard stare unblemished by my dismissive huff. “I highly doubt that, duchess. Besides, why would you want to? You don’t like me, remember?”
She lifts one shoulder. “True. But I need your help as much as you need mine. And if I get it, I can make sure your boss wins theCovaci contract back. Plus, I’ll get him the Montague contract too.”
My brow creases as I consume every micro-expression that flickers across Lark’s face. “Your family had a contract? Never heard of it.”
“The Montague side didn’t. We’ve always handled our own shit. But things are changing.” She looks up at me, then glances at something over my shoulder. When I turn to follow her line of sight, I watch Sloane gather the skirt of her wedding dress so she can sit on Rowan’s lap. His arm wraps around her waist, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to the elbows, his recent tattoo a burst of black and color across healed scars. They whisper to each other as they pass the bottle of whiskey between them. “The Montague side of the family is going to need to outsource soon,” Lark says, drawing my attention back to her. “Protection. Fixing. Cleaning. It won’t be as much work as my stepdad’s contract, but still enough to be of interest to your boss, I’m sure.”
“What’s the business? If it’s drug smuggling, I won’t do it.”
Lark rolls her eyes. “It’s not drug smuggling.”
“What then, weapons? Shipping logistics? Investments?”
Lark takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. “Muffins.”
“Muffins …? Your family’s big bad business is feckin’muffins?”
Lark jabs a finger into my chest. “Do you not know the mass market food industry is full of sociopaths and murderers and dodgy-as-fuck behavior?” Lark hisses as I dissolve into laughter. “Have you never heard of the history of literally any food and beverage franchise or producer? Montague Muffins can psycho with the best of them.”
“And you need contracts. For yourmuffinbusiness.”
“It’s a highly competitive industry. Don’t you know Bob’s Banoffees? That guy’s always riding my aunt’s ass.”
I briefly raise my hand from her waist in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay, I believe you. Anyone who feels the need to argue that point clearly fits the bill.”
“Fine. Maybe sometimes weapons might get shipped with a batch or two, but mostly it’s just about the muffins.” Lark rolls her eyes and shifts her attention to the other couples on the dance floor. Her steps become smaller as she watches them, her movements stiff. Maybe it’s just nerves that I sense in her. She’s clearly worried about getting to the point of what she wants out of this proposed deal. But when her eyes linger on Conor and his wife, Gabriela, as they dance nearby, it isn’t just anxiety that I see in Lark. It looks like loss. Like surrender. Like she’s trying to wrap herself in tight armor, when all she really wants, all she reallyneeds, is just a deep breath of cool air.
I know what that looks like, because I know what itfeelslike. “What is it you want from me? Because I’m not going to gnaw my leg free from one trap just to find myself caught in another.”
“Spoken like a true trash panda,” Lark says with a fleeting, melancholy smile. When she tugs her gaze away from Conor and Gabriela, she keeps her eyes away from mine, her face pale. “It seems as though someone is killing off my mother and stepfather’s business associates. It’s spilling into my extended family. And this isn’t really the kind of thing where we want the police nosing around in our shit. I’m sure you can understand wanting to keep law officials away from the people you love, right?”
“Right,” I reply, my voice grim. I automatically scan the room to find my brothers. “Do you have anything to go on?”
“Nothing concrete yet aside from a set schedule. The killer seems to be targeting the victims when they’re alone and leaves nothing behind. But I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me put the pieces together. From what I understand, that kind of thing is in your skill set.” Lark nods in Rowan and Sloane’s direction. “You know how to investigate crime as much as you know how to cause it. I know you’ve put together information for their annual game.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you know about that.”
“Let’s just assume from now on that I know more about you than you do about me, shall we?”
Lark’s snide little glare isn’t just a swipe at me, it’s a warning. And though I try to keep my expression neutral, we both know she’s right. Ever since the night we met, I’ve done my best to avoid anything that has to do with her, mostly out of sheer shame and stubbornness. The consequence? Lark Montague now has the upper hand.
“So my boss gets the two contracts, you get the murderer, and I get my freedom. Everybody wins. Does that sum it up?”
Fine lines crinkle at the corners of her eyes as Lark’s face scrunches in a cringe. “Almost.”
“What do you mean,almost?”
“There’s a slight catch.”
“Can’t wait to hear this.”
“We need to get married.”
“Bollocks.” I snort a laugh, but nothing in Lark’s expression changes. I laugh again and it’s a derisive, mirthless sound, but she doesn’t flinch. “Oh my feckin’ Christ, you’re bloody serious.”
“Sadly.”
