Page 33 of Perfect Order
My teeth lock together. “It’s not open for discussion.” Carys starts to speak, but I cut her off. “I have to have answers.”
“I’ll let it drop on one condition.”
“Fine.”
“You let someone you trust know when you’re going to be there.”
Since that’s a condition I can live with, and since I planned to do so anyway, I capitulate. “Done. Now, what else can you tell me about the other men my sister despised?”
Carys sits back, and we talk about men who made up the male presence of Kylie Miles—those the press knew about and those they didn’t know about. And while we do, I realize something that breaks my heart.
My sisterdidhave her own secrets.
I shove the emotions that come with that into a box. One day, I might be able to pull them out and deal with them. Right now, I’m gathering all the information I need to find out who killed her.
And then I can finally grieve.
Kane
Snowy-T is having a party tonight. Trust me, not even the god-like Beckett Miller could drag me to one of those parties again. No way, no how.
But don’t worry, the pictures of who was in attendance will be front and center tomorrow. Just you wait and see.
— Sexy&Social, All the Scandal You Can Handle
“Do I look like a fucking Uber? I mean really. Is this what I do?” Beckett snaps from the back of the blacked-out SUV I’m driving through the streets of Manhattan around 3:00 a.m.
I don’t bother to respond because the irony of him lounging in the back while I drive isn’t lost on either of us when he takes a temporary break from ranting to twist his lips to form a semblance of a smile. But it’s only temporary because he immediately goes back into bitching about Erzulie. “I feel like a parent going to pick up their errant child who’s broken curfew.”
I’m just as irritated as Beckett but for an entirely different reason. My principal wouldn’t let me go pick up Erzulie; he demanded to come along. “You’ll never be able to get to her without me,” he declared arrogantly.
Despite my frustration, I can’t prevent the chortle that escapes. Beckett is barely dressed in pajama bottoms and a shirt that has maybe one, two buttons done—max. When he got the text a few moments earlier from Erzulie, he must have rolled into the clothes he likely shucked next to his bed, electing to only cover what was legally required to prevent an indecent exposure charge.
His brows furrow. “I warned her, don’t go to Snowy-T’s party. She knows what the asswipe’s like. And yet, she goes. Then, I’m asleep in my own bed for the first time in weeks with the killer schedule we’re setting, and I get a text—a damn text, mind you—to come pick her ass up because she can’t move. I swear to you, Kane, that girl needs help.”
I don’t disagree with his final assessment but am not in the position to voice my opinion. I compress my lips, because while I appreciate what the fuming tattooed man in the back is saying, his perspective is slightly different than mine about the warring emotions Erzulie is battling right now. Not since that first moment we crashed into one another as I followed a hell-bent Beckett do I feel such a connection with her. After all, I know what it’s like to lose men and women who are your brothers and sisters. No, the people I lost may not have been my actual siblings, but on the battlefield, the enemy who shot us down didn’t give a flying fuck. To them we were related in a more elemental way than that—as American soldiers who took a vow to protect against enemies foreign and domestic, we stood against them. And to them, the uniform mattered much more than the faces of the person wearing it.
But to lose an actual blood relative… I shudder.
“I seriously can’t believe this shit. All I wanted to—” Beckett cuts off his wants just as we pull up at the building side entrance. “Praise the Lord. Is that what I think I’m seeing?”
“Yes.” I slam the SUV into park, and we immediately leap into action. Mitch—who has been sitting quietly, listening to Beckett bitch as is his MO—and I scramble out of the car. He flings open Beckett’s door as I scurry around the front of the car, scanning up and down the street. The three of us dash toward the empty side entrance, disbelieving there’s no paparazzi lurking about.
The security guard recognizes Beckett and opens the door as we approach. “Mr. Miller. We didn’t know you were attending, even though you know you’re always welcome at any of T’s soirees.”
He spears him a heated glare. “You don’t see me. I’m not here. You do, however, have five seconds to buzz me up to the penthouse.”
He’s about to argue, when Beckett yanks out his wallet and slaps several bills in his hand. “I need to find a friend. I’ll be back down in ten minutes. They”—he jabs his fingers at me and Mitch—“will remain here.”
I vehemently protest when Beckett aims that ferocious look at me. “There’s a reason I didn’t want her showing her face at this party. Sure as hell, I didn’t need the two of you displaying yours to add fuel to the fire.”
As the security guard makes his way over to the elevator, Beckett leans closer to murmur in my ear, “Snowy-T? The guy throwing the party? He’s notorious for having, shall we say, extracurricular enjoyment available? He’s openly propositioned her on any number of occasions. Kylie finds him to be utterly repulsive. She said the world would be better if someone would just run him over with a bus or something.” At my implacable expression, he expounds quietly, “Drugs. Prostitutes. Getting the idea yet, Kane? God help me, I have no idea what I’m about to find, and I’d like to do as much damage control as possible. Carys will find a way for me to weather whatever happens. But sure as fuck, someone gets a snap of you, and that would be the exact moment the cops come prancing through the doors. Inevitably, it happens almost every time T throws a party.” Then he flashes me a grin before tapping the side of my face. “I’d hate to find new bodyguards when I’ve just broken you both in just the way I like you.”
I roll my eyes. “Like my bosses wouldn’t deal with that.”
Beckett’s eyes become hard. “You don’t understand. This asswipe is the kind who would throw you to the cops to save his own ass, and everyone there would swear to it just to get in his favor. Your bosses may have pull—these people will crush them.” Beckett steps onto the elevator that opens behind him. “Wait here. I’ll be back in five.”
My fury mounts as I spear the security guard who steps in front of the elevator, blocking my following Beckett with a fulminating look. “If he’s not back down in ten minutes, I’m going up after him.”
