Page 16 of Dark Secrets

“A better turnout than I expected,” Evie added. “What are everyone’s initial impressions?”

“The women underestimated themselves.”

Holt nodded at Reagan. “By a lot.”

“The boys overestimated their abilities. Especially the ones who put themselves at a high skill level.”

Reagan laughed. “I saw the brunette put Timmy McBride on his ass more than a few times.”

Brogan snorted. “He deserved it. His form is terrible.”

“And he figured he could beat her just because she’s a woman,” James added.

“So I’m not totally out of my mind with this plan?” Evie met each gaze in turn.

“Absolutely not,” Reagan assured her with a bolstering pat. “I’ve talked to at least a dozen women who couldn’t make it today, and they’re all planning on coming to some of the other self-defense classes we have set up. This is long overdue. Aisling, me, my sister, we’ve been in the minority for far too long, and we don’t need to be. Not when so many women are willing and able to make us even better than we are.”

Evie nodded. “The meeting with the family heads went worse than I expected, even if Declan didn’t seem as rattled by it as I felt. It seemed mostly split along generational lines, except for your dad,” Evie said to Reagan. “Mick Donahue was a very vocal dissenter.”

“We expected as much,” Brogan reminded her.

“I know.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, I’ve got to get going. I can’t make the next training, but I’ll be at that self-defense class this weekend, Reagan.”

“She’s really worried about this,” Holt said once Evie had slipped out.

“There’s a lot to worry about,” Brogan replied. “But change is messy, and if Declan really didn’t think he’d be able to pull this off, he wouldn’t have let it get this far. He puts the stability and longevity of the syndicate above everything else. Not even Evie could talk him into something he didn’t see as a long-term benefit.”

“That’s true,” James agreed. “And Reagan is right. There’s no need to leave this resource untapped, especially not with Declan’s expansion plans gaining ground in New York.”

“I love being right.” Reagan grinned when James rolled his eyes. “Now, let’s re-sort these groups so we can get out of here.”

It took them close to an hour to shuffle the groups based on actual skill level and set up a proper training schedule. They’d run similar drills on shooting and tactical skills at the next session, and then James could really sink his teeth into the meat of what he was best at. Hand-to-hand combat.

Reagan’s skill lay in using knives or other close combat weapons, but he held all his power in his fists. Winning a fight was about the expert use of your body, exacting the right amount of force at the right moment, and reading your opponent. Fighting was a dance, and in another life, he might have been a boxer.

The sky was already tinged with pink when he stepped out of the warmth of the building and into the biting wind. At least it wasn’t snowing. He checked his phone for the first time all day, satisfied that his lack of missed texts meant nothing had blown up at the pub.

Beyond the focus of today’s training, he could let his mind drift to Delaney. She’d looked so comfortable sitting there while Addy and Clara argued over superheroes of all things. It was the first time he’d seen her really relaxed instead of her normal hyper-vigilance. It was nice.

Until he ruined it by announcing his presence. He’d caught all of them off guard, but only Delaney’s walls had gone all the way up. She was always watching him as if he might come unglued at any moment and attack.

Then Addy and Clara had pushed it a step further by nearly running their mouths about syndicate business, the one thing they were not allowed to run their mouths about, right in front of her. Delaney’s whole body had gone rigid, and her eyes had filled with fear when he’d silenced Addy with a look.

Just when he thought he was getting somewhere with her. Not that he should be getting anywhere at all. But just because he shouldn’t didn’t mean he didn’t want to.

ChapterEight

Delaney scooped a ten-dollar bill off the table she was bussing and shoved it into her apron pocket with a smile. Saturdays were gold most anywhere in the restaurant business, but here in Philadelphia, or at least at The Black Orchid, they seemed to be magic.

There was some kind of ball game on tonight—she had no idea which one—and they’d been packed since six. Her feet might hurt, and her back might be a little sore from carrying tray after tray of drinks and food, but her apron pocket was full of cash tips, and more in credit cards waited for her at the end of the night.

Tonight would easily put her close to a thousand dollars in savings. She felt almost antsy to be carrying around that much money, but she liked to feel the weight of it tucked against her heart. So far Clara hadn’t even blinked at her request to trade smaller bills for larger ones.

She cleared the rest of the plates and glasses from the table into the bus tub and gave it a quick swipe with her cloth before shuffling the salt and pepper shakers to the back of the table with the laminated drink menu. No sooner had she set the tub on her hip and stepped away than a party of four claimed it, and she bit back another grin.

“Having a good night?” James wondered when she stepped up to the bar after ringing in a drink order.

“A very good night.” She watched him pluck the ticket from the printer and slap it on the bar as he grabbed a shaker glass and a bottle of rum. “Are you putting something in the drinks to make people so generous?”

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