Page 15 of Thunder

Rook puts a hand on my shoulder and one on Bullet's. "I knew you'd both agree."

"As you all are aware, we're here tonight to collect community feedback about the eco resort project, Mar y Tierra, that's being developed on that stretch of property north of town just off the old coastal road," says another city councilwoman who has taken the stage while I've been distracted with Rook's potential threat to murder me over his artistic vision for the MC. "Now, continuing from how we left things at the last meeting, we're going to open up the floor to community questions regarding the role of city council in the project. Then, after that, we'll bring in representatives from the firm Sterns, Santo, and Russell to talk with you."

There's general shuffling and murmuring as some of the assembled community members cluster around a microphone that's been set up near the front of the room for people to use to voice their questions.

Rook leans over to me. "I'll remind you: I ain't saying shit. So don't ask me to ask any questions, got it?"

"Wasn't that a question, Rook?" I reply.

"Do you want to know what happened to the last person who decided to be a smartass with me?"

"There you go with another question," Bullet says. "Seems you really enjoy asking questions."

"Shut the hell up," Rook says a little too loud, drawing reprimanding looks from several members of the crowd. "Sorry," he adds, standing for a moment to give an apologetic wave. "You two provoke me one more time. See what happens."

There's whispering and hushed conversations from the front of the room as the first person takes hold of the microphone. It's an old man, in his sixties, maybe, with a smattering of gray hair on his otherwise bald head, a short, gray goatee, and spectacles so thick he can probably see atoms.

"I want to talk about the parking rates being charged along Pineview Avenue. Just last year, they were a dollar and twenty-five cents for an hour. Now, they're a dollar and seventy-five cents, and I just want to say that I don't think that's fair," he says.

The female council member, a woman in her mid-forties, with curly red hair, a pale complexion, and a look on her face like she's seen everything and ceased being shocked by it about ten years ago, clears her throat and picks up her own microphone.

"Sir, I hate to interrupt you, but we want to keep the questions strictly to the topic at hand: the resort development."

"But the parking rates are outrageous. Doesn't this community give a damn, or do all you high-handed elites just want to continue milking this city and all its citizens of everything we're worth?"

"It's fifty cents," she replies. "And if it's that important to you, which, if it is, fine, but you need to take it up at the city roads meeting, which is next month on the fifth."

"With all due respect, ma'am, I can't," the man replies.

"You can't?"

"Not since the restraining order."

"Please sit down, sir. Next question," she says.

People shuffle forward, ask their questions, and gradually all three of the city council members sitting on the small stage look as if they wish they could go back in time to the day they first got involved in city government and slap some sense into themselves.

"I think we're done taking questions for today," the city councilwoman says. "Now, we'll bring out the representatives from SSR. Just a moment."

"About damn time. All these people talking, reminding me why I hate everyone in the first place," Rook mumbles.

"This is when we need to pay attention. Grandma Eileen is going to confront them, once they’ve finished speaking and open the floor up for questions, we need you and your friends to be very vocal in supporting her," Natalie whispers.

"We will. Don't worry," I answer.

"I told you, I'm not talking," Rook says. "But I'll glare in a very supportive way."

"His glare is serious. Trust me," I say to Natalie.

"Are you sure, Marcus? We really need…"

But the rest of what she plans to say fades into the background, replaced by the thundering sound of my heartbeat in my ears as the SSR representatives step onto the little stage in the center of the meeting hall.

It’s her.

Wearing a tailored dark navy suit that fits her so well that, even though she's now my fucking enemy, I still have to bite my tongue to keep in a moan as memories of last night and the way she moved every curve of her sensual body flood through me.

On the stage, some middle-aged man in a suit has a microphone, and he's going on with some pre-rehearsed spiel. "Ladies and gentlemen, the Mar y Tierra Eco Resort is more than just a green, carbon-negative development. It is a gateway to prosperity for all of Costa Oscura..."

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