Lost Angeles (65 page)

“I did hear that,” Cas acknowledges. “I still don’t trust him with anything important.”

“Yeh, but you don’t trust anybody.”

“Indeed, I can count my allies on one hand.”

“I got it down to one finger,” I say, jerking my thumb at my chest. Cas gives me a bland look until I huff and flip him the bird. “Ok,
fine
, I trust you, too.”

“You should—” But I lose Cas’s attention the second his gaze flickers over my shoulder. All the calm impassivity drains away, and his expression goes blank. Not perfectly stoic, not bored or bemused, just
blank
.

Sonuvabitch.

Apparently no one told Reille that her ex was in the VIP suite, and now she’s headed toward the bar, checking with the bartender to make sure we’ve popped enough corks to make this worth her while. It isn’t until she turns around that she catches sight of Cas. Then, she stops dead in her tracks. I swear to fuckin’ god, it’s like watching a train wreck, because I’m horrified, but I just can’t look away. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other in a month, and girly’s face goes red as her hair in two seconds flat.

I honestly don’t know whether she’s about to blow a fuse or blush herself into oblivion, but the minute Cas’s arse leaves the chair, I find myself muttering, “Whatever happened to not rocking the boat, mate?”

Or staying on the wagon, for that matter.

Either he doesn’t hear me or he chooses to ignore me, making his way toward her, stride even and rolling. Reille ducks her head and goes to step past him, but he catches her by the elbow, swinging her around and muttering something that I can’t hear, even with my extra-sharp senses. A shadow falls over me as Matty leans across the table, snatching up the untouched tumbler of scotch and tossing it back. He looks like he might vomit for a second, but he manages to gag just the once and school his expression in record time. I think he sometimes forgets that he’s not actually human anymore, although if he weren’t so damn busy chasing after everyone’s else’s greener pastures, he might turn out to be a decent person. Right now, though, he’s just a washed-up Ferris Bueller wannabe, drinking someone else’s expensive scotch, wishing for things he can’t have, and getting one step closer to complete and utter implosion.

He drops into the chair that Cas just vacated, youthful face contorted in disgusted disbelief. “Aren’t you gonna stop him?”

All that gets out of me is a huff of something that’s not really amusement. “You don’t
stop
Cas Declan, fuckwit. Nothing
stops
Cas Declan.”

As promised, the fight escalates in seconds. Anger sparks before it ignites, and then Cas has his fingers twined in the bracelet at Reille’s wrist, twisting the silver chain until the links clamp down on her pale skin.

“Well then, aren’t you at least going to help her?” Matty asks, raising his hand to scratch at his temple.

“Nah, there’s no help for her. Reille Reece is a lost cause, my friend. Fang-whore for life.”

“What if Cas kills her?” Matty’s eyes follow me as I rise from my chair, jerking my jacket down and slipping the front buttons through the holes.

“He won’t.”

“How do you know?”

An irritated sigh escapes me, tinged with no little bit of disgust. “Because the fucking sod loves her. That’s why.”

“That doesn’t look like love to me,” Matty says, flicking a sidelong at Cas and Reille.

That gives me pause, and I glare down at Matty until he turns those earnest eyes toward me. He gives a shrug as if to ask what I’m staring at; in return, I give him my best intimidator of a face. I can actually see the moment he starts to doubt himself, throat working, eyes shifting briefly away as if he’s looking for escape.

“And what, exactly,” I say, “do you think love looks like?”

He looks up at me like a damn kid. “I dunno.”

“Precisely.” There’s a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye, but I ignore it. Matty springs from his seat, taking two anxious steps toward the duo at the door. Before he has the chance to take two more, my hand flashes out, palm pressed to his chest. “Leave ’em alone. Cas knows what he’s doing.”

His green eyes shift back and forth, but it only takes a second for him to submit, his gaze hitting the floor as he holds his hands up in surrender. “All right, fine.”

I nod once I’m sure he’s not going to disobey. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go collect my birthday pussy and head home.”

I didn’t lie to Matty; I try not to lie unless I have to. People die for love, people kill for it, people disrupt the
status quo
for it. Love is a fucking battlefield, and it does crazy things to a man.

Napoleon and Josephine.

Even on his death bed, years after the affairs and lies and abandonment.

Romeo and Juliet.

There’s a manic sort of desperation, a rash impulsiveness that rules all thought.

Caesar and Cleopatra.

It defies all logic, ignores all opposition, makes no fuckin’ sense.

My life is simple: make the drugs, run the drugs, sell the drugs, launder the money. Shmooze the traffickers, play the facade, and whatever else happens? No fucking attachments. No family, no females, no friends who can’t take a few bullets to the face. I always carry a gun. I watch where I’m going. And I stay alert every single second of every day.

I love my life; it’s an adrenaline junkie’s wet dream.

“’Allo, ladies.” Sidling up between my matching bookends for this evening, I grin as I squeeze myself into their collective cleavage. Flinging my arms over their shoulders, I lead Carla and Starla away from the bar. They’ve got enough liquor in them that they’re giggling like idiots before we even hit the doorway. “Who’s up for a rousing game of Rainbow? First girl to make my dick look like a candy cane gets to ride it.”

Yup, I’m good with things just as they are. Love is a bloody fucking mess.

Heloise and Abelard.

Not worth losing my cock over.

Ever.