“If we’re going to engage in true retribution—an eye for an eye and all that—then let’s do it right. Isaac Sylvester grabbed my woman, shook her, then called her a whore. So I knocked him out. Now,” I rubbed my hands together, “I’m ready to meet Catfish’s fist, but let’s do this right.”
Repo frowned at me, his eyes moving over my person as though searching for the truth of my claim, then turned to Catfish. “What’s all this?”
Catfish shook his head, appearing equally stunned. “Twilight won’t say what happened—”
“’Course he can’t, his jaw is wired shut.” Dirty Dave scratched his jaw, as though experiencing sympathy pains.
Catfish continued, “But Tina didn’t mention any of this.”
“Tina wouldn’t mention it because Tina only cares about Tina.” I shrugged.
Repo cast a narrowed glare over me. “You’re saying that Banana Cake girl—”
“She’s a queen, not a girl.”
He huffed impatiently. “Her majesty of bananas is your woman?”
I gave an affirmative head bob.
The three men traded stares, silently communicating with their eyeballs. This time I didn’t mind.
Catfish’s eyes cut to mine. “If that’s the case, if this is true, then I see no need for retribution. No one touches my woman and calls her a whore. Ever.”
And there it was: loyalty.
I studied the big man, surprised and impressed by his reasonableness. We might never be friends or even friendly acquaintances, but I could understand the desire to belong to something bigger, to have brothers, people who were loyal and had your back.
Suddenly, the decision my family had made, when I’d put the Iron Wraith’s fate to a vote, felt like the right one. These guys were criminals. They weren’t all evil, but they did bad things.
If they threatened me or my people, then we’d have the means to defend ourselves. If they didn’t, then the choices they made would determine the road they were on, as well as the pitfalls along the way.
Repo nodded slowly, glancing between Catfish and me.
“I guess we’ll be going.” Dirty Dave pouted, turning for the bathroom door and leaving in a huff. Clearly he’d been itching for a fight, but Dirty Dave was always itching for a fight.
In an extremely anticlimactic move, Catfish gave me one more head nod, then followed Dave out of the men’s room, leaving me to stare after the big man and the mysterious case of his vanishing murderous intentions.
Repo moved to follow, but a notion I’d held for some years made me stop him. And an idea.
“Repo, before you go . . .”
He twisted to look at me, a question written on his typically slippery features, his grip on the handle still holding the door ajar. I studied him a bit closer, noting the shape of his eyes, the lines of his nose and chin.
Based on this hunch, I said, “Jessica James is leaving next week for Italy.”
He winced. It was a subtle movement, but I was looking for it, so I caught it.
“Off to travel the world. She and Duane, they’ll be gone for a long time. They don’t know when they’re coming back.”
Repo let the door close and turned back to me, his dark eyes shuttered, and lifted his chin. “Why’re you telling me this?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m feeling charitable.”
His glare narrowed on me.
“Okay, maybe I want a favor,” I corrected.
“Why would I give you a favor for telling me about . . . about Ms. James?”
A slow grin spread over my features and I watched the older man swallow. “You know why.”
Something flashed behind his dark eyes, but he said nothing.
Taking his silence as implicit agreement, I announced, “I want Isaac Sylvester to visit his sister, apologize for being hateful, and be nice to her.”
Repo stared at me, waiting for me to continue. When I didn’t, he frowned. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He shook his head slowly. “No. That’s not it. You’ve got something up your sleeve. You always do.”
I clutched my chest as though the accusation wounded me. “Uncle Repo!” and then I added with a respectful head tilt and mock sincerity, “. . . I’m flattered.”
He smirked, squinting and turning for the door. “I’ll see what I can do.”
***
After the rehearsal dinner—during which my brothers continued to feign ignorance of my existence—I drove Jennifer home.
Home.
The thought pained me.
Tonight I would leave her. She would stay, and she would be at her home.
At some point over this last week I no longer considered the Winston homestead my home. Not anymore. Not when my woman dwelled elsewhere.
As much as I wanted her home to be my home, if Jenn was going to live anywhere on her own, I was glad she’d chosen Claire’s place. The house was basically a fortress.