“Shut the hell up,” I growled. “No one asked you. And I seem to remember a time when you were so sure you wanted to marry Suzy Maxwell, like a fucking tool, after you fell for her in a shady-ass strip club. Where she worked. For ten years.”
He laughed. “Fair enough. But I was eighteen, and she gave one hell of a lap dance.”
“Yeah, I know.” I grinned and dug my hands deep into my pockets. “We all know.”
Chris punched my arm. “Fuck you.”
“She always liked doing that, too,” I teased, laughing when Chris growled. I shrugged. “But, honestly, it always seemed to me that you had a thing for Molly Lachlan. Every time she came outside when I was over your house, you lit up like a Christmas tree.”
Chris stiffened. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yeah, whatever, man.”
“I didn’t,” Chris argued, his whole body stiff. He acted as if I’d witnessed some big, deep secret of his and not some silly little crush he’d had as a child. “I never liked her, and never would. She’s a fucking kindergarten teacher.”
“Yeah.” I snorted. “Maybe you’re right. The two of you would be a disaster. Suzy the Stripper’s more your speed.”
He punched my arm and laughed, but it sounded strained. “You’re lucky I swore off her, as well as any and all relationships.” He gave me a meaningful look, his forehead wrinkled. “We both did. In this life, marriage just isn’t a smart idea.”
“Yeah, I know.” I lifted a shoulder. “Believe me—we’re not getting married. For real, or for show. She’s a temporary distraction, and that’s all.”
He nodded. “Just make sure she’s not distracting you too much. Now’s not the time to let your guard down.”
“Noted,” I said dryly. Stopping in front of the store, I opened the door and Chris went in first. After I grabbed a basket, I headed straight for the liquor. “Why did you come by? What’s up?”
Chris rubbed the back of his neck. “I saw him earlier today. He was at Charlie’s, and he was in a small group of guys—about four. One guess who they were.”
I tensed but forced a nonchalant shrug, even though I had a feeling I knew exactly who they were. After all, I’d seen it yesterday, too, even though I didn’t want to admit it. “I have no idea.”
“Bitter Hill.”
I froze midreach, dread hitting the bottom of my stomach like a fucking anvil. All the suspicion, all the doubts . . . yeah. They’d just blown up in my face. “Shit.”
“Yeah, I know,” Chris said, his voice so low I almost didn’t hear him. He glanced around the empty store before continuing on. “They were in the corner, whispering and drinking. And I saw money exchanged. Looks like he’s been watching you and decided to use the enemy to take care of his own issues. If Bitter Hill takes you out, no one will suspect him. Especially after what you did to them. It’s ingenious, really. Don’t you think?”
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered, grabbing vodka off the shelf.
My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out. It was a text from Heidi. Don’t forget the grenadine.
I jotted off a fast reply. I won’t. Almost done.
It felt weird typing that to someone who was waiting for me to come home. Weird . . . but not in a bad way. She’d cooked dinner for me. No one had cooked a meal for me since before Ma got sick. After she died, I’d had to take over the duty. Someone had to feed Scotty, because he sure as hell hadn’t been about to do it himself. Through trial and error, I’d taught myself. And I’d become pretty damn good at it, too.
But Heidi had cooked for me.
I tucked my phone away. When I glanced up, Chris was watching me with a frown. “What?” I snapped, grabbing a bottle of rum, too.
“You just smiled at a text message like a little girl, right after I told you something that should have you breaking shit.” He shifted on his feet, something shadowing his eyes. “What the hell is up with you, man?”
Had I smiled? I hadn’t even noticed. I yanked down some Pucker before grabbing another. “I wasn’t smiling at the message. I was smiling at the thought of ripping your throat out with my bare hands.”
“While drinking an appletini?” Chris rolled his eyes. “Yeah. So threatening, man.”
“How do you know this Pucker shit goes into an appletini?”
He lifted a shoulder. “They’re good, when you’re in the mood for something sweet. I’m not ashamed.”
We both laughed.
He sobered first.
“Look, Lucas, it’s going down. You should really come up with a plan of defense. Go to Tate and tell—”
I stiffened. “No.”
“But—”
“No.” I slammed a bottle of grenadine in the basket. “I’m not ratting out my little brother. End of story.”
“Even if he kills you?”
“If he kills me, there will be no need to decide anything at all.” I grabbed the last bottle I needed before heading for the register. “Problem solved.”
Chris made an angry sound I couldn’t even begin to describe. “That’s not funny.”
“I never said it was,” I snapped. “But I won’t turn on him.”
“Fine, then.” He held his hands out. “Tell me your plan. Go on. Let me hear it. I’m sure it’s brilliant as hell, right?”
I stayed silent, because I didn’t have one. Not yet.