Gwyn considered it. ‘Not even one time? Not even to wonder how it would be?’
‘Gwyn, I have never once thought about Thomas Thorne in any sexual position. Whatsoever. Although I take it you have?’ she added slyly.
Gwyn rolled her eyes again. ‘Yeah. God. I really can’t believe you haven’t. He’s . . .’ She made an amorphous gesture with her hands. ‘Like . . . wow.’
Lucy laughed, and it was a beautiful sound after the heaviness of their conversation. ‘Yes, dear. Very articulate. Now, JD?’ She hummed. ‘Like . . . wow.’
Gwyn felt her own laugh all the way to her gut, and it felt so good. Like an icy bottle of water on a really hot day. A relief.
Lucy’s brows arched. ‘Although I have to wonder how that will . . . you know. Work. You’re . . . you.’ Her hands made a ‘small’ gesture, then widened comically. ‘And he’s . . . him.’
Gwyn’s cheeks burned again. ‘It will be fine. I’ve been with men nearly his size.’ Like Evan.
No. She visualized pushing that shit into a closet and locking the door. I am not going there.
Lucy had sobered as well. ‘Thorne is not Evan.’
‘I know. I guess I need to make sure that he knows that I know.’
Lucy leaned forward until their brows were touching, the gesture one they’d learned from Thorne. ‘Then I’d say you have some work ahead of you. These conversations are not the most fun to have, but the rewards are pretty damn awesome.’ She pulled back to kiss Gwyn’s forehead. ‘Good luck.’
‘Yeah. I’m going to need it. Because I have to do something big before he does something stupid.’
She stood up to go, but Lucy gently gripped her wrist, holding her in place. ‘No,’ she said, very seriously. ‘You don’t have to do “something big”. You just have to let him know that he’s yours.’
Gwyn nodded once. That didn’t sound so very difficult. Because he was. Mine. He’s always been mine. ‘I can do that.’
‘Good.’ Lucy released her. ‘Go, break a leg.’
Gwyn managed a small grin, then frowned slightly when her phone began to buzz. It was Mowry, who managed the club when she wasn’t around. Normally he called her much later. They had a standing time to talk at two a.m., after last call.
She was debating declining the call because she needed to talk to Thorne. But then a text popped up, also from Mowry.
Answer your damn phone!
New dread descended as she answered. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Thank God,’ Mowry said, breathless. ‘I tried to call Thorne, but he’s not picking up. Is he okay?’
‘He’s . . . okay, yes,’ Gwyn said, not wanting to explain the entire situation to their club manager. ‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘You know how I told you about the two guys who tried to deal from the club last night?’
‘Yes.’ The same two men Prew had followed. The ones who’d hoped Thorne’s troubles were a green light for them to use Sheidalin as their own. ‘What about them?’
‘They just turned up dead.’
Gwyn’s legs turned to jelly and she sat back down blindly. ‘Where?’
‘At a warehouse near the docks.’
Relief whooshed out of her. ‘Oh God. I thought you were going to say they were found at the club.’
Lucy’s brows were winging up urgently, but Gwyn shook her head because Mowry was talking. ‘It would have been better if they had been. Gwyn, that warehouse is the headquarters for the Circus Freaks.’
It took her a moment to make the connection, but it still made no sense. ‘The motorcycle gang?’ She blinked for a moment, trying to process. She’d heard about the Circus Freaks on the news. They, along with a few other gangs – including Tavilla’s Los Se?ores de la Tierra – were jockeying for ownership of the city. Because of the harbor and shipping and . . . She was sure there was more, but she couldn’t remember it now. ‘How do you even know that? How do you know any of this?’
He huffed impatiently. ‘I know the warehouse is the Circus Freaks’ because I keep up with that shit. I know their colors, their members, their hotspots. So does Ming, and all the other bouncers too. Freaks come into the club sometimes, trying to deal, and I have to know who to boot.’
‘All right, that makes sense.’ She’d never even thought about that. She wondered if Thorne and Lucy knew. ‘Why didn’t I know this?’
‘It’s been within the last few years,’ Mowry said more gently. ‘So we didn’t drag you into it. But this is serious, hon, so you have to catch up, and fast. The bodies were found with their pockets – and their mouths and their wounds – stuffed with Sheidalin matchbooks.’
‘Oh shit,’ she breathed. That she understood. Another setup, this time implicating the club. ‘Mowry, Lucy’s with me. Can I put you on speaker?’
‘Is JD there?’
‘No. Just Lucy.’
‘Okay then.’ He repeated what he’d told her for Lucy’s benefit, then went on. ‘Both men were . . . eviscerated. Like the woman found with Thorne yesterday morning.’
‘Oh fucking shit,’ Lucy muttered. ‘How do you know about these bodies? I haven’t heard it on the news. And JD would know.’
‘Because I pay one of the Freaks for information,’ Mowry spat. ‘I don’t want to give a penny to those drug-dealing sons of bitches, but I do. It helps me keep this place clean. Just like Thorne demands.’
Gwyn closed her eyes. ‘Got it. Does that come out of club funds?’
‘No. Not exactly,’ Mowry admitted grudgingly. ‘It’s not a traceable thing. Just petty cash.’
Fuck, fuck, fuck. That, in and of itself, was going to ring bells if the cops investigated. Best case, it would look like they were paying extortion money to organized crime. Worst case, it would look like Mowry had been embezzling. Or that I have, because I do the motherfucking books. Or worse still, that someone at the club was buying product from a drug-dealing gang. How did I miss this? Because she’d been in a four-year fog, that was how. Fuck.
She met Lucy’s eyes and saw that her friend had also connected the dots. ‘This is bad,’ Lucy murmured.
‘Y’think?’ Mowry snapped.
‘All right,’ Gwyn said calmly. ‘We’ll explain it to Frederick and Jamie and then we’ll come to the club. Because sooner or later the cops are going to show up.’
‘Ah, fuck,’ Mowry muttered. ‘Too late, sweetie. They’re here.’
In the background she could hear loud voices. Demands and shouted protests. Lucy dropped her head into her hands. ‘Oh my God.’
‘All right,’ Gwyn said again. ‘We’ll be there as soon as we can. Don’t say anything to anyone. None of you.’
‘I won’t,’ Mowry promised grimly. ‘I haven’t worked for a defense attorney for years for nothing.’
A much louder voice yelled, ‘I said, off the goddamn phone!’ The shout was followed by a sickening thud. The call ended.
Gwyn rose, feeling oddly . . . in control. ‘Let me tell Thorne. I’d like him to have a few minutes to process this before he has to be Superman in front of everyone else.’
Lucy nodded wearily. ‘Yeah. This is going to gut him. I swear to God, if this is Tavilla, I want to see him roasting on a spit.’
‘For hurting Thorne like this? I want him to roast alive.’ Gwyn stroked Lucy’s hair, returning the favor from before. ‘Don’t worry, Luce. We’ll figure this out.’
‘I know,’ Lucy murmured, but she didn’t sound convinced. She pushed herself to her feet. ‘I’ll bring everyone up to speed. You tell Thorne.’
They slid the pocket door open and every eye in the room cut over to stare. Ignoring her residual embarrassment, Gwyn left Lucy to brief the group.
She needed to get to Thorne.
Fourteen
Hunt Valley, Maryland,
Monday 13 June, 7.45 P.M.
Thorne stared out into Clay’s backyard, lit up like the middle of the day with floodlights as the sun began its descent. This was so fucked up. Clay and Stevie had worked so hard to create a safe space for their little family, for Cordelia and baby Mason.
And because of me, they’re on alert once again.