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“Pleased for you.” I turned back to Pete. “Don’t get into a bust-up with Cole. It’d suck if you had a fat lip and a black eye in your sister’s wedding pictures.”
Saint “Pete” Young smiled. It was the kind of smile a man had when he knew his sister had found a good man who would make it his mission to make her happy.
“Yeah, that’d suck. See you tomorrow.”
I sat back in the plush chair in the corner of the bar and watched the men make their exit.
Fuck, I was losing Jack.
Now that the Horsemen were down and Brasco and River weren’t on edge it was time for Takeback to get back to work.
I shot off a text to my contact at Homeland to let him know we were available.
Before I could pocket my phone it buzzed in my hand.
Good timing. Two weeks. Las Vegas.
Las Vegas had earned its nickname honestly; there was no shortage of sin.
I sent a return text confirming we were in and stood to leave when a beautiful woman at the bar caught my attention.
Brunette, pretty face, full lips, curvy in all the right places, long legs, and alone.
Just my type.
I made a detour to the bar, left a stool between us, and sat down.
The bartender made his approach just as the woman turned to look at me.
Now that I was close I could see her big brown eyes were better than those long legs. And I was a sucker for tall women. My wife had been blonde, blue-eyed, and short. In the years she’d been gone I hadn’t touched a blonde or a woman who didn’t have some height.
“Another Hibiki?” the bartender asked.
“That and whatever she’s having.”
“Boulevardier. Makers,” the woman smoothly put in. “And thank you.”
The bartender made his leave and I went back to the woman.
“I’m Wilson.”
“Atlee.”
Unusual name.
“Fitting.”
“What is?”
“Your name.”
Those brown eyes lit with humor.
“Is this where you give me some cheesy pick-up line?”
Her smile was alluring, but her wit was what had me ensnared.
“I don’t do cheesy pick-up lines.”
