Page 10 of Sinners Reunion

He goes to clap his hands and cheer, but then my response hits him between the eyes. He slumps and folds his arms over his chest. “No, you won’t help me? Or no, you won’t tell me?”

“Take your damn pick.”

“Well, why not?”

“Because I won’t agree to anything without having the details. At least take me to her.”

Jim sits and considers this. He has a three-course argument in his mind; I see the way his eyes jump as he fights with himself. Finally, he relents.

“Fine, but she’s riding with you. I’ve already had your RV fitted with her restraint system and soundproofing in case she wants to scream.”

He rises to his feet and motions for me to follow him out of his chambers, and I do, but if he thinks the conversation is over, he’s wrong. Customizations like that would have taken some time, meaning he’s been planning this for some time. He’s got more up his sleeve than he’s letting on. I’m not daft.

“I travel alone, Jim.” I nod at Ice Pick as we pass him in the hallway. “That won’t change. I don’t care how pretty she is.”

“Don’t be afraid to change your mind when you see her,” he says in a sing-song voice.

We head down the double staircase leading into the back of the house. He strolls through the massive mansion, down corridors, and past Sinners and crew, and I keep step behind him. Aven wanders by with Bennett in tow, the two of them arguing about the merits of an ax over a katana.

“Depends on the time of day,” I shout at them over my shoulder.

“See?” Bennett whispers to Aven. “Told you.”

I smirk to myself. They may be men to the women who love them, but they’re still just boys to me.

We reach the back door, and I give Jim a look. “You’re storing our little captive outside?”

He slowly turns his head to look at me. “We’ve run out of sleepy juice. We’ve been through two vials in the span of twelve hours. King, I could stand by while she nagged about the ostentatiousness of my home, as that’s almost a compliment, but when she started in on my painting of Kenny—” He places his hand over his mouth and closes his eyes, unable to go on.

“You commissioned a ten-foot portrait of your bird holding a smoking handgun as busty parrots shove their feathered breasts toward him. What sort of reaction did you expect?”

He sucks in a deep breath and opens the door before charging outside. “It’s art!” he shouts over his shoulder.

“Birds don’t even have breasts, Jim!”

“Tell that to Colonel Sanders!”

If I roll my eyes again, I’ll get a headache.

I follow him down a rudimentary path that leads to a small boathouse tucked in the woods. Silence reaches us as we draw nearer, and we both stop walking.

“See?” Jim says, motioning to the wooden building. “She does this. Constantly. Ever since I refused to take her on the road trip.”

“But she’s going, isn’t she? Didn’t you say you retrofitted my RV with restraints?”

Jim squares his shoulders. “She doesn’t need to know that.”

“Just give her what she wants. Get the information and let her go on the road trip. She can ride with Eve.”

“She can’t ride with Eve. This girl is a redhead, and after that debacle at the Paris fashion show last month . . .”

He’s busy droning on about Eve’s run-in with another model, but I’m stuck back at the bit about her hair.

“A redhead?” I ask, interrupting him.

“Yes. Is that an issue?”

It might be, but I shake my head.