Page 19 of Dominion’s Collar

"Why?"

"Because you already have one."

Her lips part. Her fingers tighten around the glass. She doesn't answer, and what she doesn't say is louder than anything she could have.

I cross the floor back to the booth. Same leather. Same view.

Natalie is visible from here. Her voice isn't. For the first time, that bothers me.

The scan resumes. Dominion does what Dominion does. The room is steady. I'm not.

Luc texts before the scotch warms. Two words:

Back bar

.

The back bar is a smaller room off the main floor. Quieter. Fewer sight lines. A space where conversations happen that the room doesn't need to hear.

He's already there when I arrive, two fingers of bourbon in front of him and a second glass of scotch he ordered for me.

The gesture is both considerate and tactical. Luc doesn't do things for one reason when three are available.

"The estate lawyers called again," he says. "They want signatures on something."

"They can keep wanting."

"They've been wanting for months. Remy says if you don't respond soon, he's signing everything himself and telling them you died."

"Remy doesn't have authority."

"Remy has spite. That's better." He picks up his bourbon. "Also, Margot's birthday is coming up. She's pretending she doesn't want a party. She's lying."

"I'm not planning a party."

"You're attending one. Renata's organizing. Your attendance is not optional." He studies me over the rim of his glass. "And you missed Sunday dinner. Again."

"I had things to do."

"You had a booth to sit in. That's not things." He taps the rim of his glass. "You know Remy still wants you at Rapier. The offer hasn't expired."

"I'm not interested."

"You're interested in everything that happens inside the club. You just insist on doing it from a corner instead of from an office with resources."

Luc has been running this play for years. Sunday dinners. Social obligations I dodge. Phone calls I let ring. He shows up anyway, every time, with his bourbon and the particular stubbornness of a man who decided to be my friend whether I approved or not.

Then he sets the glass down and the teasing drops out of his face.

"You left your post tonight," he says.

"I had a conversation."

"You had a conversation." He leans back. "At the bar. With a woman."

"Your observational skills are staggering. No wonder you and big brother run one of the best intelligence and black ops agencies in the world."

"You've spent five years guarding my sister's club like it was your personal penance. Now you're having conversations with new members." He picks up the bourbon again. "At the bar. Where people can see you."