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She nodded her gratitude. He was always one step ahead of her, knowing exactly what to do to keep the guys safe in every circumstance.

“Good luck tonight. I bet you’ll sell a shit ton of books,” Jackson said.

“How many exactly is a shit ton?” Zach asked.

“You could join us after your book signing,” Logan offered.

Kat chuckled. “I think my nightclub days are far behind me. But thank you. You guys have a good time. Just not too good of a time.”

“Don’t worry, Kat,” Jackson said. “We know the rules. No phones in the party suite.”

“And back by one,” she said.

“What’s that?” Jackson held a hand up to his ear as he moved towards the door, a look of confusion on his face. “I didn’t hear you. Did you say have fun?”

She sighed, anxiety like acid rising in her throat. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Gideon caught her eye and gave a nod as if to say he had it all under control.

The guys said their goodbyes and headed out, Beckett and Gideon trailing behind.

Beckett pulled her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. “Knock ‘em dead, Luna,” he murmured into her hair.

“Be careful with your knee,” she said against his throat, her hands splayed across his back beneath his jacket. “That’s my first demand for the night.”

He huffed a laugh. “Alright, love.”

“Beckett! Come on!” Jackson called from the hall.

“Fucking hold on!” he shouted back as he made to join them.

Gideon followed, but just before he closed the hotel room door, she said, “Take care of our boys, Gid.”

He nodded solemnly. “I always do.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

“This place is dead,” Jackson grumbled from his spot on the purple velvet sofa in the makeshift VIP lounge of the St. Louis nightclub.

“It’s not dead. It’s just a Wednesday,” Zach said.

“Most regular people don’t go out partying on a random Wednesday,” Nico added.

“We are fucking Midnight Storm,” Jackson said. “We are not regular people.”

“We could leave,” Beckett offered.

Jackson scowled and took a long swig of his drink, something amber colored on the rocks. His shitty attitude wasn’t helping to calm Beckett’s nerves about being out in the first place, or about how many drinks his brother had already put away. He wondered what Kat was doing. Had her book bedazzling—whatever that was—already ended? Was she curled up under the covers in their hotel room writing her next book or catching up on the latest episode of Love Resort? What he wouldn’t give to be there with her—wherever she was—instead of in a nightclub full of kids half his age who probably hadn’t even heard of Midnight Storm.

Logan took a sip of his drink and wrinkled his nose, holding the glass up to the light. “This is pure syrup. Something’s off with their soda machine.”

“They’re probably not used to someone ordering ginger ale,” Jackson said.

“Anyone want to split an order of toasted ravioli with me?” Zach pointed to a table tent on a nearby high top with a glossy photo of the St. Louis specialty.

“We are not ordering fucking ravioli in a nightclub,” Jackson said.

“Toasted ravioli,” Zach corrected.

Jackson ignored him. “We have an hour and a half before we have to leave—”