“And there’s still the wedding cake. That thing is dark chocolate. Wish my wedding cake was like that.”
“Your cake was chocolate.”
“Not dark chocolate. Not like that.”
“I can’t have this conversation with you anymore.” Sissy turned to walk away.
“I’m sure you could have this conversation if I were Mitchell. And we were outside in the garden ... under the romantic moonlight,” she taunted.
Sissy squinted. “You’re armed, aren’t you?” Dez kept her service weapon on her at all times. She even had a small pistol on her at her own wedding. Yup. A full-human predator all right.
“Every day,” Dez confirmed.
“Damn.” There went that potential beating Sissy had been all ready to give.
Mitch sat alone at a big table and picked at his slice of wedding cake. It wasn’t that the cake wasn’t delicious. It was. In fact, the cake wasn’t just chocolate; it was dark chocolate with seventy-two percent cacao. He knew this because the bride had announced it before cutting the cake and a collective “ohhhh” had come from the wild dogs—and Dez. To Mitch, chocolate was chocolate.
Nah. It wasn’t the cake. It was him. His family was right. He was getting thin. He simply wasn’t hungry these days. Must be the overall fear of death that had screwed with his appetite.
It had been, what? Five years ago when he’d used his old high school connections to dig his way into the O’Farrell crew. His department had made him look like a dirty cop, and his old history of being the high school football star had greased the wheels.
But after all that work and risk, it mostly wasn’t for shit. Almost all the charges against the O’Farrell crew had been dropped after more legal wrangling than seemed possible. In fact, this whole situation should be over now. Except for the one charge that wouldn’t go away. The one that had blown Mitch’s cover, that he couldn’t bring himself to tell his family about, and that still gave him nightmares.
First-degree murder against Petey O’Farrell, head of the O’Farrell crew. Mitch was the only witness to what that sick old fuck had done—and Mitch was now the only thing between freedom and life for O’Farrell.
If Mitch didn’t testify, the case would crumble. If Mitch was dead, O’Farrell would be out of jail faster than he could spit.
Bottom line ... he needed Mitch dead.
Not a very comforting thought. No wonder Mitch no longer had an appetite.
Sissy dropped into the empty seat beside him, undoing her shoes and kicking them off her feet. Funny, her mere presence soothed him. He’d never noticed that before.
Turning the chair around, Sissy pushed her feet into his lap, ignoring the fact he was still eating ... or in this case, picking.
“Rub my feet.”
Mitch placed his fork on the table and looked down at her feet. “Don’t I need a veterinarian’s license to handle hooves of this size?”
She lifted her foot a bit and brought it back down onto his groin, causing him to grunt.
“Rub them,” she ordered.
Liking his balls in working order, he did what she told him to do. “How are you holding up?”
“So far, so good. I’ve avoided her. She’s on one side of the floor, I make sure I’m on the other. If she starts looking above the crowd like she’s trying to find me, I run like I’m going for the gold in the Summer Olympics.”
“That’s your plan for the rest of the evening? Dodging your mother?”
“Yes. That’s my plan. And since you’re insistent that killing your parents is so wrong, I really have no other choice.”
“Good point. It’s almost over, though. A few more hours of New Wave music and bad wild dog dancing, and this all will be a distant memory.”
Sissy stared out over the dance floor. “Lord, that is some bad dancin’.”
“But it’s exuberant.”
She shook her head and looked away.
“I have to say, Sissy, I thought you had a few more brothers.” Sissy followed his gaze to Smitty, who stood talking to one of the cousins who’d bothered to attend, and he’d come from Smithville or Smithburg ... one of the other Smith places the States were apparently littered with. It seemed that many of the family from Smitty’s hometown were woefully absent.
“I tragically do have more brothers, but they don’t know how to act right.” She sighed. “That ain’t fair. Sammy has ten pups and a diner he and his mate run. But Travis Ray and Donnie Ray could have shut the garage down for a few days. And last I heard, tax accountants weren’t dramatically needed in the middle of June, so I think Jackie Ray could have closed up his little piece of shit office for a weekend.”
“So why didn’t they?”
“Because they’re bastards. Because they think this is stupid. Because when Daddy’s not there, Travis wants to think he’s in charge. And, most importantly, it’s football season.”
Mitch frowned. He loved most sports, but football was his true passion. “It’s not football season.”
“Yeah, well ...”
“Yeah, well what? I know for a fact it’s not football season.”
Sissy shook her head. “I don’t want to discuss it.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I,” she cut in roughly, “don’t want to discuss it.”
“Okay. Okay. No need to get your thong in a bind.”
“And stop telling people Momma busted us in the garden.”
“She did.”
“And that I’m in love with you?”
“You are,” he teased, loving how he got her to smile with the silliest stuff that most females didn’t find remotely funny. “You simply haven’t faced it yet. You saucy siren, you.”
“You know, you look like the high school football star—”
“I was.”
“—but you talk like a dweeb.”
“It’s called being complex and dynamic.”
“It’s called being a geek.” Her body suddenly tensed. “Is that her?”
Mitch looked around. “Don’t see her. I think you’re safe for the time being.”
“Thought I scented her.”
“Isn’t your mother leaving tomorrow?”
Sissy’s whole body dropped, her limbs sort of relaxing so that she looked like she’d passed out. “Yes! Her, my daddy, and Ronnie’s momma and daddy are going on that cruise. And not soon enough. I’ve got one nerve left, Mitchell. One. And she’s playing ‘Dueling Banjos’ on it.”
Mitch laughed as Sissy motioned one of the waiters over. “Darlin’,” she said to the waiter with her most luxurious drawl, “could you please get me a shot of tequila?”
Staring at her, his mouth kind of open, the waiter nodded and started to walk away. Mitch caught hold of his jacket and asked, “You gonna ask me?”
“Oh. Yes. Yes. Of course. What would you like, sir?”
“Beer.”
“We have over seventy—”
“Bud.”
The waiter looked disgusted at Mitch’s love of good ol’ American brew. “Of course, sir.”
Really big feet waved in front of his face after the waiter walked off.
“Hello? You ain’t done. And get the instep this time.”
Mitch gripped her feet and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’ll get the instep.”
“Don’t you tick—”
He started tickling her feet, and laughing hysterically, Sissy desperately tried to pull her feet back.
“Stop, Mitch! Stop!
Ow!”
The woman had this ability to come out of nowhere. One second, she wasn’t there, and then suddenly, Miss Janie was not only there but also yanking her daughter by the hair.
“Sissy Mae Smith,” she ordered. “Act like ya got some damn sense.”
Mitch kept his grip on Sissy’s feet, afraid she’d get up and get into a full-on dogfight with her mother.
As quickly as she showed anger, Janie Mae just as quickly calmed down. She kissed Mitch on the forehead. “Hello, pretty kitty.”
Strange how Sissy’s mother had seen Mitch several times during the day, but this was the first time she’d greeted him ... and definitely the first time she’d kissed him. He got the distinct feeling he was being used here. Not that he minded. He actually liked the crazy She-wolf. Of course, not quite the same way he liked her daughter.
“Hi, Miss Janie.” Everyone called her Miss Janie, and Mitch was afraid to call her anything else.
She patted his cheek in that motherly way she had. “I met your momma. I just love her.”
Mitch blinked. “You do?” Even he had to admit his mother was not an easy woman to get along with. She was loud and raunchy and rude. But that didn’t mean anything to Mitch because the woman amazed him. Her dream had always been to own a high-end salon, but the Pride wouldn’t pay for that. They would, however, pay for her to go to nursing school. She ended up being a nurse for years, putting money away and taking stylist classes in her free time. It took her years, but eventually, she opened her own place and now had three of them in the Philadelphia area. With her own grit and determination, she’d moved the O’Neill Pride up in the ranks and had offered Mitch more than once to “help you get your ass in your own Pride.”
“She’s lovely. I’m planning a big end of summer party in August, and I invited her and that gorgeous baby sister of yours. I want you to come too. Okay?”
“You want us in Smithtown?”
“Oh, no.” Miss Janie shook her head. “We’ll be having it here somewhere. Lord, son, I’d never bring you down to Smithtown.” She gripped his face with one hand, long fingers on both sides of his face, and squeezed until his lips pursed out. His mother often did the same thing. Was it a maternal instinct like breast feeding? “This face is simply too gorgeous to have it ruined like that.”
Mitch laughed, and she patted his cheek and walked away.
When he looked at Sissy, she was glaring at him like he’d betrayed her somehow. “What?”
How did she do that? Sissy was thirty-one, and her momma still had a way of making her feel like a twelve-year-old. All the wedding planning had been kind of fun until her mother had practically moved to New York for the final preparations. For a month, she’d had to tolerate that woman on a daily basis. And every day, Bobby Ray had to talk her out of taking the first plane to Japan or Australia or anywhere her momma wasn’t—and that they legally allowed Sissy to enter.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love her momma. She did. But did she have to make Sissy look and feel so small? And did she have to do it in front of Mitch? True, doing it in front of any man was mean, but in front of Mitch, it was particularly bitchy as far as Sissy was concerned.
“All right, Shaw.” Trying to get her mind off Mitch, Sissy motioned to the three-hundred-plus crowd at her brother’s wedding. “I’m on the hunt for my next conquest. See anyone with potential?”
“Sure.” Mitch glanced around and pointed at a cheetah across the room. A female. “What about her?”
“What is wrong with you?”
“Don’t give me that tone. Have you even tried it?”
“Mitchell—”
“How do you know if you’ll like it or not if you haven’t tried it ... with me watching ... and filming?”
“Forget I asked.”
Sissy ran her finger over his tattoo. A four-inch green shamrock. “Could you be more Irish?” she laughed.
“Not really.” He grabbed her hand. “Come on. We’re dancing.”
“To the Go-Go’s?” Sissy had successfully managed only two dances, and both had been to slow songs. It wasn’t that she couldn’t dance but come on! The Go-Go’s? Did these wild dogs not have any music from the twenty-first century? Or even the nineties?
“We’re gonna rock out.” He dragged her toward the dance floor, stopping briefly so she could knock back the shot of tequila the waiter brought.
Once on the dance floor, she watched in horror as Mitch did something some people—no one she knew, of course—would call dancing.
“Mitchell,” she whined, “this is just embarrassing.” Mitch stopped, looking around at all the wild dogs dancing. Even the bride was doing the pogo like she was at a 1985 prom.
“As compared to what?”
He tragically had a point.
Mitch walked up behind his brother and slapped him on the back. The thing about Brendon was that Mitch didn’t have to hold back. His brother didn’t go flying across a room or snap like a twig from one little hit. Instead, Bren didn’t move a step, glancing at Mitch over his shoulder and asking, “What?”
“Are we having a good time?”
From the balcony overlooking the dance floor, Bren gazed down with that intense stare of his. He always looked like he was sorting out the world’s problems. Finally, he answered, “Yes. I am.” Twenty minutes to answer a simple question ...
Mitch leaned back against the railing. “You and Gwen getting along?” he asked.