“I’m going as fast as I can. Don’t jump all over me. This isn’t my fault.”
“Just fucking go.”
David grumbled as my eyes closed.
Smack.
“Jesus! Stop hitting me!”
“Wake the fuck up! Here.” Peter handed me a cold Gatorade.
Hope flared. “Got any liquor in it?”
“Fuck no.” He unscrewed the cap for me. “Just drink it.”
“Where’s Sabrina?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Drink. It.”
“Tell me where Sabrina is and I’ll drink,” I said to one of the two Peters.
“She’s at the house, probably still up in her room crying over some asshole who’s been trying to break her heart. Now drink the goddamn Gatorade.” He thrust the bottle toward my face.
I grabbed it and took a few sips.
“Nuh uh. More than that.” He tipped the bottom up, and I swallowed slowly.
Sabrina was crying? Over me? I certainly wasn’t worth her tears. Not a chance. She deserved better.
“Crying?” I swallowed a few more gulps.
“Yeah.”
“Shit.”
“Pull your head out of your ass. You have much bigger problems. The Irish are going to crush our nuts into a paste if you aren’t on your game.”
I nodded as if I agreed. But I didn’t. Sabrina was more important to me than all of the Irish mobsters in the world. What had I done? Wait, did he say crush our nuts into a paste?
“A paste?”
“Yes.” His glare helped me focus the two Peters into one.
“That’s fucking brutal, man. Way to kill my buzz.”
The vein in Peter’s temple bulged. “Can we just throw him out of the car and split the operation between us?” He thrust the Gatorade back into my hands.
David grunted a laugh from the driver’s seat. “We could. But that would be a lot of work. Would really cut into my murder schedule.”
I snickered into the bottle. “I’m supposed to kill you two for that, right? I know it was you, Fredo.”
“He’s quoting The Godfather. We are fucked.”
“Everything’s fine.” I sat up as the car slowed and stopped in front of the house. “I’ll talk to her and smooth things over.”
“I’m not talking about Sabrina!” Peter climbed out of the car. “The Irish will be here in ten minutes!” He slammed his door, then gave a Hulk-roar of frustration and beat on the roof.
“You really pissed him off this time.” I could hear the scary smile in David’s voice.
“He loves me.” I burped and elbowed the door open. The sun was extra bright as I stepped out of the car and wobbled toward the front door.
“You’re such a dick.” Peter slung one of my arms over his shoulder and helped me into the house.
George blanched when he saw us. “You okay, boss?”
“I’m good. Great. Thanks for anal. I mean asking.” I tried to wink, but all I did was blink really hard.
Peter hustled me through the foyer and into the back hall, finally depositing me at my desk while yelling for Opal to bring water.
“I’m fine.”
Opal hurried in with a bottle of water in each hand. “What happened?”
“He got trashed.”
“But the Irish?” She handed me a bottle.
Peter took it, opened it, and handed it to me. “They’re still coming.”
“Oh dear. I’ll fetch some bread to help soak up the alcohol.”
“We have it all under control. The Irish. The shipment to the airport. The Russians. All of it.” I drank the water. “The only thing I don’t have under control is Sabrina.”
“Wrong. The thing you don’t have under control is yourself.” David lingered in the doorway. “I’ll have a chat with George and Tony, make sure they’ve got the extra security handled for the meeting. You sober up.”
“I’m already there.” I propped my feet up on my desk.
“Right.” David shook his head and stalked into the hall.
My thoughts returned to Sabrina. Maybe I had time to go up to her room and apologize before the Irish arrived. A glance at Peter told me that wasn’t happening. His angular face was all sorts of angry-crumply, the lines making him look ten years older.
Opal returned with a plate of bread and butter. I ate under Peter’s watchful eye.
After what seemed like all of thirty seconds, David appeared in the doorway. “They’re here.”
I stood and schooled my features.
“Crumbs.” Peter pointed at my lapel.
I brushed them off and walked around my desk to greet the Irish. Colum’s security guy, Sully, walked in first and checked the room.
“We’re hiding the bombs under your car right now.” I smiled. “But this room’s clean.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “He’s kidding.”
Sully squinted at me, then marched out of the room toward the parking area.
Peter glared at me. “What the hell, Nate?”
“Oh, come on. You know it was funny.”
He rubbed his brow with two fingers. “It’ll be a fucking miracle if we make it through this meeting without a shoot-out.”
Colum strode into the room, his son Angus behind him and his second in command, Leary, following. The Irish boss was a classic ginger with flaming red hair, freckles, and gin blossoms on his nose from a life of good drink.