The second we breached the entrance, I heard a man speak in a British accent, “Noush, if your foot touches mine again, I won’t even bother with a tool. I’ll chew the fucking thing off.” He then growled, “Keep away from me.”

When my gaze landed on the man, I blinked because of all the people I thought I would see sitting behind the chairs of the high table, it wasn’t that of a tall, lithe silver fox with freshly trimmed hair and a neatly manicured beard. He looked dapper in a bespoke suit with a chain running from the center button of his navy vest to the inside of one pocket.

And, holy shit, he was gorgeous.

I guessed the young woman he was speaking to – Noush, he called her – was the one who responded. I tried to hide the way my brows rose when I looked at her because she didn’t look like a mob boss. She looked like the type of woman to start shit with you for looking at her boyfriend.

Her long, bleached-fried blonde hair bordered on yellow with dark roots peeking through her regrowth. Noush sat at the table with her feet resting up on the edge of it. She wore foundation a shade too light for her olive complexion, her eyes were lined heavily with kohl and her lashes were clumped with mascara. Her too-long neon orange acrylic nails tapped on the table top. On top of that, she looked to be wearing uber-casual sportswear and an attitude that said she didn’t give a fuck. All while sucking on a lollipop.

She pulled the stick out of her mouth long enough to turn to the man beside her and say, “I’d give anything for you to chew on me, daddy.” She stood fast and lowered one hand over her crotch and gave it a slow stroke. “Here. Let me show you where you can start.”

The other woman in the room, however, was the very picture of elegance. Well-dressed, she looked to be in her sixties, with dark hair pulled back into a slick chignon. She wore pressed silk and sat tall, cringing at the words of the younger woman and when she spoke, I heard the slightest Hispanic accent hiding in her voice. “Anoushka, you are the vilest sort of trash and I loathe that you and I are forced to share this space four times year.”

Anoushka sat back down. “Aw, Catalina. That silver tongue of yours is so precious,” her gaze darkened, “maybe I’ll cut it out and keep it in a box by my bed. I could use it when I’m feeling especially lonely.”

Wow. I couldn’t tell if these were threats or foreplay.

That was when Tor cleared his throat. The focus shifted and all eyes settled on us.