“You know how in all those cartoons or spy movies they have the dog who goes on jobs with them to make the travel less lonely?”

“No. And I don’t think I want to.”

“Please, Tommy. I need this. Please, please, please, please⁠—”

“Someone shut him up,” Arlie groans.

“Seconded.” Luther joins our table and slides a drink toward Arlie with a piece of paper tucked under it.

I snicker at how obvious they are before tapping my nose.

“You have no fucking clue how to be subtle,” Ever mutters.

Luther shakes his head. “It’s a fast one,” he tells Arlie. Then he sends a look my way. “And you can take Perry with you.”

CHAPTER TWO

ST. CLARE

The fist that flies at my head is expected, even if not appreciated. I try to duck, but Onyx is fast, and while I mostly get out of the way, their fist still clips my jaw. It’s a shockingly solid hit, and I stagger back a few steps, hands raised.

“Mercy. Motherfucker.”

Onyx smirks, and I hate that they can still manage to look so sweet with their hands wrapped and raised, ready to hit me again. “I told you to block.”

“Colin,” I call out to my brother, who’s watching us from the side of the sparring mat. “Your turn.”

“I believe we agreed to five-minute sessions.”

“We did. Until Onyx tried to kill me.”

They laugh, securing more of their vibrant red hair back into their hairband. “It was a love tap.”

“You almost took my head off.”

The look they give me is pitying at best. “I thought you wanted to be able to defend yourself?”

“Colin needs it more,” I say, selflessly freeing up Onyx’s time for him. I’ve always been so generous.

My brother takes off his glasses and sets them purposely on the ground before replacing me in front of Onyx. Then I take off like the wimp that I am and find Lars on some machine that’s making his normally jacked-up arms look even jacked-ier.

“Am I bleeding? Bruised? Broken?” I ask, turning my head so he can see where Onyx got me. Like Onyx’s punch, the look he gives me should be expected because they barely clipped me, and here I am, acting like I’ve been through attempted murder.

“Dramatic?” Lars suggests.

I huff and take the bench beside him. “It’s okay for you; you’re used to being punched in the head.”

Lars has been my best friend for years, and when Colin and I were in the process of opening our nightclub, Saint Clare’s, an older club right by us started causing issues. When the owner, Yanni, threatened us, Lars quit his security job and became our full-time protection. The three of us are all in on Saint Clare’s, so we really need it to do well.