Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(8)

“Ah, in a way.” Uzuri’s lips curved. “I fell in love with a couple of guys and live with them now.”

Josie blinked. “Uh. Two men?”

“Mmmhmm. They’re inside.” Uzuri took her hand. “You should come in and meet them. Where’s Carson?”

“He’s spending the night at Oma’s.” As he always did when she worked. A glance at the duplex lights showed he and Oma had gone to bed.

“Perfect. Come on.” Uzuri pulled her toward Holt’s front door. “You’re in your bartender outfit. Aren’t you home awfully early?”

“I’m not working. I mean, I lost my job.”

“What?” Uzuri gasped.

“Yes. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be good company right now.” And she sure wasn’t going to Holt’s place. Josie planted her feet.

“What happened? You’re the best bartender I’ve ever seen.”

Josie’s eyes stung with tears at the sweet reassurance. She must’ve been more shaken than she thought. “It seems being good at something doesn’t always help. My boss tried to say I wasn’t doing the work, but the head barmaid told me the real reason I was let go. His niece finished a weeklong bartending class and wanted my job.”

“What a scumbag.” Uzuri shook her head. “He’s stupid, too. An inexperienced bartender won’t do well in The Highlands.”

“Probably not.” The clientele was older, sophisticated, and very particular about how their drinks were made. “Then again, if she’s cute and fun, maybe she’ll do very well.”

“Doubtful. I’ve been in your bar, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Uzuri and a gang of her girlfriends had visited about three months before. They’d ordered samplers of the bar food, worked their way through a ton of drinks, and had a noisily wonderful time. “I thought I was going to have to demand all y’all’s car keys. But then I saw your chauffeurs waiting.”

Several of the women’s men had taken over a nearby table, perfectly content to sip drinks and watch their ladies get plastered. Every time the females burst into laughter, the men would exchange pleased smiles. It had been heartwarmingly sweet.

Uzuri laughed. “It’s really nice to have our own private taxi service. We’re pretty spoiled.”

“You really are.” Josie eyed her. “And you have two drivers of your own?”

“I do.” Uzuri didn’t release her grip on Josie’s hand. “You don’t want to sit at home and stew about your jerk of a boss. Come and meet my guys, and let me serve you a drink for a change.”

Josie rolled her eyes. “Uzuri, you don’t live here anymore. You’re not supposed to invite people to—”

“My house is her house.” Holt’s voice drifted through the night, as dark and smooth as black velvet.

Josie stiffened and saw him still standing at his front door.

A corner of his mouth rose…and his eyes stayed cool. “If you haven’t learned yet, Zuri rarely loses an argument.”

When he gestured toward the front door, Josie capitulated and followed Uzuri inside. In the entry, she stopped to look around.

Blue tile flooring opened into a living room filled with a slate gray sectional, massive flat-screen television, and black marble-topped end tables. A beautiful abstract painting in metallic blues and grays hung over a filled bookcase. Clean and contemporary. Not the biker pigsty she’d expected at all. Where was the clutter of beer cans, takeout meals, and stinky socks?

Bad Josie. How had she fallen into the mistake of stereotyping someone by his appearance?

“Everyone’s on the back patio.” Holt led the way to the rear of the house.

Taking Josie’s hand again, Uzuri tugged her through the kitchen and out the back door. Contemporary black-finish solar lights circled the patio. The soft light revealed three men who rose when Josie and Uzuri walked out.

“Josie,” Uzuri said. “Let me introduce my guys. This is Max Drago. He’s a police detective.”

Josie nodded at him. “It’s good to meet you.”

Over six feet tall, the hard-faced man had penetrating blue eyes that took her in quickly. “And you.”

Uzuri put her arm around an even taller man. “This is Max’s cousin, Alastair Drago. He’s a pediatrician.”

He wore his hair short, and a perfectly trimmed beard outlined his strong jaw. His brown face was a shade darker than Uzuri’s, setting off his disconcertingly light hazel eyes. “It’s good to make your acquaintance, Josie.” He offered his hand, and she blinked at the distinct British accent.

“I’m pleased to meet you both.” Josie shook his hand. “I love seeing Uzuri looking so happy.”

Smiles appeared on both men’s faces.

“That’s our job,” Max told her, and he looked quite serious.

Standing between her two men, Uzuri gestured to the third man. “Josie Collier, this is um…Zachary Grayson. He’s a psychologist.”

Josie frowned. Uzuri had sounded rather uncertain over the introduction; admittedly, the man was intimidating. He was older, lean and fit, his black hair silvered at the sides. Like Alastair, he wore tailored pants and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up.