Jacked Up (Bowen Boys #4)(66)
“Someplace safe. You won’t give them any trouble and you will wait for me to come fetch you. Agree?”
“Your language is so politically incorrect I don’t know where to start. You’ll let me? Then come to fetch me?”
He ignored her remarks. Political correctness had never been one of his priorities. “Do we have a deal?”
“You know, in spite of the gruff package, you’re sweet,” she said cupping his face.
“I’m many things, pet. Sweet is not one of them. Now answer, do we have a deal?”
She saluted him. “Sir, yes, sir.”
Smart-ass.
“How do you intend to take care of the situation?”
The only way he could at this point. Taking Maldonado out. Before Elle, bringing the drug lord to justice and making a dent in the trade and the violence of the cartels had been his goal; now that wasn’t an option. Elle was his priority and Maldonado was a threat to her as long as he was alive. But he didn’t say anything. And she must be starting to know him, because she didn’t push it.
“Where does this Baile de Diablos take place?”
“Little Italy. Lots of people. It looks chaotic from the outside, but it’s all synchronized.”
He was so going to regret this. “Where’s your outfit?” She was not getting even a mile close to that event without her gear on to disguise her.
“Rosita’s.”
“El Baile de Diablos; that’s not Italian.” That was Spanish for the dance of the devils.
“Probably because it isn’t strictly an Italian tradition,” Elle admitted sheepishly.
“What?”
“Nowadays it’s most spread out over the Mediterranean coast of Spain, in Catalonia to be more precise. Very old tradition dating to Roman times. And you know anything Roman is basically Italian, right? So we sort of claimed it. Besides, some of the founding members of the group did their research and there’s some evidence of this tradition in Italy. It just didn’t survive to Modern times. And Chinatown was getting ahead with their New Year celebrations and their dragons. Little Italy needed an edge and dancing devils shooting fireworks, having fun and being irreverent is so Italian.”
Jack barked out a laugh. Thank God these people didn’t decide running in front of the bulls, which the Bowens were so fond of doing in Pamplona, was also a Roman tradition or they would claim it for themselves too and bring it to Little Italy.
“Why didn’t you change the name?”
“No need. Spanish language evolved from Latin, and Latin was the language of the Roman Empire. And anything Roman—”
“Is basically Italian,” Jack finished with Elle in unison. “You’re nuts.”
“We keep busy.”
“You cold?” he asked, noticing her shivers.
“A bit.”
“Come on, let’s move closer to the fireplace. Hold on to the blankets,” he said hauling her up and taking the whole bundle to the next room and leaving it on the rug.
He turned to stoke the fire and then felt her light touch on his back.
“A fallen angel.”
Fallen angel. Demon. Same thing.
“And the cock piercing?” she asked as he lay down beside her. “Does it have some hidden spy capabilities? A cyanide tablet inside one of the balls?”
He chuckled. “Standard issue. No cyanide tablets.”
“You lost a bet, then?”
Like he would ever risk his cock in a bet. “Have you ever heard that saying that one guy has one brain, two guys have half, and so on? It’s true. The exponential loss of brain cells the more males you get together is a fact. The younger the men, the worse it gets. If you add alcohol in the mix, the neural degeneration snowballs.”
She burst into laughter.
“The rule that no-body alterations while inebriated? Not that strict, I’m afraid. My cock is the living proof of it.”
All things considered, they had been lucky they didn’t get any disease and their cocks hadn’t fallen into pieces, because next day they couldn’t even remember where they got the piercings done. First and last time he’d ever blacked out.
“Don’t tell me Kai is the one who pierced you. Is that the reason why you dislike him so much?”
He shook his head, sobering up. “I dislike him because he had you in his bed.”
She stared at him for what it felt like an eternity. “He didn’t.”
Relief at her statement flooded him. “What about your tattoos?”
“Constellations,” she said. “Orion the Great Hunter chasing the Pleiades, the seven sisters, daughters of the Titan Atlas. On the other leg Scorpio, sent by Artemis, forever chasing Orion.”
Orion, the eternal hunter, being eternally hunted. Very fitting.
“Funny description for an astronomer,” he said, caressing her thigh.
She shrugged. “I could call the Pleiades M45, an open star cluster with middle-aged hot B-type stars in quadrant NQ1, but doesn’t have the same ring. Humans always looked at the skies to find their own place. It doesn’t hurt to dress it up, right?”
She straddled him and brushed her lips over him. “I think I’m going to take your advice and start to work through the inspirational sentences. Love slowly.”