Kings of Chaos (Dirty Broken Savages #1)(103)

“Ugh. No thank you,” River says, shaking her head. “I’ll be at the bar.”

She goes to walk away, but Gage catches her wrist before she can. She turns around to look at him, her gaze dropping down at his fingers wrapped around her wrist and then back up to his face.

“What?”

“If you’re going to be here, then you’re sticking with us,” he says in a low, insistent tone. “I don’t want you wandering off.”

“I’m not a child,” she snaps back.

“I never said you were. But you came with us, so you’re staying with us.”

And for someone who didn’t even want her here in the first place, he seems pretty damn set on that. I don’t point that out because I don’t want to start shit in the middle of this room full of fancy, corrupt people.

Knox, true to form, just laughs. He slings an arm over River’s shoulder and pulls her in close, tugging her out of Gage’s hold.

“It won’t be so bad,” he promises. “We’ll schmooze for a bit and then get drunk.”

That seems to placate her a bit. Enough that when Gage leads the way into the throng, she doesn’t immediately book it to the bar anyway.

I get why Gage wants to move as a group. There’s safety and strength in numbers, and any deal that these people want to make has to be made with all of us. For all intents and purposes, River is one of us for the night.

We’re barely into the thick of the crowd before someone comes up to us. I don’t recognize him at first, but rich criminals are a dime a dozen in this part of Detroit. Hell, some of them are probably from out of town, visiting with friends and business partners for the social event of the season.

“You’re the owners of that club, aren’t you? Sin and Salvation?” he says, looking each of us over. His gaze lingers on River and Knox’s arm around her shoulders.

“We are,” Gage says. “And you are?”

“Samson Creel,” the man replies, holding out a hand to shake. “I hear you’re the people to talk to about moving things… discreetly.”

Gage shakes his hand, and I roll my eyes at the way he drew out the word “discreetly.” Like some sort of bad Bond villain.

I kind of glaze over while they talk, nodding every so often to make it look like I’m paying attention. My hands feel empty, itching for something to fiddle with. I should have brought a coin or a deck of cards or something to keep in my pocket for these long but necessary business conversations.

Luckily, Gage handles it the way he always does. To the point, pushing for the best deal.

“I think that can be arranged,” Samson Creel says, nodding. “I’ll have someone stop by your club next week with the particulars.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for them,” Gage says.

He seems like he’s in a better mood when Creel moves away to talk to someone else. A minute later, we’re waved over to a little group of people, all holding champagne glasses and laughing at something the woman in the middle of the group is saying.

She’s hot, so I get why everyone’s clustered around her. Older, probably in her forties, but wearing it damn well. Her gown is a sunset orange color, and she had a mask on at one point, but now it’s dangling from her wrist as she lifts her hand to sip at her champagne.

She eyes us as we approach, lingering on each of us in turn, but mostly glossing over River. River seems fine with that.

“Oh, I know you,” she says, and her voice is husky and musical. “I’ve been to your club.”

“Have you?” I ask, stepping up for this one. What can I say? Beautiful women are my specialty. “I find that hard to believe.”

She frowns, eyebrows drawn together. “Are you implying that I’m a liar?” she asks.

I hold back the urge to snort. Everyone in this room is a fucking liar in one way or another, but I’m not about to tell her that. “Of course not,” I say smoothly. “I just mean that I’m pretty sure we would have noticed if someone as gorgeous as you had graced our club with her presence.”

That does the trick, and she laughs, covering her mouth with one hand. “Ah, so you’re a flirt,” she replies. “I’ll have to be careful around you.”

I just toss her a wink and let Gage take over, asking her questions about how she liked the club and what she came for. Now that she’s warmed up from me flirting with her, she answers everything easily, and I can smell the deal brewing already.

Knox elbows me in the side and jerks his head to the left. “Look who’s here,” he mutters under his breath.

I glance over in that direction and let out a soft whistle when I see who he means. “Damn, they really did get everybody who’s anybody at this thing. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy that we’re allowed to rub elbows with them at all.”

“Who’s that?” River wants to know, following my gaze to the well-dressed man with a glass of scotch in his hand, talking seriously with another well-dressed man who holds a similar glass of amber liquid.

“Alec Beckham,” I tell her. “Billionaire.”

“That’s it?” she asks. “He’s just a billionaire? I thought you were going to say he’s famous. Or infamous.”

I shrug. “He may as well be. There aren’t a lot of strictly legal ways to get that rich. And even the legal ones aren’t good for anyone but other billionaires.”