“I’m Kenshin Inu, in case you don’t remember.”
“Sissy Mae Smith. Ronnie Lee Reed.”
“You’re related to Smitty, yes?”
“Yep.”
“Interesting. You know I’m working with him and Mace to start a Japanese division of their business.”
“You are?” Bobby Ray hadn’t told her, probably because he knew she’d beg him to let her go to Japan for the initial setup.
They were so discussing this when he got back from his honeymoon. The thought of getting back on the road again made her almost giddy. It wasn’t like before. She didn’t need to escape for years, only to be forced back for holidays and guilt visits to Tennessee. Now living in the city she adored and as Alpha Female of the New York Smiths she had a reason to come back, but she’d always need to travel and Bobby Ray had to know that. Besides, Ronnie Lee could handle the She-wolves when Sissy wasn’t there.
Already her mind was turning with the possibilities of this.
“I see the bride signaling for me. If you ladies will excuse me.” He smiled and walked off.
“You gonna wait until after the honeymoon or before to torture Bobby Ray about this?”
“After, of course! But Mace will hear from me on Monday.”
Ronnie laughed, shook her head. Sissy didn’t know what she’d do without her regular traveling partner. Together, she and Ronnie had done some major damage around the world and weren’t allowed in quite a few countries because of it.
Wait, is Tokyo still on the list?
But Ronnie was with Brendon Shaw now and madly in love. Although she loved to travel, she didn’t have the same drive that Sissy did to keep it up.
“Oh.” Ronnie motioned over a pretty, slim woman in a sexy as hell dress. “I don’t think you guys have met yet. Gwen O’Neill, this is Sissy Mae Smith. Sissy, this is Mitch’s baby sister, Gwen.”
Lord in heaven! This was Mitch’s baby sister? His “innocent” baby sister? His “sweet, adorable” baby sister? Maybe it was Sissy’s imagination, but the woman was too hot in her sleeveless black dress with the low-cut front and even lower-cut back, five-inch heels, and a short mass of black, curly hair that teasingly swept across bright gold, almond-shaped eyes to be anyone’s innocent anything.
According to Mitch, she was only half lion. Her father was a South China tiger, which made her one of the rare Tigons. And she’d picked up the best of both her parents. Beautiful, classy, and—
“I’d give my left tit to get laid sometime this weekend, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”
Now it was Ronnie’s turn to choke up the champagne she’d only just sipped, and Sissy stared at Mitch’s “innocent” baby sister, fascinated.
“I thought I’d find somebody here, but”—hands on hips, she looked around—“nothing is real promising.” The voice was low, husky. Over the phone, she could easily be mistaken for a man.
“Ya know,” she went on, “Mitch talks about you all the time.” She eyed Sissy before turning back to scan the crowd. “And I’m always like, ‘Dude, if you like her so much, fuckin’ marry her.’ And he’s all like, ‘Shut up.’”
Sissy didn’t dare look at Ronnie. Nope. If she looked at her, forget it.
“This is a nice wedding, though, huh? Although we weren’t invited. But Ma made up her mind. She was coming, and I figured I better go to keep her out of trouble, ya know? A couple of margaritas in my mom, and all hell breaks loose. But Brendon got us in with no problem, and everybody has been pretty friendly. Except that bitch.” She snorted and glared across the bar to Brendon Shaw’s twin sister. “Marissa ‘I’m God’s gift to the universe’ Shaw. She’s this close”—Gwen held up her thumb and forefinger a small bit apart—“to getting acid tossed in her face. I don’t think she realizes no one talks shit about my brother. I don’t give a fuck who you are. Or in her case, who you think you are.”
Sissy physically turned away so she was in no danger of even glimpsing Ronnie’s face or body language. She wouldn’t be able to take it.
“What I love is she acts like her shit don’t stink. Like I don’t know who she is and where she came from. But I know ’cause I came from the same place she came from. You know what I’m sayin’?”
Waiting a moment, Sissy realized that yes, Gwen did want an answer.
“Absolutely.”
“I know a lot of these bitches, they forget the men once they’re old enough to go out on their own. But not me and not my Ma. This is Mitch I’m talking about. No one fucks with him.” Again, those dark gold eyes sized Sissy up. “You know, you’re cuter than I thought you’d be. I’m surprised he hasn’t fucked you yet. But he says you guys are friends, although why anyone would have a male as a friend is completely beyond me. But maybe it’s a wolf thing, huh? ’Cause other than for fuckin’ or tunin’ up my car, I don’t see their purpose. But hey, that’s me.”
Mitch walked up to them and handed his sister a glass of champagne. “Everything going okay over here?” And he gave Sissy a warning glance to not mess with his sister.
Not that he had anything to worry about. Personally, Sissy would like to avoid having acid thrown in her face. She was wacky that way.
“Everything is fine,” Gwen assured him. “Stop worrying about me.” She slipped her arm around Mitch’s waist and rested her head against his chest. Considering her stock, Sissy thought Gwen would be considerably bigger. At least taller. But she wasn’t even five-nine. Most Smiths would consider her “tiny.” No wonder she wore those shoes, although how she managed to walk in them, Sissy didn’t know.
“I’m your big brother. I’ll always worry about you.” Suddenly, Mitch’s gaze locked on something at the bar, and he snarled.
“What?”
“He’s checking you out.”
Gwen rolled her eyes, and Sissy didn’t even bother looking to see who he was talking about.
“I’ll handle him.” Mitch pulled away from his sister and walked to the bar.
“Well,” Ronnie, who loved to state the obvious, sighed out, “now you know why you won’t be gettin’ laid this weekend.”
Mitch walked back to his sister, feeling pretty cocky about scaring off that puma.
“Are you done?”
“Yup. Just protecting my little sis.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
Mitch glanced around. “Where did Sissy go?”
“All she said was, ‘Momma’s at six o’clock.’ Then she and Ronnie took off running. It was ... interesting.”
“You and Ma get along. You don’t know how people who don’t get along with their mothers suffer.”
“I like Ma. And she’s worried about you.”
“Nice how you slipped that in.”
“Just warning you she’s going to be bugging you tonight.”
A waiter arrived with two bottles of Guinness.
“You saint,” Mitch sighed happily, grabbing his bottle. After a healthy drink, he said to his sister, “You know what’s funny about you and Ma being here?”
“What?”
“Neither of you were actually invited.”
Gwen rolled her shoulders. “You know Ma. Not a chance in hell she was going to miss out on seeing her only son in a tux. Besides, this is considered the party of the century. She wasn’t about to miss it.”
“Yeah, but you had a table and everything.”
“Brendon took care of that for us.” Gwen grinned. “He always said if we need anything to go ahead and call him, so Ma did.”
“He meant that. You ever need anything, go to Bren. He’ll always watch out for you guys.”
“Uh ... okay.”
“Why are you staring at me?”
“You look tired. And thin. Too thin.”
“I’m fine. Just a lot going on.”
“Any of that going on with Sissy?”
“You’re gonna start this now?”
“I hadn’t met her before. Now that I have ... not sure what you’re waiting for. She’s h
ot. And sturdy. Uncle Joey always says O’Neill males need sturdy women.”
“You start quoting Uncle Joey, I’m walking away.”
“I just don’t know what the problem is.”
“There is no problem. And I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Fine, ya big pussy.”
“You have to know that’s not an insult to me, right?”
Sissy tapped her foot and watched her friend. “Dez, you have to make a choice here.”
Dez was probably the only full-human Sissy could say in all honesty that she trusted. A tough cop, an amazing mother, and a great friend, Dez was not to be trifled with. She was a deadly predator like the rest of them. When she’d asked Sissy to be her son’s godmother, she’d specifically stated, “ ’Cause I know you’ll kill anybody who tries to hurt him.” Truer words had never been spoken, but the fact that Dez realized it and acted accordingly was what set her apart from her weaker full-human counterparts.
But when it came to chocolate, Dez could be as big a pain in the ass as Jessie Ann.
“I can’t. You do understand that, right?” She started at one end of the U-shaped table. “Here we have the candy. Chocolate with nuts. With caramel. With fruits.”
“Dez—”
“Then we have the fresh fruit and the dark chocolate waterfall. Of course it’s all dark chocolate. At least seventy-two percent cacoa. There’s chocolate fondue and twelve—yes, twelve—different kinds of chocolate cakes. Then there are the brownies and pies—”
“Desiree!” Sissy cleared her throat. “Just. Pick. Something.”
Covering her mouth with her hands, Dez’s eyes went from one end of the table to the other. “I ... I can’t! I’m in chocolate overload!”
Good Lord.
“Darlin’, you know I love you, but there is a table of unsuspecting males playing Texas Hold ’Em, and it’s calling my name.”
“You can’t,” Dez said offhandly, reaching for a plate. “Maybe I’ll take a little of everything ... except the fruit. I can do without the fruit. Why screw up chocolate with fruit?”
“Why can’t I?”
“Last time I was in there, so was your mother.”
“That woman is everywhere.”
“Should I mention she was in the Karaoke Room belting out—”
“No!”
“All right then.”
Dez walked over, her plate piled with bits of this and that from the available chocolate selections.
“Desiree.”
“What? I wanted to be covered.”
“Your thing for chocolate is unhealthy.”
“And there’s still the wedding cake. That thing is dark chocolate. Wish my wedding cake was like that.”
“Your cake was chocolate.”
“Not dark chocolate. Not like that.”
“I can’t have this conversation with you anymore.” Sissy turned to walk away.
“I’m sure you could have this conversation if I were Mitchell. And we were outside in the garden ... under the romantic moonlight,” she taunted.
Sissy squinted. “You’re armed, aren’t you?” Dez kept her service weapon on her at all times. She even had a small pistol on her at her own wedding. Yup. A full-human predator all right.
“Every day,” Dez confirmed.
“Damn.” There went that potential beating Sissy had been all ready to give.
Mitch sat alone at a big table and picked at his slice of wedding cake. It wasn’t that the cake wasn’t delicious. It was. In fact, the cake wasn’t just chocolate; it was dark chocolate with seventy-two percent cacao. He knew this because the bride had announced it before cutting the cake and a collective “ohhhh” had come from the wild dogs—and Dez. To Mitch, chocolate was chocolate.
Nah. It wasn’t the cake. It was him. His family was right. He was getting thin. He simply wasn’t hungry these days. Must be the overall fear of death that had screwed with his appetite.
It had been, what? Five years ago when he’d used his old high school connections to dig his way into the O’Farrell crew. His department had made him look like a dirty cop, and his old history of being the high school football star had greased the wheels.
But after all that work and risk, it mostly wasn’t for shit. Almost all the charges against the O’Farrell crew had been dropped after more legal wrangling than seemed possible. In fact, this whole situation should be over now. Except for the one charge that wouldn’t go away. The one that had blown Mitch’s cover, that he couldn’t bring himself to tell his family about, and that still gave him nightmares.
First-degree murder against Petey O’Farrell, head of the O’Farrell crew. Mitch was the only witness to what that sick old fuck had done—and Mitch was now the only thing between freedom and life for O’Farrell.
If Mitch didn’t testify, the case would crumble. If Mitch was dead, O’Farrell would be out of jail faster than he could spit.
Bottom line ... he needed Mitch dead.
Not a very comforting thought. No wonder Mitch no longer had an appetite.
Sissy dropped into the empty seat beside him, undoing her shoes and kicking them off her feet. Funny, her mere presence soothed him. He’d never noticed that before.
Turning the chair around, Sissy pushed her feet into his lap, ignoring the fact he was still eating ... or in this case, picking.
“Rub my feet.”
Mitch placed his fork on the table and looked down at her feet. “Don’t I need a veterinarian’s license to handle hooves of this size?”
She lifted her foot a bit and brought it back down onto his groin, causing him to grunt.
“Rub them,” she ordered.
Liking his balls in working order, he did what she told him to do. “How are you holding up?”
“So far, so good. I’ve avoided her. She’s on one side of the floor, I make sure I’m on the other. If she starts looking above the crowd like she’s trying to find me, I run like I’m going for the gold in the Summer Olympics.”
“That’s your plan for the rest of the evening? Dodging your mother?”
“Yes. That’s my plan. And since you’re insistent that killing your parents is so wrong, I really have no other choice.”
“Good point. It’s almost over, though. A few more hours of New Wave music and bad wild dog dancing, and this all will be a distant memory.”
Sissy stared out over the dance floor. “Lord, that is some bad dancin’.”
“But it’s exuberant.”
She shook her head and looked away.
“I have to say, Sissy, I thought you had a few more brothers.” Sissy followed his gaze to Smitty, who stood talking to one of the cousins who’d bothered to attend, and he’d come from Smithville or Smithburg ... one of the other Smith places the States were apparently littered with. It seemed that many of the family from Smitty’s hometown were woefully absent.
“I tragically do have more brothers, but they don’t know how to act right.” She sighed. “That ain’t fair. Sammy has ten pups and a diner he and his mate run. But Travis Ray and Donnie Ray could have shut the garage down for a few days. And last I heard, tax accountants weren’t dramatically needed in the middle of June, so I think Jackie Ray could have closed up his little piece of shit office for a weekend.”
“So why didn’t they?”
“Because they’re bastards. Because they think this is stupid. Because when Daddy’s not there, Travis wants to think he’s in charge. And, most importantly, it’s football season.”
Mitch frowned. He loved most sports, but football was his true passion. “It’s not football season.”
“Yeah, well ...”
“Yeah, well what? I know for a fact it’s not football season.”
Sissy shook her head. “I don’t want to discuss it.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I,” she cut in roughly, “don’t want to discuss it.”
“Okay. Okay. No need to get your thong in a bind.”
“And stop
telling people Momma busted us in the garden.”
“She did.”
“And that I’m in love with you?”
“You are,” he teased, loving how he got her to smile with the silliest stuff that most females didn’t find remotely funny. “You simply haven’t faced it yet. You saucy siren, you.”
“You know, you look like the high school football star—”
“I was.”
“—but you talk like a dweeb.”
“It’s called being complex and dynamic.”
“It’s called being a geek.” Her body suddenly tensed. “Is that her?”
Mitch looked around. “Don’t see her. I think you’re safe for the time being.”
“Thought I scented her.”
“Isn’t your mother leaving tomorrow?”
Sissy’s whole body dropped, her limbs sort of relaxing so that she looked like she’d passed out. “Yes! Her, my daddy, and Ronnie’s momma and daddy are going on that cruise. And not soon enough. I’ve got one nerve left, Mitchell. One. And she’s playing ‘Dueling Banjos’ on it.”
Mitch laughed as Sissy motioned one of the waiters over. “Darlin’,” she said to the waiter with her most luxurious drawl, “could you please get me a shot of tequila?”
Staring at her, his mouth kind of open, the waiter nodded and started to walk away. Mitch caught hold of his jacket and asked, “You gonna ask me?”
“Oh. Yes. Yes. Of course. What would you like, sir?”
“Beer.”
“We have over seventy—”
“Bud.”
The waiter looked disgusted at Mitch’s love of good ol’ American brew. “Of course, sir.”
Really big feet waved in front of his face after the waiter walked off.
“Hello? You ain’t done. And get the instep this time.”
Mitch gripped her feet and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’ll get the instep.”
“Don’t you tick—”
He started tickling her feet, and laughing hysterically, Sissy desperately tried to pull her feet back.
“Stop, Mitch! Stop! Ow!”
The woman had this ability to come out of nowhere. One second, she wasn’t there, and then suddenly, Miss Janie was not only there but also yanking her daughter by the hair.
The Mane Attraction Page 4