Two weeks spent in the cabin, and Adam was finally able to get word to Slade about the dress code for Cezar’s event. Slade had taken a picture of Adam at the airfield, so everybody was acquainted with who not to kill.
I’m currently test-driving the most ridiculous getup. We had to have Venetian fucking carnival attire, of all fucking getups, and all invitees are required to wear masks at all times.
What. The. Fuck?
Phoenix fusses around me, layering the black and white satin pieces. Over-the-top ruffles surround the neckline, itching the shit out of me, making me wanna tug at it. The mask is snow white, covering only half my face, the eye sockets outlined in black, making it look creepy. She plonks a black velvet hat on my head with several large silver-and-white feathers protruding from it.
I look like an abomination.
I want to roll my eyes at Phoenix and complain about the fucking thing, when she drapes a cape around me with a flourish.
I start fidgeting. “Stay still, Edge,” she grumbles, as she fiddles with the ties. I can only grunt my disapproval back.
She stops her fiddling, grabs my jaw, and yanks my face so my eyes meet hers. “You want to save this girl? Honey, this is the meal ticket through those doors. Ignore your friends, who would do exactly the same for their own woman,” she says a little louder for their ears, because she knows they are hovering and snickering in the background. She then steps back, admiring her handiwork.
Slade is trying not to smile, and Blueblood is looking on with approval, making me roll my eyes.
Really? The fucker looks like one of the three musketeers, with his long, wavy dark hair and moustache and chin scruff. He didn’t need any makeover from Doc Evelyn and Miss Catherine, because he already looked part hipster, part movie star when he put his hair in a man-bun.
“You would find this fucking concoction agreeable,” I grind out to Blueblood. “I mean, who wears a three Muskateers moustache these days, anyway?”
All for one and one for all, and all that shit.
He merely grins at me in response.
Thing is, he can back up his look, because he’s a pro at fencing. Just hand him a sword and see how you fair. “I fucking pray this Cezar has a sword lying about, so you can practice on him before I get a hold of him. You can tenderize him for me.” I must have thought of every conceivable thing I want to do to that motherfucker over and over.
Phoenix is right. If a bullet train heading for me won’t stop me, then one fucked-up meal-ticket-costume certainly won’t.
Phoenix takes a step back and eyes my over-the-top flamboyant outfit hiding my identity and tattoos from eyes that may recognize me, looking very impressed with herself.
Dallas “Edge” fucking Masson, blooded son of William Dupré, is ready to make heads roll. Don’t matter I gotta wear this shit.
I’m grateful Slade went and collected Phoenix, because there’s no way any of this lot could have come up with this creation in record time, and she is a much valued addition to the team. Joel and Lincoln introduced themselves to her via video call, and the two of them worked it all out. Forty-eight hours later, and a FedEx box was at the door.
Phoenix draws my attention back to her. “You’ve got the golden invite, thanks to Adam. That was half the battle. We now just have to wait for the where and when, and then you are set and we’re all here to back you up.”
Lethal steps into my personal space and snaps a picture of me. “You fucker,” I growl. I’m not mad at him, but he’s really pushing it now.
“Just a little keepsake.” He winks at me. I ignore him, and he spreads his hands in front of him. “Come on, hermano. I’m only forwarding it to Slade so he can contact Adam and show him what you look like tonight. Smart thinking, if you ask me. We all know what he looks like, so we won’t accidentally fuck with him. We need him to know you’re not one of those sick fuckers there for reals.”
“Good thinking. Take a full shot of me, with the cane.” The cane is needed as a walking aide due to my moonboot being ditched for the event, because I can’t have anybody suspecting who I am. I don’t know if Ebony and Ivory got around to telling their little story about meeting William’s son and cracking one off in his foot. The story has already been submitted as a bum hip. I will also have the little ragdoll inside my pocket with a tracker sewn inside it. I just have to thump Jenny’s head, and it will activate once I am inside, so the teams will know where I am at all times.
I remove the mask from my face, pulling the hat off, dumping them on the couch, and run my fingers through my shorter hair, and then snatch Phoenix up in a hug. “Thanks, babe, for everything.” I agree with Billy, she’s such a doll, with beauty and brains. Whisper would like her. She wraps her arms around my back and gives me a platonic pat.
I look at Slade’s annoyed face, his arms folded across his chest, muscles bulging beneath his long-sleeved Henley. I shake my head in humor, releasing her. I wouldn’t want another guy touching my female either, which sobers me right the hell up, because that is what could be happening to Whisper right now.
We both step away from each other, and I look around the large den filled with the men who have my back. They’ve all had complete makeovers because they’re my brothers. They no longer look like their former selves… except maybe Blueblood and Lethal. Everybody else has had their manes chopped and styled, their beards tamed or shaved completely off. All for me. There are beers in hand, but nobody is celebrating.
“Edge,” Slade is by my side, his caveman ego intact, “you can rely on me when the time comes to light the fucking place up.” He clamps onto my satin-covered shoulder. “Now get out of that fucking ridiculous outfit.”
The men who are ready to give their life for my cause are just trying to settle my temper, as I’ve been hard to live with.
I turn to Slade. “You do know how lucky a man you are, yeah?”
Phoenix has sharp ears and isn’t gonna let that comment slip by. She knows how to be around us and blend. She’s so effortlessly cool the way she dresses, in her vintage T-shirts and ass-hugging jeans, with her dreads contained under bandanas, but at the same time, she is one of us, without trying to be.
“Oh, there’s nothing going on with Slade and me, other than friends who look out for each other.”
Could she be any more transparent?
“Well, in that case,” Blueblood really does want to play with fire, “Phoenix, I’ve got room in my bed if you want to—”
MC brother or not, Slade’s not gonna let that slide. His chest is hard up against Blueblood’s and he’s sending a telepathic message to stand down, his fists tight balls at his side. Phoenix is about to step in and rectify the pot she just stirred, when I shake my head at her. She lives in the civilian world, where maybe it’s okay for chicks to step in and save their man, but not in our world. No matter how badass and capable she is, she’s still got tits.
Slade has to let the boys know she’s off limits, regardless of what she thinks about Slade, even though she is walking a fine line. Phoenix is a conundrum, because Slade would fit her well, yet she fights the pull. She must have her reasons, but fuck me if I can think of one against a guy like him.
I whisper into her ear. “Babe, you can’t be playing this game in front of bikers.” They’ve all been ogling her ass when she walks past, and they are thinking about getting inside her. Each man is putting up their hand for co-chefing in the kitchen, just to spend time with her.
Her face goes bright red and she starts spluttering. “What game? Just because I don’t roll over and spread my legs for Slade, doesn’t mean I’m available for anybody else. I’m here to help. And it would be in fucking bad taste, considering what Whisper is going through, don’t you think?” Her hands are mimicking Slade’s, tight fists by her sides, like she wants to punch somebody but she’s holding herself in check. I don’t doubt she knows how to fight and win. Slade’s told me she knows enough martial arts techniques to take any one of us and lay us out.
“Okay, everybody, let’s lighten the fuck up.” The tension is lifting as some of the guys disperse into other rooms, while Phoenix, on an eye roll, disappears into the kitchen to start on tonight’s dinner. I don’t doubt Slade will gravitate toward checking on her soon enough, because Viper, Viking’s younger, red-headed brother, who gets his handle because he’s a crackshot, with his fresh hipster look is headed straight after her to opt for kitchen duty. After all, she can’t feed all these men by herself, and at least one of us always makes it our responsibility to rotate, giving her a helping hand.
I thump my way back with the moonboot to the room I’m sharing with Hazard to start removing this creepy get-up and dress in some real clothes. We’ve kept to the cabin, only heading to town in small groups for supplies, wearing casual clothes, blending in playing the new part of friends on vacation. Not a fucking care in the world.
Under the cabin’s roof, we have been plotting and planning. Joel is a fucking genius. He set this whole thing up and got me the fake gazillionaire perverted life. You can Google the shit out of me now, and all you’d find is I’m a reclusive, obscenely rich, private man, who is very much under the radar and likes it kept that way.
I am the type of person Cezar would be drawn to. I am a phantom, because of my wicked tastes, and Adam made sure I was on the list of attendees.
The upfront cake was a little harder to come by on short notice, but we managed with all my properties hocked to the neck and Boxer added his own cake. I don’t give a shit about the money. I can always make more.
Joel seems to believe it is only gonna be used as flypaper anyway, transferring right back out of Cezar’s account once his castle gets overthrown. It is, after all, just sticky paper filling that fucker’s account up, according to the man who could make almost anything happen in cyberspace.
Once a hacker, always a hacker.
Hell, he could extract every one of those dickwads’ attendance fees and donate it to every female in that Pen. Child’s play.
I decide to give Miss Catherine a call. She soothes my anxieties. I just don’t need anybody else to know I’ve adopted her as my own.