The atrium is silent as Augusta snaps her fingers, and someone pushes through a hidden door to the right. As it swings shut, I catch a glimpse of the kitchen on the other side. I’m assuming it’s the entry and exit for the servants because this person carries a tray with waters on it. And not just the average agua on ice. These have cucumber slices and fizzy bubbles with shiny rose-gold straws.

“Have a cucumber cooler.” Augusta motions to the tray, and her minion passes out the refreshments. 

I take the first sip, and holy shit, it’s delicious as fuck. Or maybe it’s because standing in a big ass mansion with money dripping from the ceiling makes everything taste like a dream? I bet these women sleep on feather mattresses hand-plucked by golden egg-laying geese from the Willy Wonka factory. A snort escapes my mouth as I picture Veruca Salt singing how she doesn’t care and wants it now. That little girl was such a turd! Angie elbows me, and Reina glares from the corner of her eye.

Oops.

“This is Angie Mendoza and Miguel Gomez.” Reina gestures to us. “They’re acquaintances of Franky.”

“As in, Francesca Fiona Le Flore Fitz?” Jocelyn’s hand pauses before touching her lips with the martini. 

“Yes, that’s the one.”

“Why the heck does she go by so many names?”

“It’s harder for people to remember long names, and in her line of work, she needs to be forgettable.”

“Ah, yes. Paper trails are such dangerous things...” Jocelyn points a finger gun at us and winks.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” Augusta takes another drag from her long cigarette, and we all wait as she blows the smoke towards the glass ceiling. It’s clear who’s running the show. We are on their time. “Why are you here?”

“For permission,” Reina replies.

“Obviously.” Jocelyn sips her martini. “We have guests arriving at 1 pm for lunch.”

“Right.” Reina clenches her teeth and adjusts her leather corset with a tug because although Jocelyn didn’t directly say it, she demanded we not waste their precious time. “They want to use my weapons—”

“For what purpose?” Augusta cuts her short.

“Perhaps I should let them explain.” Reina pivots towards us and nods.

“We want to kill our asshole exes,” Angie says, but Augusta nor Jocelyn bat an eyelash at the information. “With good reason. However, we’ve run into a problem. One of the exes is a man named Richie Reddy.”

“Now that’s interesting.” Augusta flicks ash from her cigarette and glances back at Jocelyn before returning her attention to us. “Richie is the third-largest heroin trader in the entire Bay Area.”

“Yes, we know. Which is why we’re here.”

“Killing him would create ripples.” 

“Which is why we need your blessing.”

“And if we don’t give it?” Augusta asks, and I wish I could tell her that I've already taken matters into my own hands, but I can't.

“Then we back off, and the wife-beating bastard gets to live,” Angie replies.

“Mindy Arora?” Jocelyn asks.

“You know her?” I pipe up, my heart suddenly banging my ribcage.

“We know of her. We like keeping tabs on who is who, and the man enjoys decorating his ex-wife’s face with bruises. That’s not something you forget. Plus, after Richie thought he could approach me at Penthouse, he’s walking on thin ice.” 

“You said he approached you at Penthouse?” I ask. “As in the nightclub?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“That’s none of your concern.” Jocelyn smiles, but it cuts me down to size as much as a snarl would. 

“I beg your pardon, ma’am, it’s just that I work security at Penthouse, and I would’ve remembered a woman like you, so I’m shocked that I don’t.”

Jocelyn gives me a once-over and bites into the olive of her martini. “Last Friday.”

“Then I wasn’t there that night.”

“What a pity. Now, back to the matter at hand.” Jocelyn stands and glides across the brick floor, her strappy silver heels clicking before sitting next to Augusta. That’s when I realize they haven’t invited us to take a seat, and I doubt they will. The Sisters begin chatting to one another, ignoring us. “Richie had the audacity to cross into the VIP lounge and address me by name.”

“The nerve.” Augusta tuts.

“Yup. He tried asking for a favor.”

“He should know better than to talk business in public.”

“I had Kay straighten him out.” 

“Good. But what did he want?” 

“He wants to be number two and eventually one.”

“I see.” Augusta cocks her brow. “That’s ballsy.”

“And stupid.”

“Indeed.” Augusta leans forward and stubs out her cigarette on a crystal ashtray on the iron coffee table. “Richie Reddy has been a problem for a while. He thinks associating with the Hellions makes him untouchable. But bikers are trashy.”

“Not to mention unpredictable. Which I don’t like,” Jocelyn says. 

“Precisely.” Augusta nods. “They’re the ones who broke into Malachi Walker’s warehouse and destroyed the place.”

“I called it! I knew it was them.” Jocelyn shakes her head. “Was it Richie who gave the order?”

“Kay isn’t sure, but it stinks like Richie.”

“Hm...” Jocelyn taps her chin. “Would the Hellions retaliate if something happened to Richie?”

At her words, Angie and I lean forward on the tips of our toes. They might be ignoring us, but they’re not rejecting our request, and it sounds like we might get our wish. If they grant it, then I can proceed with Richie without having to come clean about breaking their rules.

“The Hellions are only loyal to each other, and Richie isn’t one of them,” Augusta replies to Jocelyn. “But if we tell the Hellions to jump...”

“They’ll ask how high.” Jocelyn grins and takes another sip of her drink. 

“Precisely.” Augusta plucks the vibrating phone from the coffee table, and her eyes narrow at the message she’s reading. “The timing of this meeting is exquisite.”

“Why, what’s up?” Jocelyn arches a brow, and Augusta shows her the message. “Fascinating timing indeed.”

With that, Augusta snaps her fingers again, and a security guard emerges from the corner of the room. I flinch because I didn’t even notice the ninja standing there. So far, everyone who patrols the estate is tall and yoked to the gills. This one is no exception, but he walks like a damn rooster. He approaches the couch and bends so Augusta can whisper into his ear. There’s silence except for the murmur of whatever secret is being shared. 

The security guard nods and straightens as Augusta’s attention focuses back on us. 

“Kay will walk you out.”

Confused, I look at Angie, and she glances at Reina, but her expression doesn’t provide anything to go on, so I whisper, “That’s it?”

"What was that?" Augusta flashes her cold, blue eyes at me.

"It's just that we haven't really discussed anything, and you haven't given us an answer," I say, and Angie pinches my side to get me to shut up.

"Richie has been reported missing." Augusta studies me. "So until we get to the bottom of it, there's nothing else to discuss."

"Unless you know where he is." Jocelyn tilts her head, her gaze fixed on me with curiosity.

"No, ma'am."

"Good. Now get out of our sight." She shoos us with a wave of her manicured hands.

Their tall, muscular errand boy does his rooster strut past us, which is our signal to follow because grunts are his only form of communication. But Augusta clears her throat, and big man pauses at the double doors. 

“Reina, stay here and join us for lunch. I want to introduce you to one of our guests.” 

“But, Augusta, I’m underdressed.” 

“Don't worry about that," Augusta says. “As for the two of you...” She directs at Angie and me. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

The security guard resumes his rooster walk, and we follow him to the enormous entrance, where he motions for us to step through. Kay mumbles something about how the Sisters will be in touch, then shut us out with a kuh-thunk of the front door. It nearly bites my ass, and Angie isn’t pleased either as her hands go to her butt with brows furrowed. 

“Rude!” she says, and the guards pacing the perimeter turn our way. 

“Let’s get out of here before they point their guns at us.”

“I’m starving. Let’s get lunch.” She fishes out her phone, and her fingers fly across the screen, typing. “We’re meeting up with Alma.”

“Alma?”

“You know, from group.”

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t realize you kept in touch outside of group sessions.”

“Aw, did you think you’re the only one I spend time with?” Angie mock-frowns as we walk down the path to the golf cart waiting for us.

“No...”

“She wants her husband dead too.”

“Wait.” I halt. “She knows what you’re trying to do?”

“You mean what we are trying to do?” Angie motions between us and climbs into the cart. “Of course. You didn’t think we’d pull off this plan alone, did you? We need a team.”

As the golf cart takes off, Angie continues typing on her phone, but every bump from the tires sends my stomach into a hurricane of worry. I can control whatever happens with crazy Angie, but I can't control the whimsies of an entire group. When we arrive at the gate, her face is still buried in the screen as she hops off. We walk to the iron where the amateur guard stands, and he presses a button to roll it open. 

“Oh, Jackson is meeting us too.” Angie looks up at me and smiles. 

But I’m not smiling because what the actual fuck. 

I smell danger.