“When?” Jack asks.
“Next week.”
“Fuck,” he breathes. I turn back around to face him. He’s looking out at everyone dancing, and after a moment of silence, he smiles.
“I met Q and knew I would marry her that first night,” he says. “Maybe it’ll be the same for you. Stranger things have happened.”
“Go dance with your wife, and stop eye fucking her from across the deck,” I tell him, wanting the conversation about my own fucked-up life to be over for a while. “You’re going to make everyone seasick with your puppy love.”
He grabs me by the back of the head and pulls me in, kissing my cheek.
“It’ll all work out,” he says and then lets go, squeezing my shoulder and making his way back to Quin. I turn around and watch them together, her red hair bouncing as she wraps her arms around his neck. Wes and Zo? are next to them, laughing and dancing. Wes looks like the happiest motherfucker on the boat.
I turn back around and signal to the bartender.
CHAPTER NINE
WES
“We’re docking for the night,” Quin tells us as she and Jack walk up to our little table we’ve claimed out on the deck.
“You guys have the yacht for the rest of the weekend?” Zo? asks, and Quin plops down next to her.
“Yep! And then we set off on our honeymoon.” She turns her head toward Zo? and looks at both of us before continuing on. “These assholes and all of my bridesmaids are staying here for the weekend, and you are more than welcome to stay, Zo,” she says, a knowing smile on her face. “I’m sure Wes would be more than happy to let you sleep in his room.”
“Wes would very much like to keep you in his room,” I tell her, grinning and leaning in to kiss her neck as I push away her hair. “I think I’d just like to keep you,” I murmur against her throat.
“Get a room,” Owen groans playfully.
“What do you think I’m trying to convince her to do?” I ask, looking over at him as I surprise her by pulling her onto my lap. Her dress rides dangerously high as her knees straddle my waist. “You better say yes before I make a scene,” I tell her.
“Wes!” Quin chides, swatting me on the arm. “Don’t embarrass her to get what you want.”
“Too late,” Zo? says, laughing softly and playing with my beard. “I guess I can stay for the night.”
I smile at her, looking into those familiar brown eyes I thought I wouldn’t ever see again. I can’t get over how incredibly lucky I am to have her in my arms. Anytime I think about how my uncle fucked all of this up for me, the anger threatens to boil over. But he can be dealt with later. He will be dealt with later. I haven’t spoken to him in eight years, but that won’t stop me from making sure he knows that I know.
“Where’d you go?” Zo? whispers. Everyone else is talking amongst themselves as the boat makes its way back to the island. The music has been turned down for respect to the islanders, and I can hear the water lap at the sides of the yacht over the motors. Her fingers scratch their way through my beard and back into my hair that I left down ever since our little swim.
“Just thinking about all the things I can do to my uncle to make up for him fucking up the last eight years of my life,” I tell her honestly. Her eyes go wide and then sad.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you,” she says. “I didn’t want to be the reason you hate someone, especially your family.”
“I needed to know, and ever since the asshole cut me out of his life, I’ve been looking for reasons to go after him. I’ve learned a thing or two in my line of work. Could be fun.” I wink at her and pull her closer, kissing my way along her jaw.
“What exactly could be fun?” Greg asks. “Sounds like violence is being threatened, and I want in.”
“Me, too!” Pyro slurs, perking up from where he was half-asleep two seconds ago.
“I’m in if it can wait until after next week,” Owen agrees.
“What are you guys? The fucking mafia?” Zo? asks.
“Don’t ask,” Quin groans from her place next to Jack. “These assholes are violent, but we love them. Just ignore it.”
“Owen is definitely in the mafia,” Pyro says, lifting his drink to his lips and then frowning when he realizes it’s empty. Owen rolls his eyes and flips him off.
“We aren’t the mafia,” I tell her, running my hands up and down her arms. Goose bumps have broken out across her skin in the cool breeze. “But we do tend to attract that type of crowd, and these guys will one hundred percent have my back when I decide to go pay my uncle a visit.”