And that, at least, isn’t about to change.

***

Gunter pops the trunk of his ’69 Fairlane as I approach, leaning in and retrieving his tire iron from inside. I frown at him, letting him know I’m not impressed that he feels the need to stash it within arm’s reach. Sure, most of Eddie’s top clients are here, hiding among the masses, but we’re not expecting trouble. At least, nobody’s told me we are.

“Where’d you park?” he asks, pulling me into his hard front and wrapping his arms possessively around my waist.

I crane my neck to look up at him. “Over by the food stalls.”

Gunter’s car has no back seat, only a roll cage. It’s a little unconventional for a show car, but then the engine under the hood says it’s not just a car made to look at anymore. Consequently, I bring my own pride and joy—a ’69 Camaro. We joke with each other about the fact they’re both made in ’69, that we must have a slight obsession for the number. Still, as pristine as I keep my car, Eddie won’t let me show it. ‘No need for a little lady to make the men feel unimportant,’ he tells me. ‘No need to go showin’ off now, is there love?’

Asshole.

To the general public, these show and shines are a regular feature. Every second Sunday of the month we’re here, displaying cars and providing entertainment for the families with a singing contest, various car-related awards, and a bounce house for the kids beside the pop-up bar.

But to those of us in the know, they’re where Eddie does most of his trade. Orders are placed, money is shifted between vehicles, and the dealers check in over the course of the afternoon, showing face and keeping up appearances. It’s Eddie’s way of sticking it up the other players in the area, by trading under their noses and making it clear he’s the go-to guy for premium cocaine and green.

There’s only one rule—nobody carries. If the cops were to drop in, the last thing Eddie would want is a bunch of known dealers with a shitload of evidence in their pockets. Which means random checks. Which also means, regular fists thrown when the dealers get antsy about being felt up.

Easy swaggers over to where we stand, running his finger along the matte black paintwork of Gunter’s car. The airbags are dropped and the Ford sits flat on its ass, chrome brushing the grass below.

“Lookin’ sharp, Gunter.” Easy tips his head at him, and then gives me his customary grin.

“Leticia still under the weather?” I ask.

“Unfortunately, love.” He smirks. “Eddie’s gonna need you to keep tabs on everyone, as usual.”

“I had no doubt.” Every damn show he has me glued to his side taking notes on who showed and who needs a house call.

Gunter’s chest rises and falls against me. “Guess you better get on over.”

I tip my head back and kiss the point of his jaw. “Guess I better.”

I give Tommy a wave as he approaches with a giant frozen Coke, and follow Easy across the paddock to where Eddie sits amongst his king’s court. The bastard gets his tag-alongs to cart out a full lounge suite for him on a damn trailer, setting up a palace under a pop-up gazebo for him to relax in during the afternoon.

Eddie spots us approaching, and lifts his hand to beckon me over with two fingers. “Ryan, darlin’. Come have a seat.”

I make my way across the carpet that’s laid out under the seats, and perch on the arm of Eddie’s chair. He snaps his fingers at Taylor, gaining his attention.

“Get Ryan here the list, would you?”

Taylor rises and heads over to the trunk of a car backed in to the side of the gazebo. He pulls a board with several sheets of paper out of a box, and brings it over, passing it to me. The list contains the name of every dealer we have on the payroll, and the debts, if any, that they owe. I shake my head at the papers, and smile at Eddie.

“You need to get up to speed with technology. You could have this all on a tablet. Every week’s list right there at your fingertips.”

“I appreciate you tryin’ to help, Ryan,” he says, patting my leg, “but a good old piece of paper and a pencil ’ave never let me down over the years.”

“It’s a security risk,” I explain. “What if they went missing?”

“They wouldn’t now, would they?” He smiles devilishly at me. “You wouldn’t let that happen now, would ya, Ryan?”

Not if I valued all my fingers remaining attached. “Never.”

“So where’s the problem then, eh?”

“Just thought I’d point it out,” I say, flicking through the sheets.

“And I love ya even more for it, darlin’. You just worry about doin’ your work for me, yeah? Let me worry about the hard stuff.”

I smile sweetly at the asshole, imagining how satisfying it would be to choke the living daylights out of him. Yet again, I’m no more than the ‘little lady’ to him. His arrogance blinds him, makes him ignorant to the danger sitting right beside him.

The lessons he’s yet to learn.

OPPORTUNITY KNOCKS

Bronx

There are easily a hundred cars here. When the Pommy bastard said ‘a bit of a show and shine,’ I expected twenty of his friends. But this . . . understatement of the century. Pulling the key from my bike, I pocket it and remove my helmet, scoping out the grounds while I do. Somewhere is Eddie, which means Gunter, and that means she’s here too.

The weather’s warm, the sun beating down on the people as they mill around between the rows of classic and muscle cars, shined to perfection. Kids walk beside their parents, one hand looped in their guardian’s, the other clutching an ice cream or cool drink. It’s the picture of a perfect summer weekend.

I take my time weaving through the rows and checking out the cars. There’s no hurry to get to Eddie, no need to look like I’m keen to know what it is he wants with me, although I’m gagging to find out. Five lines in, I come across a bagged Fairlane and one very familiar pair of faces. The kid, Tommy, rises from where he’d been sitting on the grass beside the car and heads out into the walkway to greet me.

“How you liking the show?”

“Some nice fuckin’ cars here,” I say honestly. “More than I expected.”

“Started out small¸” he explains, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looks over the paddock. “But after a while, more people heard about it and the numbers just grew.”

“This yours?” I ask, gesturing to the Fairlane.

“Gunter’s. He’s been working on it for three years now.”

The big guy gets up from where he’d been reclined in the passenger seat, and shuts the door. “Seen Eddie yet?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. Thought I’d enjoy the day first.”

“He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Never realized I had a curfew.” I cross my arms over my chest, narrowing my gaze on him as he comes to a stop toe to toe with my boots. What the fuck does she see in this guy?

“Don’t like you talking to my boy here, either.” Gunter makes a show of looking me top to toe.

I turn to face Tommy, exaggerating a confused expression. “Do you know you needed to ask permission to have a conversation?”

He grins, and shakes his head. “You like trouble, don’t you?”

“Keeps the days lively,” I answer, smiling.

Gunter shifts closer, shunting my shoulder with his chest. I swing my gaze back to the tall bastard and give him a bored look.

“I also don’t like smartasses,” he grinds out between his teeth, “or the way you look at my girl.”

Huh. He noticed that, then. I lift an eyebrow.

“First warning, pretty boy. She warms my bed, and stands by my side. I own her—go get your own.”

“What did you pay for her?” I ask. “Give you a good return on investment, if you like.”

“What the fuck?”

“You said you own her,” I state. “Assumed that meant you paid to get her. Kind of makes sense,” I muse, backing up as he presses harder. “How else could a braindead idiot like you get a fuckin’ fine woman like her?”