“Almost done,” Hael says, putting the top on the sizzling pan of meat before returning back to the avocado he was slicing up. “Did you know cartels control most of the avocado production in Mexico? We should get in on that shit.”
“Fucking cartels,” Victor murmurs, but he's also rubbing his chin, so clearly he's thinking about something. “Any word on how the Charter Crew did making up that twenty-grand in product?”
Oscar makes a sound of annoyance and then sneers, tossing the magazine aside. Pretty sure he wasn't even looking at it—what use would Oscar Montauk have for modern décor in a contemporary world.
“Since Mitch Charter is driving a new car, I would say they aren't hurting at all. They either have sources of income I don't know about, or else someone big is backing them.” Oscar pauses, narrowing his gray eyes on the floor as he spirals into his thoughts.
“What about the gang that supplied them with the product in the first place?” Aaron asks, but Oscar is already standing up and shaking his head. He is, once again, wearing a suit and tie. It's like he doesn't know how to relax for more than five freaking minutes at a time.
“What gang do you know that takes on charity cases?” he asks, glancing over at me in just such a way that I know the look itself is meant to be an insult. I decide to ignore him this once, placing a single grape in my mouth and sucking on a tattooed finger for just a moment. My lipstick—we're on a roll here and this one is called Jilted—smears across my skin and Oscar watches it like he's mesmerized. As soon as he realizes he's doing it, he turns away. “Not likely. Someone is padding their pockets.”
“That doesn't make any fucking sense,” Victor snaps, clearly frustrated with the situation. “The Charter Crew is nothing. They don't even deserve a name. May as well keep calling them the Charter/Ensbrook brothers.”
“Someone wants them to pick on us,” Oscar muses, like he's thought about this before but found it too ludicrous to mention … until now. He glances up, gray eyes flashing, and stares Vic down. “What about your mother?”
The energy in the room shifts completely, and Vic's beautiful mouth turns down in a frown.
“It makes sense. Ophelia participates in this little … shindig.” Oscar waves a tattooed finger around in a circle as he stalks across the room and grabs his iPad. He flips the lid open, unlocks it, and starts to do … whatever it is that he does. “She makes easy cash by hooking the Vincents up with buyers for the girls and then feeds some of that cash into the Charter Crew.” Oscar snaps his fingers like he's onto something. “Mitch would just lap up an opportunity like this.”
Victor leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees and waiting for Oscar to finish his mini-rant. Our boss—holy crap, my husband—seems skeptical, but open to this theory.
“I mean, I wouldn't put it past Mommy Dearest to try and fuck me in whatever ways she can, but this is a little far-fetched, don't you think? Bernie's list, the Kushners, the Vincents, Kali. It's all tied together?”
Oscar bites his thumb nail, his gray eyes slits behind the shine of his glasses.
“I'm missing something,” he says, sounding frustrated, like this isn't something that happens to him often.
Funny that, considering he royally fucked my feelings after we had sex. But whatever. I spin a slow circle on the stool and then pause. My eyes flick to Aaron. He's heard about David already, of course, but it's not an easy thing to bring up. He … waited for me. That's pretty romantic, don't you think? Anyway …
“David Benedict,” I say, exhaling sharply.
The Havoc Boys all stop what they're doing to stare at me.
“Your Brittany Burr?” Oscar queries, obviously trying to be an asshole, even during a critical discussion of Havoc business. I fucking can't stand him sometimes. “What about him?”
“He goes to Oak Valley Prep,” I say, standing up from the stool. A strange feeling cuts through me as the puzzle pieces in my mind start to slide together. “Do we know the name of Kali's Oak Valley Prep hookup?” I glance over at Oscar, and he nods, checking the screen of his iPad.
“Yes, of course. Mack Holdman.” Oscar looks back up at me in triumph, but when he finds me grinning, the expression fades away as quick as it came. “What?