Resonance of Stars (Greenstone Security #5) - Anne Malcom Page 0,102

this pause.

“If you don’t want to be involved in this, you can get up, walk out. No questions asked. No repercussions.” Cade waited.

So did I.

Even if these men looked like they bench pressed Volvos for fun, this was a stranger—unless they’d seen my movies—asking them to go up against one of the most powerful and dangerous men in the country. I would’ve been surprised if anyone wanted to help me with this. A number of the men wore wedding rings. There was Gwen, with her easy smile, with her children, and Lucky’s pregnant wife.

No one got up from the table.

Cade nodded his head once. “Okay, let’s take this fucker down.”

“You go ahead, I’ve got to talk to my brother and Wire,” Rosie said, nodding her head toward Cade and the skinniest guy here, who was holding an energy drink. I was using the term “skinniest” very loosely since the man still had impressive muscles.

“Good, you can answer all my questions about Angel Tears. I can’t say it’s a favorite because playing favorites with your movies would be criminal. We’ll just start there,” Lucky jumped in, guiding me out of the room and toward the sofa.

“Did you really die in the end or did you just go to an alternate plane of existence?” he asked, then looked toward the mess of leather-wearing men dispersing. “A Prospect better get me a fucking beer and Anastasia a drink or they’ll be target practice as warm-up,” he yelled.

A younger man with impressive tattoos ran to do just that and returned quickly with a beer for Lucky and a fresh cocktail for me.

I smiled. “Thank you.”

He blushed and all but ran off. The tall, tattooed man blushed at me. Now I’d seen it all.

I turned to Lucky. “So, I know that the director is pretending it’s up for interpretation, but I know for a fact that he...”

I then proceeded to inform him of the most closely guarded secret about one of my biggest films. It was only fair, since the man seemed to be risking his life for me.

Normally, I worked on autopilot talking to fans about my movies. They mostly asked all the same questions and very few actually cared about the answers. They just wanted the bragging rights to say they spoke to Anastasia Edwards. And as social media got bigger, people cared more about the fucking selfie than they did a conversation.

Many times I’d wanted to snatch the phone shoved in my face and crush it with my designer shoes. But of course, I couldn’t do that. Imagine the publicity, the names that would be hurled around in the media, talking about how the “crazy” female star had snapped at a loving fan. It didn’t matter that the fan in question stalked me coming out of a fucking gyno appointment when I was walking with discomfort and just wanted to get out without speaking to anyone.

I became jaded and slightly hateful toward the hoards.

But Lucky was a breath of fresh air. He really was a true fan, and a bit of a geek. An intelligent one at that. A couple of the other men had joined the conversation, surprising me with the fact they were huge fans of the movie where I played a woman who exacted revenge on any man that wronged her.

It seemed that most of these gruff, alpha bikers were feminists. The wedding rings on their fingers helped tell me that they’d either changed for the right woman, or the right woman hadn’t been willing to put up with any patriarchal bullshit.

“I’m back,” Rosie declared, interrupting the conversation. She glanced around at the men. “Don’t you have infidels to beat into submission?” she questioned. “It’s girl time. And you”—she pointed to Lucky—“call your wife and tell her to meet us at Gwen’s place.”

Lucky’s eyes darkened ever so slightly. “I’ll tell her that you suggested that, but no way am I ordering her to do shit. She’s growing a human inside of her. My child. Where she takes herself is totally up to her.”

Rosie rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’ll text her.” She got her phone out. “Pussy,” she muttered under her breath.

The men quickly got up, offering me goodbyes.

Rosie took Lucky’s place beside me and grabbed my drink from my hand, draining the last sip.

“Okay, so tonight is kind of a write-off regarding the whole revenge thing,” Rosie said. “So I was thinking we have a girls’ night.”

“Girls’ night?” I queried.

“We’ll get dressed up so everyone’s husbands grumble about the