Page 101 of Scarlet Wars
Levi chuckled, but there was no edge of nerves in it. “I heard you dumped Cyclos’s Leader.”
“I heard you were interesting enough to provide an entertaining Friday-night,” I shot back.
Levi’s grin turned broad, dazzling in a way that probably worked on most people. “Oh I am. And it would be my honor to prove that to you.”
Jackson muttered under his breath, “Smooth.”
“Sure,” I said, though it came out tighter than I wanted. “As long as you don’t get any ideas.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” the obvious player replied brightly, as though I’d agreed to marry him. “I’ll send the coordinates. Dress code: shoes that can withstand a little blood.”
“Charming,” I mumbled, one corner of my mouth twitching.
Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose like he was trying to squeeze the stupid out of the world. “This is a terrible idea.”
“Yeah,” Sean said, before smirking in typical McGrath-style. “Which means it’s going to be fun.”
Levi cut the connection with a theatrical little bow and vanished.
“Okay, you guys, get out. I need to get ready.” I already felt a hair looser, like the outline of the night could pull something heavy off my shoulders.
“I’ll help,” Saoirse chimed, grinning so wide I could hear it through the Nexus. “I also have expert opinions on outfits and makeup.”
As Sean and Jackson rose, Jackson palmed a folded scrap of paper and shoved it into Sean’s hand with the solemnity of a man passing along a cursed relic.
Sean unfolded it, scowled. “The hell is this?”
“Copy of my will,” Jackson said, almost conversational. “If she gets laid tonight, please make sure the right people find it.”
Sean snorted. “Pretty sure my First Offensive will have their head long before anyone even looks at her.”
They cracked up like schoolboys who’d just pulled off a prank, still laughing as they shuffled out of my room.
I rolled my eyes at them as the door clicked shut behind them, leaving only the hum of the Nexus and Saoirse’s ever-present grin.
Spinning toward my bestie, my hands flew up in helpless disbelief. “The hell do I wear to a fight?”
Saoirse leaned closer through the glow of the connection, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Something drop dead gorgeous, of course.”
I was goingto strangle Saoirse.
She made me change about twenty-five times before we finally landed on a little black dress so short you could almost see my ass. I protested, obviously, to no avail. “It’s Canada, I’m going to freeze to death.”
Saoirse waved a hand like she was simply dismissing a mosquito. “Layer like a pro. Stockings, garter, boots. Finish it off with a long red coat if you must.” She said it like she was reading from a battle plan. “Trust me. You’ll be distracting them before the first punch lands.”
I grumbled out curse words as I put on stockings and garters, and black boots that marched all the way over my knees. Saoirse talked me through makeup—heavy liner, that ridiculous smoky eye she swore would make people forget their names—and smirked as I followed along.
It felt like eighty hours had passed before I stared at myself in the mirror and hated that I had to admit I really kind of looked hot.
I also looked like I could be flirting for tips on a sketchy corner. Equal parts lethal and unethical marketing.
“Done,” Saoirse announced, grinning at me through the Nexus like she’d won the war. “You look drop dead gorgeous.”
“Drop dead or taken into custody?” I muttered, tugging at the hem that felt criminally short.
She laughed, leaning closer to the projection until her face filled the glow of the connection. “Either way, it’ll be a story. Go break some hearts, Em.”
With a mischievous little salute, she waved me off and disconnected.
