Page 121 of Lethal Obsession

“I will say,” he says, clicking rapidly through Kristi Hunter and Tyler Thorne’s site, “that whoever is funding this Cock Initiative has serious coin. These events are bigger than a Taylor Swift concert.”

“Compass Initiative, not Cock Initiative. And Taylor Swift?” I raise my eyebrows at him. “Seriously?”

“Hey.” Lars holds up a palm. “Talk to the hand, bitch. Benny made me go to her concert, and I’m now officially a convert.”

I give him a narrow look. “You and Benny are going to concerts together now?”

“That boy can take me anywhere.” He says it lightheartedly enough, but I don’t miss the faint catch in his voice. I’m not sure that I’ve ever actually seen Lars fall for someone. I want to give him shit about it, but oddly, I’m reluctant to.

“And while we’re on the topic of Taylor Swift,” he goes on, clearly keen to move past the moment, “I wouldn’t say a negative word about her to your lady love, or you might find yourself overboard. Tay Tay is practically a religion for Ofelia and her friends.”

One mention of her name, and just like that, I’m derailed.

Ofelia, hair gleaming in the golden sunlight, giggling over a cocktail.

Gliding through the water in the string bikini I can’t wait to tear off.

Naked on the sunbed, barely meters from where I’m sitting right now . . .

“Motherfucker.” Lars snaps his fingers in the air in front of me. “Focus. Although by that dreamy-eyed stare, you’ve got more interesting things to focus on.”

I put my middle finger up. “Fuck you.”

“Not if I fuck you first,” he says cheerfully. “And while we’re on the topic of fucking.” He gives me a sly wink as he pours us both enormous drinks. “Would you like to know why, exactly, it’s taken Mickey so long to install that secure room in Ofelia’s house?”

“I thought he was just pissed about doing it.”

“Oh, no.” Lars shakes his head slowly. “It’s far better than that.” He gives me a coy look that makes me grin despite myself.

“Come on, you big gossip queen. Out with it.”

“Fine.” He takes a theatrically slow sip of his drink. “Mickey,” he says finally, with almost gleeful satisfaction, “has got a serious hard-on for someone.”

“Oh.” I shrug. “Good for him.”

I don’t give a fuck.

“No, it really isn’t.” Lars looks like he’s fit to burst. “The object of his desire is Lourdes.”

I give him an uncomprehending look. “And that should matter to me why, exactly?”

“You really know nothing, John Snow.” He rolls his eyes. “Ofelia and Mickey have a deal: she doesn’t tell Roman what Mickey gets up to, and in return, he doesn’t date her friends. Like, ever.” He raises his drink to me. “I believe that means the information I just gave you is what you Russians call kompromat.”

Oh, is it fucking ever.

I take a long, satisfying pull on my drink, unable to stop a filthy grin spreading across my face.

I’ll have that secure room done in twenty-four hours.

“Let me guess.” Lars pulls out his phone with a wry grin. “Now you want me to message Mickey and set up a call in that secure room so you can apply pressure immediately.”

I pull him from his stool and into a hard, one-armed hug, my head spinning from how different my world feels from the stilted isolation of barely hours ago. “It’s good to see you, asshole,” I say as we turn toward the cabin.

“Yeah.” Lars plants a fat kiss on my head, making me grin. “You too, motherfucker.”

22

Ofelia