Page 65 of Iris' Lying Eyes
Glancing at Jagger making his way to a mark in the crowd, I mumble, “He’s not my friend.”
This is before his words penetrate, and I grab my head. Am I hallucinating, or did he just say Yates, as in the man who makes deals with John? That’s where I’ve seen those pale irises before.
My head spins, and I bite my tongue, welcoming the pain that grounds me. Does he know his dad is a freak? Whatever. This isn’t my fucking problem. I’ve got enough dicks on my back.
“You coming?” Diem says, stepping back, but I stare at him blankly, completely fucking confused.
“No?” He turns away.
“Wait!”
“Nope, you wanna talk? Let’s roll.”
Grabbing his arm, I say quietly, “I need to talk. It’s important.”
He glances at Ramsay, and they communicate silently again before he pushes me toward the parking lot. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“You wanna talk, you better walk.”
Ramsay leads, followed by a tall, blond dude who should look like a nerd dressed in pressed chinos but wears them well. He’s slim but sinewy, and one look at his face confirms he belongs to the dark side. Welcome to the club, I guess. Fuck.
What am I doing? I’m about to go party with dicks I don’t know. Not that Diem gave me much choice.
Chapter Fourteen
It’s quiet on the drive. I’m still hoping for a moment alone with Diem, and I sense his crew doesn’t want to speak in front of me. I’m also really confused why Ramsay, whose father is dealing with John, is friends with Diem, a McCafferty. Do they know how complicated this is?
We pull up to a bonafide mansion, and I cross my fingers. Please let this be anyone else’s home but Ramsay’s. The last thing I need is to run into his father. I’m full up on awkward reunions.
We bypass the house and go through a side gate to the backyard. My head immediately begins to throb when pumping music blares from a carriage house beyond. Fancy pavers guide our way, and as soon as we’re through the door, I sag against the wall.
The sound of the party drops to a low crescendo when Ramsay, Diem, and his friend follow behind me. Diem grabs a drink out of some chick’s hand and hands it to me. Her fierce scowl fades to a dreamy sigh when she spots him, but he’s immune.
I smile bitchily, but it slides off my face when Ramsay stops beside him and asks, “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” I mutter. “I have to pee.”
I don’t know what’s going on, which means I don’t know what to say or do. If this is a play on me, I have to be careful. If it’s coincidence, well, I don’t believe in those.
“Why so skittish?” Ramsay says. His silky tone sends a shiver of warning down my spine, and I snarl, “Look, you need to back off. The last thing I need is to be seen with you.”
“Me?” Ramsay’s brows fly over his eyes, and I point at him before waving at Diem. “Yes. You. My stepdad is John Preston. And you’re team McCafferty.”
“Who Diem?” Ramsay says with an amused shake of his head.
Diem folds his arms over his substantial chest and says, “I’m team me.”
“Lovely. I still can’t be seen with you or you,” I say sourly and with a frown, Ramsay grabs my arm. “Oh, why is that?”
“Do you have no idea what your father gets up to?” I sneer.
Ramsay’s brow darkens before he pulls me through the crowd, ignoring my protests as we go.
“Hey, let go of me,” I say, but I’m ignored as he shoves me into another room filled with weird-ass artwork on the walls and a pool table. Why do people think dogs playing poker is cool?
“Out,” Ramsay says, and they scatter like cockroaches. Bemused, I watch, recognizing that in this area of the world, Ramsay Yates is in charge. Great, another goon.