“I guess,” she says with a shrug, and lets Anna guide her to the waxing room.

About two champagnes later, April and I look up as Vicky walks up the hallway. Her face and chest are flushed a rosy shade of pink. The girl looks as if she’s been put through the ringer, and she’s walking funny too, wincing with each small step.

“How’d you go, babe?” I ask her, trying my best not to laugh.

“I want to die,” she growls.

“Hey, Vicky,” April shouts as she comes closer. “How are your bits?”

“My bits officially hate you. They’re drafting a formal letter of complaint as we speak.”

“Oh, come on now. It can’t have been that bad? We’ve all done it.”

“I swear the girl was trying to rip my flaps off. It’s the most unnatural thing I’ve ever experienced. She made me cry, April. I nearly told her halfway to stop, but I thought it would look funny. Then she asked me to check it, make sure I was happy with it. It looks like a plucked turkey! It doesn’t look pretty at all.”

Laughing hard, April pulls her into a hug. “Aw, my sweet, little Vicky. Don’t worry; all that pain will be forgotten when a guy’s got his head buried between your legs.”

Vicky blushes a deep beetroot red. “Promise?” she whispers, only loud enough for April and I to hear. “Because no guy has ever done that before.”

“Holy hell, Vicky. We need to get you a man. Closest thing to heaven you’ll ever get,” April says, and slaps her arse.

April’s words might as well have been out of Rocco’s mouth.

His mouth. The first thing that comes to mind is Rocco’s stud. The second thing is me coming apart under the command of that skilful tongue.

****

ROCCO

Jones, Stone and I sit and watch the sun set over the city from our hotel room balcony. It’s just been the three of us hanging out today. I whipped both their arses this morning at go-karts, which pissed them both off, but they both caned me this afternoon in one-on-one basketball. Neither of them believed me when I blamed my poor form on my dud knee. I told them I didn’t give a shit if they didn’t, and then sat back and watched them battle for the title. I’ve never seen such a serious game of ball in all my life. The sweat was pouring off them, neither backing down.

Today has been exactly what I’ve needed, but didn’t know it until now. Spending quality time with the boys. Time with my brothers. My family.

What surprised me the most about today, and makes me love these guys even more, is that alcohol didn’t even come into play. I can handle being around it, and I’m sure they’d both love a beer in their hands right now, but they’ve decided against it, and avoided it completely on Jones’s last day as a single man.

I turn to my mates and clear my throat, drawing their attention. “I fuckin’ love you guys,” I tell them.

Stone stands up in his chair beside me and ruffles his left hand through my hair, messing it up. I stand up, preparing to wrestle him to the ground, but I stop short when he holds out his hand. I don’t hesitate to put my own in his.

“Love ya, mate,” Stone says, and shakes firmly.

Jones slaps me on the back. “Yeah, what he said,” Jones says and winks.

I’m fucking lucky to have these men as solid mates. My emotions get the better of me, and my chest tightens. Don’t tear up.

“I don’t know about you boys, but I’m about to eat the crutch out of a low-flying duck,” Stone announces, moving towards the balcony door.

I clear my throat, swallowing my words, before I look like a tool and tell them how I feel again. I want them to know what an important part of my life they are. They know, already. Shut your trap. “Yeah, I’m starved,” I say.

“Grab the room service menu, Stone,” Jones says. Stone moves out of sight, leaving us to watch the last glimmer of sunlight disappearing between the buildings.

“You excited about seeing Soph?” Jones asks.

I flick my head towards him. I can’t stop the dumb-arse smile spreading across my face.

“I miss her,” I admit to him.

Last night was the first night we haven’t slept in the same bed since V died. It was different not having her by my side, but I managed. I felt her absence, but she’s such a fucking bed hog. I actually had a decent night’s sleep.

“I can tell.” Jones moves his chair to face me, the timber legs grating against the tiled floor. “Bro, when are you gonna tell her how you feel?”

My heart constricts in my chest as I stare at his face. Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. It’s the question I ask myself every day, and never come up with an answer. Since V died, I haven’t been able to express my feelings to her. On that day, a part of my heart withered away and died like an injured animal.

I shrug.

“Do you reckon you two are ever gonna sort your shit out and be together, already?”

I’m banking on it.

“I got a room here for tomorrow night, Jones. I don’t plan on being in it alone.”

****

Saturday

We arrive at the church in style in a stretch black Hummer. As we get out one by one, we watch on as a sea of guests filter up the pathway towards the grand old timber doors at the front of the building.

Jones’s parents and Mac greet people as they arrive, and usher them inside.

As we approach the doors, I hold my hand over my inside jacket pocket, hyper aware of the rings tucked inside. I’ve got a pretty fucking important job to do today, and I’m beyond pumped about it. I’ll also be doing it thirty-six days sober, which is a fucking miracle. I’m cool with being at a wedding sober, which is a change, compared to how anxious I was at the bucks. I know I can resist it because I have the support of my friends, but in particular, one very hot, not-so lesbian flatmate who has become such a big part of my life. If I told her how important she’s become to me, I don’t think she’d believe it.

As we round up the last of the cobblestone steps, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, and when I see that it’s the detective, I know I can’t reject the call.

“Jones, I gotta take this. Just give me a sec.”

“Sure. April is gonna be late for sure, anyway.”

“Yeah,” I answer and move around the side of the church.

“Mr De Luca, it’s Detective Senior Constable Coubrough here.” The tone in her voice is exactly as it was that day when she came to my door. Hesitant and laden with empathy. It sends an unwelcome chill right up my spine.

“I can’t talk long,” I say, as I wander down the path through the manicured gardens, kicking rogue stones in my way with my Italian leather shoes.

“I won’t take too much of your time.” She huffs and then pauses. It forces my heart to pump harder in my chest.

“I’m ringing to inform you that we have formally charged an inmate with your brother’s murder. He’s from a rival gang.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” I choke out.

Murder.

Of course I knew that was what had happened, but hearing it from her mouth is a different story altogether. The word means so many things.

That low-life stole my brother. He destroyed what was left of my family. He didn’t care about the consequences of his actions or what it would do to those left behind. He killed my brother in cold blood, whether it be of his own will or bowing to the orders of those above him.

“Is he from the other MC we talked about? The Rebel Raisers?”

“Yes, he is. He’ll appear before the court to answer to the charges on Monday. As far as we’re concerned, we have a watertight case. I never make guarantees when it comes to this type of thing, but I promise you he’ll pay for what he’s done to your family.”

“Can I come to the court and look this fucker in the eye?”

“Do you think you’re ready for that?”

The church bells chime, ringing in my head with thoughts of murder. With quick steps, I walk deeper into the gardens. I can’t fucking think with that racket.