Page 72 of Obsession
“No,” Moth agrees. “It makes it controlled exposure.”
Bricks snorts. “Moth, buddy, you make everything sound like a medical condition.”
“It is an operational category.”
“That’s worse.”
Saint sets the paper down. “You don’t have to go.”
The room quiets around that, Saint looking at me. I can see that he means it, too. If I say no, this goes away, which is a stark change from where I stood just two weeks ago.
I run my thumb along my ring, feeling the silver catch briefly against my skin. Saint’s eyes drop to the movement, then return to my face.
“I’ll go,” I say.
His jaw tightens. “You’re sure?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “But I’ll go.”
Something in his face shifts as he stands and comes around the desk, stopping close enough that I have to tip my head back.
Saint lifts his hand and catches the front of my neck, fingers spread under my jaw rather than around my throat, his thumb moving along the place where the buyer’s bruise has finally faded.
“All healed,” he whispers, his thumb lingering once more, then he leans in and presses his mouth to my jaw. “You stay with Bricks,” he says. “You don’t wander. You don’t let Canon pull you into a private room. You don’t let Varina get you alone. If anything feels wrong, you leave the paperwork and get in the car.”
I hold his gaze. “Yes.”
His mouth curves faintly. “That was very obedient.”
“It was agreement. Don’t get excited.”
Bricks makes a strangled sound behind us.
Saint’s eyes darken in a way that makes heat move under my skin. “Careful, Sín.”
Moth clears his throat. “As touching as this is, the handoff window is in forty minutes.”
Bricks stands with a groan. “There he goes again, ruining romance with clocks.”
“There was no romance,” Saint muses, pulling back from me completely.
Bricks looks at me. “He gets confused when things happen without bloodshed.”
“I’m learning that,” I throw back, my lips curving up into a soft smile.
Saint gives Bricks a look sharp enough to make another man reconsider his next breath. Bricks only grins, which proves either bravery or brain damage. Possibly both.
“Wait, why are we taking the car?” I ask as I follow Bricks into the lot.
Bricks unlocks it and jerks his chin toward the passenger side. “Because we might need room on the way back, and I’m alreadyresponsible for you. I don’t trust Demo with cargo, weapons, paperwork, or basic judgment. Himself included.”
The ride to Rogue territory is longer than it should be, mostly because Demo cannot stop talking. He’s in the back seat behind Bricks with one knee bouncing, a takeout coffee balanced precariously between both hands, and enough nervous energy to power the vehicle without gasoline.
Demo leans forward between the seats. “So, just for clarity, when we get there, do I look scary or normal?”
Bricks doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Those are both ambitious goals for you.”
“I can look scary.”
