Page 98 of Pack Baby for the Bratva
I didn't know what to do with that, so I went to get Maeve.
She was in the kitchen when I found her, wearing one of my sweaters which did something to me I couldn’t work out. I’d had sex with Maeve. Knotted her many times. Shared her with my pack mates but this. I inhaled deeply. She was wearing my clothes. Not Artem’s. Mine
I stood for too long watching her holding a mug of tea. Her hair was in a loose knot on top of her head. There was a crease on her cheek from where she'd fallen asleep against a cushion while feeding Mac.
She looked soft. Domestic. Callum McCarthy had spent his life underestimating his daughter because he confused gentleness with weakness.
"You're staring," she said without turning around.
"I’m observing."
"That's what Artem says when he's staring."
"Artem and I share a vocabulary."
She turned. The smile on her face flickered when she saw my expression. "What's happened?"
"Artem needs you in the office. It's about your father."
The smile didn't fall. It changed. Became something older and harder, a blade being drawn so slowly you didn't hear the scrape.
"Okay," she said.
We walked to the office together. I matched my pace to hers. Artem would have put a hand on her back. Ivan would have pulled her against his side. I walked beside her with eighteen inches of air between us and hoped proximity was enough.
She took my hand. “It’ll be okay.”
“I’m supposed to say that to you,” I replied, lifting her hand and pressing my mouth on the palm.
We stopped outside the door. Just for a moment. Maeve reached up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth against mine. “You taste so good.”
My hard heart softened.
In the office, Artem handed her the letter.
She read it standing up. Her hands were steady. Her breathing hitched once at the beginning and then settled into something slower and deeper than before.
Not fear exactly.
"It says he's coming Friday," she said.
"Yes."
"To collect what he's owed."
"Yes."
She set the letter down and smoothed the front of my sweater. A small, deliberate gesture, the kind women made when they were collecting themselves. I'd seen her do it before the council meeting. I'd seen her do it in Vegas.
"Good," she said. "That gives me four days."
Ivan blinked. "Good? Your father is coming here to—"
"I read the letter, Ivan. It had his usual charm. Very ransom note, but with superior penmanship."
“You’re not frightened," Artem asked.
"Of course I'm frightened. I'm not suddenly made of marble because I married into a family with too many firearms."
