Page 63 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
“I hate to be the one to tell you this, Gidget, but you can’t be friends with the heir to the Grey Wolfe throne. That isn’t how life works.” He sighs heavily and continues to stroke his fingers against my back. “It didn’t work out for Kian and Queenie either. Now we’re all paying the price for that love affair.” Crown’s voice lowers, and I stiffen up, sensing that darkness in him that he refuses to acknowledge. As I said before, Crown is twice as dangerous as Cat on a good day. My father would be nothing without his ex-cop righthand.
“Still, the priest …” I start, trying to lighten the mood.
“What can I say? I’m one hell of a shot.” He smirks, but his eyes are still focused on the wall, his mind faraway. We both pause at the sound of boots on the stairs, assuming it’s Beast. Sin maybe. Grainger.
“Open this fucking door.”
It’s Cat.
Crown is out of that bed so fast, you’d think he’d been bit. I don’t bother to rush after him, leisurely snatching a tank top and some shorts from the floor and sliding them on. Cat pounds on the door as Crown shoves his feet into his boots, checking around one last time to make sure there isn’t any evidence of our tryst.
As for my part, I lie back down and face the wall, feigning sleepiness.
I can’t see the door open, but I can hear it.
“You asleep in here?” Cat barks, but that’s all I hear. The rest of the words exchanged between the two men are mere mumbles. “Get your ass up.” The blanket is torn off of me, and I turn over to glance at my father, a chilly fear taking over me.
He knows, I think, swallowing hard.
I almost shoot my mouth off, ask him why in a dry, uninterested tone, just to make sure I’m not about to die today.
“You best get dressed,” Cat warns me, tightlipped and serious. “Do your hair. Put that fancy ring back on.” He nods his chin in Crown’s direction, and he slips the ring out of his pocket, tossing it in the air and then catching it with tight fingers.
“Do my hair?” I query, but Cat is already moving, storming out the door and down the steps.
“Grey Wolfe wants to talk to you,” Crown says, his voice crafted of shadows and promised pain. My words to Grey come tumbling back in a dangerous wave, one that threatens to drown me beneath its blue borders.
“Let’s make a pact, okay? No matter what happens, you have my back, and I have yours.”
“Deal. For all my faults, I never lie. I will have your back, Gidget, no matter what.”
“You found him?” I whisper, feeling like I’m being suffocated.
“He’s calling us,” Crown corrects, taking note of my franticness, my fear. And he doesn’t like it. Even if he lied for me, even if he buried his cock in my pussy last night, he won’t allow for this. None of them will.
I throw the blankets off and yank my top over my head. This time, Crown watches unashamedly as I dress myself in the nicest dress that I have, this tight, clingy red thing that I never would’ve been given to wear back at the cathedral. Even with one of my grandmother’s diamond necklaces and some black heels, I wouldn’t exactly call myself elegant.
I look like a biker chick. Like Posey. Because these are her clothes.
With a huff, I head down the stairs as fast as I can, hooking an earring on as I go.
Beast meets us at the bottom of the steps, leading us down to the first floor and then along a hall toward the formal living room. Sin is already in there, watching me. Grainger, too. I ignore them both as I stride across the room and come face-to-face with Grey Wolfe.
My friend of three months, my only confidante, my almost-husband.
His beautiful silver eyes find mine, and my breath escapes in a rush.
“Hello Gidget,” he says, but he doesn’t sound quite like the Grey I know. This is his public persona, not the one I was privy to during my time at the cathedral.
“Grey,” I reply politely, cautiously, fully aware of my father and Gaz, of the four men I’ve started to think of as my own, of the old-timers in the back and the young assholes who worship at my brother’s feet. There are a lot of Daybreakers in here, more than usual.
It occurs to me then that one wrong word from Grey could destroy the entire illusion that the five of us have been working on. My good deed toward Grey isn’t yet a thorn that I can pull from my side. Instead, it oozes, a metaphorical infection that I can’t control.
“I’ve told them that I’ll only speak with you.” He smiles at me, but there isn’t a shred of warmth to any of it. Grey’s suit is tailored and sharp, highlighting that slim but muscular form that I never allowed myself to sample. I realize now what a smart choice that was. Sex makes things messy. Our relationship is all the better for forgoing it entirely. “You were supposed to be my wife, after all.”
