Am I damning them to more of that by requesting the hearts of all four? Is that fair, for them to only have a lover in their beds one-fourth of the time? I know I’d never allow it, for them to date other women. That’s not how this is going to work.
My selfishness makes my jaw clench because, in reality, Beast and I haven’t talked about this at all. He’s my husband now, and even if I’ve never liked the idea of marriage, I’m determined to keep the lines of communication open.
“I’m not entirely sure you understand how precarious your situation is,” Beast says finally, turning back to look at Grey with no small amount of disdain. He doesn’t care for my friend. That’s okay. I know what I’m doing here. Even if nobody else can see it.
Can’t see the forest for the trees, am I right?
The club and the mafia are going to destroy each other.
There is only one way out of this.
My eyes meet Grey’s, and something unspoken and impossible passes between us.
Regardless of what happens next in this filthy war, there is one truth we can both count on: we will have each other’s backs, always. Even if that means playing dirty. Even if that doesn’t always look the way one might expect.
Reba fed Grey information; that helped both him and me. I might’ve figured as much. Those last few days before the wedding, if she asked to use my phone, I let her. And I didn’t check to see what she’d done when she was finished. Am I still too trusting? Or just trusting enough?
“I’m well-aware of the peculiars regarding my situation,” Grey muses, frowning down at the coffee with a wistful sigh. He sets it aside. Guess it isn’t up to his usual espresso loving standards. “But you’re not going to kill me, are you? Gidge will never forgive you.”
“Do not tell me what my wife will or will not do,” Beast growls out, and the sound gives me goose bumps all over—in the best way possible. I want him to cart me off to his bed and fuck me into the mattress.
My head throbs, and I reach up with my right hand, putting two fingers against my forehead. My migraine might not like that, but my cunt sure as hell would.
We all pause at the sound of a motorcycle and Beast stands up, moving over to the blinds to peek out. Lights sweep across the kitchen just before he releases the slats and turns around.
“Crown,” he explains, and the tense set of my shoulders relaxes somewhat. At the same time, a nervous ball of energy forms in my belly, and I find myself twisting my hands in my lap. If Sin or Grainger is dead, it’d be just like Crown to come home to tell me in person.
Reba comes back into the kitchen with a bag of my toiletries, settling herself into the chair on my right. My body hums with energy as Beast moves over to unlock the front door, and Crown’s impossible presence fills the farmhouse. I haven’t even seen him yet, around the corner in the front hall as he is, but I can sure as shit feel the change in atmosphere.
As my best friend reaches up to run her fingers through my tangled hair, I hear the men having a low conversation near the front door. A moment later, there he is, the vice president in all of his glory. Fem growls from beneath the table, and I snap my fingers at him. With a reluctant sigh, he curls up at my feet and allows Crown to step into his own kitchen.
His eyes find mine immediately, and my body twitches with indecision. Do I get up and kiss him? Would he like that? Would I? Crippled by a sudden hesitancy—a very un-Gidget-like trait—I just sit there and allow Reba to soak my hair with a fruity-smelling detangler.
I know right away what product it is that she’s using. She must’ve dug the first thing she could find out of my bag. It’s one of Posey’s detanglers. I’ve kept it for years and never used it. When Nellie brought me toiletries from home, she just scooped up whatever she could find—including that.
So now, not only do I have a duffel bag full of my dead sister’s clothes, but my hair is soaked in her scent.
I consider asking Reba to stop, so that I can preserve what remains in the bottle, but then … I think it’s time that I stopped holding onto artifacts and moved my life forward. I will never stop missing my sisters, but maybe I need to let go of some of that pain?
Killing Giulia Wolfe would help. A hot shiver of violence lances through me. Oh yeah, that’d help a lot. If possible, I would love to know the identities of the men who were present at my house that day. Then, if I could be left alone in a room with them tied up, and a hot curling iron, I’d show them what it’s like to be violated.
