Crown stares at me for a moment before looking over at Grey.
“What the fuck is this mafia shit doing at my kitchen table?” he asks as Grey lifts up the coffee mug yet again, staring into it with an uncertain expression before finally taking another sip.
“Pleased to meet you. Calder Reid, right? My father hates you almost as much as he despises Gidget—and slightly less than he loathes the president.” Grey turns to look at Crown, and the two of them end up sharing a long, sticky stare.
The … future president and the future don? Maybe. Hopefully.
That thought, of course, is predicated on the idea of Cat stepping down. Or dying.
I can’t think about that sort of thing right now. I’ve just lost my brother, and while it was a necessary and logical step forward, that doesn’t mean I want to think about losing another family member. Even Cat. Or … especially Cat?
Daddy.
I hate him. I love him, too, and that’s part of the reason that I’m so terrified. I’m woman enough to admit that.
“I’ll ask this one more time: what is this thing doing in my goddamn kitchen?” Crown demands. His voice doesn’t raise or lower, doesn’t darken or get clipped. It’s just that, the same authoritative tone with which he told me to suck his cock, get naked, and then watch him fuck me on all fours.
“My kitchen,” I say, because I know that’ll draw Crown’s attention over to me in a way that nothing else could. Just like I teased a dying Grainger with the thought of me being knocked-up with his kid. This is like catnip to Crown.
“Gidge,” he warns yet again, because that’s all he can seem to do in response to that. Say my name. Just my name. “This boy should be tied up and bleeding.”
“Like he was when I risked my life to save him?” I query back defiantly, cringing slightly as Reba yanks on my tender scalp. I swear, I’m not usually this much of a little bitch. My head just hurts like, well, a bomb went off, I guess. “Don’t be like that, Crown. He risked his life to bring that antidote here.”
Grey keeps watch on Crown, but the man isn’t looking at him.
He’s looking at me.
“Sin and Grainger?” I query, and he nods slightly. My breath releases in a sharp rush. With each minute that ticks by, their chances of getting out of the hospital increase.
“Grainger woke up briefly, but he wasn’t particularly coherent.” Crown moves over to the counter and puts down a paper bag that I didn’t notice before. Delicious smells drift into the room, and I find my mouth watering in a way that has nothing to do with the tight denim sculpted over the vice president’s ass. “It didn’t seem a good reason to bother you.”
“Wife,” Beast says, and I glance over at him, wondering if that isn’t my new name now. He hasn’t called me anything but since. I smirk slightly.
“Husband,” I reply with a cocked brow. “What?”
“I’m cleaning up and taking off for the hospital; you stay with Crown.” He gives me a meaningful sort of look before leaning down and putting that hot, sultry Southern mouth of his near my ear. “No fucking of any kind.”
He grabs my chin and turns my face toward him, his stubble tickling my sensitive skin as he presses a gentle but urgent kiss to my lips. He knows I’m hurting, but he wants me. Badly. His tongue tells me as much when it sweeps into my mouth and slides across my own in a possessive flick. Marking me for later just before he pulls back, and my overheated body turns frigid in his sudden absence.
I don’t get the chance to ask if Beast means no sex just for now or, like, permanently.
He’s standing up and heading down the hall before I get the opportunity to meet his eyes again.
I turn my attention back to Crown as he pulls out several brown boxes full of takeout.
“They’re all burgers and fries; take your pick.” Crown turns back toward the table and tosses two boxes down in front of me and Reba. “Since Beast is going to eat at the hospital, I have an extra. Here, mafia brat.” He chucks that one down hard enough that the top pops open and the bun and several fries flop out onto the table.
It’d be funny if this situation weren’t so insane.
“Thank you so fucking much,” Grey replies, putting his trembling free hand underneath the mug. He looks up at me with a horrible and disturbingly neutral frown on his face. It’s taking everything in his power to remain calm in here. I see two boys warring for control inside the head of the man they’re trying to become: the reckless asshole who went to the casino to party and ended up kidnapped by a motorcycle club, and the cold, disturbed socialite who wants control of his father’s empire. “Your hospitality won’t go unremembered.”
