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Sydney’s mouth snaps shut, glaring like she’s gearing up to fight. To my surprise, she doesn’t say anything to him and he opens the door as if already forgetting about her existence. She gives me a look.
“Are you okay? What’s going on?” Lacy asks me, and Cinder comes up from behind us and kisses her on the top of her head. I envy the way she immediately melts into him. It’s obvious how in love the couple is.
“You know what club business means. You and Sydney stay inside.” Lacy looks like she’s about to argue, but Cinder covers her belly with his hand. “Please.”
She sends me another worried look before nodding and tilting her head up for a quick kiss, which Cinder gives. She then gives me what I think is supposed to be a supportive smile before looping her arm through Sydney’s and turning them back towards the room with the bar and couches.
A tug on my hand from Blaze has me following him into the warmly lit hallway.
I’m too nervous to take in my surroundings, and Reaper is nowhere in sight. I let Blaze lead me, feeling like the kitten he calls me, scared and ready to bolt or lash out. The other three bikers are right behind us, leaving me no chance to bolt.
As if reading my thoughts, Blaze’s grip tightens on my hand, and when I look up at him, he’s watching me carefully.
I take a deep breath, trying to ignore his spicy, masculine scent, and arrange my thoughts carefully. Like the times I’ve been before Enzo and the other underbosses or generals of Santi Pastori, I settle into the submissive, detached mentality that’s enabled my survival over the last few years. I keep my eyes on the scuffed but clean hardwood floors as we enter Reaper’s office.
Blaze lets go of my hand, and the rest of the men shuffle around the room, the door closing with a solid noise—like a stone being dropped on top of a tomb.
“So, Mrs. Pastori”—Reaper’s use of my married name makes me flinch—“why did you leave your family and why do they want you back so badly?”
The last time I was in a man’s office like this, I’d finally had enough. Closing my eyes and sucking in a rattling breath, I lift my chin and meet Reaper’s black eyes with hard-won grit.
“Because I killed my husband, Enzo Pastori.”
6
BLAZE
My brows rise with Claire’s—no, Kennedy’s—confession. There’s steel in her voice, and I fight to keep the smirk off my face. She’s got the wholesome look, but the way she kissed and pressed against me earlier tells me there’s so much more to discover. I had to force myself to step out of reach of her when we came into Reaper’s office, and the hard look she’s giving my president makes my cock twitch.
Reaper’s office, situated on the second floor, reflects his no-nonsense and utilitarian nature. The dimly lit room is comfortable for those used to darkness, but others have mentioned an atmosphere of mystery and secrecy. The weathered adobe walls whisper tales of the area’s history, and the worn hardwood floor always creaks softly underfoot. Illuminated by an iron wagon-wheel light in the center of the ceiling, Reaper’s desk is simple and scarred. He keeps it organized, though, with a file system handling all of the club’s security contracts on one corner and his field-grade laptop placed neatly in the center, currently opened and facing the seated man.
More framed photographs of demons and shifters astride motorcycles, many of us in our natural forms, and a faded Knights of Hades banner cover one wall. Another metal filing cabinet and metal shelves storing guns and weapons dominate the wall behind Reaper. There’s a single leather couch, worn and beaten, that I know he’s spent more than one night crashing on when his past keeps him awake.
Demons have nightmares, too. I know this too well.
“Why?” Reaper asks, unfazed, as he sits straight-backed in his sturdy, brown leather chair.
Kennedy snorts and wraps her arms around herself. I watch closely. I’ll know if she’s still hiding secrets or if she’s lying. As much as I want her, I won’t lie to my president. She’s brought trouble to our doorstep, and I won’t risk my brothers by getting tangled up with a pretty face. The club comes first, always.
“Because he was a shitty husband and I was sick of him beating me up.”
An unexpected vicious need to bring Enzo back to life just to kill him again strikes me. How could anyone put their hands on a woman like Kennedy? I don’t know her, but I know she’s as beautiful inside as she is outside. Her tone is dry, totally disconnected, but her shoulders are square. She’s endured the fires meant to melt her down and has emerged forged into steel.
Reaper looks at me, no more than a second. I give a quick nod. I’m not detecting any lies or further secrets around the subject. My president looks back at her. “And the car?”
Kennedy shrugs, hapless. “I don’t know. I took it because I didn’t think they’d had time to put a tracker on it since it’d been dropped off just that morning.”
I frown and Reaper’s expression matches my own. He looks at Chainz. “Do a sweep of the car. Make sure there aren’t any bugs, and figure out why it’s so valuable. Tear it apart if you have to.”
Chainz straightens off the wall where he’d been leaning, grunting out an affirmative before he sends one last suspicious glare at Kennedy before leaving.
He isn’t gone for more than a heartbeat when Kennedy speaks up, wrangling her hands in front of herself.
I shove my hands into my pockets to keep from acting on my instinct to touch her.
“I don’t want to cause anyone trouble,” she says, stealing a look at me. “Blaze already killed someone, and he could have gotten hurt. I’ll leave town tomorrow. That was my plan anyways. I don’t have a ton of money, but I’ll buy a car and you can forget you ever saw me.”
“Doesn’t work like that,” Brute says from his post near the door.
