Page 105 of Pistols & Peonies

Gage frowns, chewing on that for a moment. “I don’t like waiting,” he huffs. “I prefer a more… proactive approach.”

“If we push too hard, it could spook the pack,” I warn. “People are already twitchy. A witch hunt could backfire.”

He exhales through his nose, spreading his hands wide. “You’re the expert. I’ll defer to your judgment on this.” He glances down at his own watch– a chunky, gold-plated thing that probably cost a fortune. “Well, I’ve kept you from your mate long enough. You can go.”

“Thank you, Alpha,” I reply automatically, already pushing up from the chair.

He waves a hand dismissively, turning his attention back to the papers scattered across his desk while I start for the door, all too eager to get the fuck out of this office.

“Oh, one last thing,” Gage calls after me.

I freeze with my hand on the knob, turning to glance back at him over my shoulder.

“Frazier mentioned you were looking into the potential for illegal business activity on the southside,” he mutters. “A tip about a fight club or something?”

My pulse skips, but my expression remains neutral. “It was a dead end,” I reply smoothly. “Owner’s thinking of adding a fight night, but I advised him to go through the proper channels if he decides to move forward.”

Alpha nods, seemingly satisfied. “Good. I assume you’ll handle the details if it moves forward?”

“Of course.”

“Excellent. Have a good night.”

I leave the office, not letting myself exhale until the door clicks shut behind me. Then I head straight for the elevator, jabbing the call button with more force than necessary. My foot taps impatiently against the floor while I wait, mind already racing.

Frazier had no business mentioning the fight club tip to Alpha. The kid’s supposed to be working for me, but too many people are willing to trade information for a shot at advancing their own career. I’ll have to keep an eye on that. Whether he meant anything by it or not, I can’t afford loose threads.

The ride down feels like it takes twice as long as usual, the numbers ticking slowly past while my thoughts circle. By the time the elevator finally opens on the twenty-ninth floor, I shove the issue aside as a problem for tomorrow.

Right now I’ve got something else waiting for me.

By the time I reach the apartment door and slide my key into the lock, my focus has shifted entirely on the uncertainty of what I’ll find inside.

She could be pissed. Or disappointed. Or maybe she doesn’t care at all– she could’ve already eaten and locked herself in her room for the night.

The apartment’s quiet when I enter, early twilight spilling in through the back windows and painting the hardwood floors in long bands of fading light. I toe off my boots by the door and roll my shoulders, the lingering tension from my work day finally starting to bleed away. Then I follow the smell of food down the hall toward the kitchen.

Violet is perched on the counter when I walk in, wearing a little jersey-knit sundress that hugs her curves just enough to drive me crazy. She’s eating straight from a cardboard takeout container with chopsticks, one bare leg swinging lazily over the cabinet doors.

She glances up when I enter, brows lifting slightly, mouth full of noodles.

“Sorry I’m late,” I grumble.

She shrugs, chewing. “Would’ve waited, but it gets gross when it’s cold. These are only good when they’re fresh.”

I glance at the other carton sitting a few feet away from her on the counter. “Is that mine?”

“Mhmm,” she hums, still chewing, leg swinging idly.

She doesn’t seem irritated, or prickly, or ready to throw a jab my way like she usually would.

If anything, she looks… content.

The realization catches me off guard.

I cross the kitchen and swipe up the other container, flipping open the lid. Instead of heading to the table like a normal person, though, I back toward the adjacent counter, hoisting myself up to sit on it.

Violet’s brows shoot up, eyes widening as she watches me settle the container in my lap. “What are you doing?”