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Telling Gunner I trusted him felt like breathing fresh air for the first time. I hadn’t realized how few people I trusted, how few I cared for in the way I was beginning to care for Gunner. My parents were on that list at one point, but now it only consisted of Nikki. I couldn’t even say I ever cared for Mario or Sergio. I craved their affection, but now comparing my feelings toward Gunner to what I felt for the Jimenez men, caring for them was never something I felt.

His green eyes met mine for a brief moment before quickly looking away, a flash of something on his face.

“Ryan…”

Gunner looked conflicted. But how could I blame him? He was probably still wondering if I was playing him. Mario announced I was his fiancée a short while ago, and I didn’t say shit to correct that. It made sense that he had lingering doubts about my loyalty. Not telling him about Scar’s security OCD was not helping smooth things over. At least she wasn’t so crazy that he would have to go through a cavity check. Hopefully.

I wanted to tell him not to feel guilty for not fully trusting me yet, but I never got the chance to because a discreet door slid open, and in popped Scar’s face. She had cut her hair since I last saw her; the brunette locks now landed slightly past her shoulders. Her blue eyes were as piercing and intense as always. She quirked her head to the side, looking us both up and down in a way that always made me feel like she was determining how she could kill me before I could get to her. She was a world-renowned thief, but I had a feeling she took on more unsavory jobs as well.

She was intense. Her face was always unreadable when in the presence of those she didn’t trust, and I didn’t know if there was anyone she trusted. Scar had her emotions locked down tight. It was a product of her upbringing.

“He’s cute,” she stated matter-of-factly.

A masculine growl came from behind her, causing her to roll her eyes at the exact moment that my brows went up. I’d never known Scar to bring anyone to her safe houses with her.

“Come on, follow me. And ignore my pest problem. I keep trying to exterminate them, but they continue to come back like roaches. Or psycho criminals,” she mumbled over her shoulder.

I was about to ask her what she was talking about, but the moment we walked into the small but lux apartment, her “pest problem” became apparent—three massive and intimidating men from vastly different backgrounds.

From beside me, Gunner spoke in a low voice. “Why do I feel like she means literally when she says ‘tried to exterminate’?”

“Because I did mean literally,” she replied without missing a beat.

I smirked when I saw that Scar’s words caused the scowl to deepen on the brooding man leaning against the wall. He must have been responsible for the growl. His eyes tracked Scar’s every movement, and by the look on his face, I was guessing he wanted to either fuck her or fight her. Maybe even both—at the same time. I studied them a little closer, curious about the three men invading her space.

“Bringing clients home, Scar? An interesting group here; we’ve got what? Yakuza, Bratva, and…Irish Mob?” I asked, using my head to indicate to tall, pale, and brooding.

Gunner’s whole body suddenly was on high alert.

Maybe the Skeletons of Society and the mob had beef.

The two men locked eyes for several seconds. The moment was so intense that I thought I might need my Sig. Scar’s eyes pinged back and forth between the men, assessing their body language. Finally, the brooding male spoke, but he never broke eye contact with Gunner.

“How did you say you knew these people, Scarletta?” he asked in his prominent New York accent.

He’s from Scar’s city. Interesting. But using a woman’s full name like she was a petulant child? That never goes well for men.

I caught the minute movement of Scar’s shoulders relaxing before she walked over and placed her body in front of Mr. Broody, arms folded over her chest in the classic woman’s power stance. His eyes peeked down at her cleavage. Men, so easily distracted by boobs. Ironically, they say women are too emotional to do certain jobs, yet all it takes is a set of tits, and men are putty in our hands.

“I didn’t say, Callahan. Because it’s none of your fucking business. Now, stand there quietly like a good boy. Maybe you’ll get a reward,” Scar answered, a million unspoken words passing between the two.

Damn, now I know what Dex means when he says watching us is like foreplay.

Obviously, they were by no means friends, and the tension between them had me doubting this man was one of her clients. The air of professionalism that always surrounded Scar was missing, replaced by a simmering rage I’d only seen her have toward her “family.” I didn’t have time to get into whatever was going on here, plus it was none of my business. But damn if I wasn’t curious.

Scar gave Callahan one last scolding look before turning to face us.

“Sorry about that. Still trying to train them on knowing their place.” She looked over her shoulder to glare at Callahan. “Some are dumber than others.”

A chuckle came from the man sprawled out on the couch, sharpening a Katana. He seemed to be completely at ease lying around in Scar’s space. The same couldn’t be said for the giant sitting in the armchair. He looked as if he was ready to attack at any given moment. The buzz cut he was rocking showed how his tattoos ran up the back of his neck and onto his skull.

These men were no fucking teddy bears.

“Okay, let’s get down to business,” Scar called.

My blood ran cold, though, when the look she gave me was filled with pity. Scar never gave anyone pity. It was one of the reasons I liked her so much. Her take on life was like mine; we take the hit and keep moving. There was no room for pity or wishful thinking.

I walked over to a table cluttered with papers and photographs. My jaw ached with how hard I clenched my teeth when I saw what they were of.