“We tighten patrol,” I say.
“Already in motion.” He studies the room, then adds, “Keep your house tight.”
I know what he means and it’s not just security. He’s talking about optics. Telling brothers to keep your ol’ ladies in check, make sure your house is in order when shit hits the fan.
Which makes me anxious because Bex doesn’t blend in here. She doesn’t smile for show or flirt for sport.
Some of the girls resent that, although the ol’ ladies seem to respect her. And some of the brothers misread it. Razor definitely does. He’s always had his eye on her and I am not sure exactly why.
Sometimes I think it’s because possessive men don’t like women they can’t possess. But other times…
Mara shifts again under his arm, and her eyes flick toward the exit again.
Something tightens in my chest.
I’ll talk to him. Not tonight. But soon.
The party thins after four and girls disappear into spare rooms, while some of the older brothers pass out where they sit.
I head upstairs alone and sit on the edge of the bed listening to the music through the walls.
I picture her driving through those gates at dawn. Tired, guard up and already braced for this place. I don’t want her to tolerate this life. I want her to love it.
I can’t wait to see her pregnant with my kids. Can’t wait to start a family with her.
She says she wants the house first and I already talked to Torch about materials and blueprints. I’ve been pricing lumber, while measuring the far edge of the property near the trees.
I want to build it before she asks again to show her I’m serious. That I want what she wants. We can have it all. But I won’t build it outside the compound.
Family belongs inside these gates, where we can protect it. Where brothers stand watch.
She thinks that’s toxic.
I think that’s loyalty.
When she finally walks through that door hours later, eyes tired, shoulders tight, all I see is my wife. Not the noise downstairs or the tension with Blood Reapers.
Just her.
I don’t smell the whiskey on myself or cringe at the music the way she does, I don’t see the stains in the carpet or the glitter on the floor.
I just see the woman who changed everything without even trying.
So I reach for her and when she stiffens, when she tells me about the girl she treated, about walking through my brothers with their hands all over women, I hear judgment where there’s only exhaustion.
When she says she’s not in the mood, I hear rejection.
And instead of asking what she needs…
I say something about options.
The second it leaves my mouth, I want to take it back. Because I see how she flinches, how she chokes down her reaction.Fuck.
But my pride is apparently faster than regret. So while she is in the shower scrubbing off her day, I grab my boots and my cut. I walk out before I have to see the look in her eyes.
Because I know it won’t be anger, it will be disappointment and that one cuts deeper.
CHAPTER 3