Bricks goes still for half a second before his mouth twitches. “We all know. Good for you.”
“That wasn’t the reaction I expected.”
“Saint needs people doing things he doesn’t expect. Keeps his blood moving.” He leans back, one elbow against the bar, and studies. “Push lightly.”
I look up. “What?”
“Push lightly. Don’t shove him off a cliff and act surprised when he comes back armed, but don’t fold just because he doesn’t know what to do with himself.”
“That’s not advice. That’s a threat with a ribbon on it.”
“It’s the best I’ve got.” Bricks’ gaze flicks toward the hall again. “You’re the first man Saint’s kept in his bed more than once. First person, really. He doesn’t keep people close once they start wanting anything from him.”
That would feel like something sweet if I hadn’t been burned so many times by thinking I was special.
Bricks seems to read enough of that on my face to soften by a fraction. “I’m not saying he knows what he’s doing.”
“That much is obvious.”
“Good. Keep that in mind before you decide he doesn’t care just because he’s acting like an emotionally damaged brick wall.”
I huff a laugh despite myself. “That’s generous to brick walls.”
“Brick walls are more communicative.” Bricks stands, slapping one hand lightly against the bar. “Push lightly, little Rogue. And duck if he starts looking like Sol.”
He leaves me with the coffee, the warning, and the terrible little spark of hope I don’t want to touch.
***
“You going to sleep anytime soon, sweetheart?” Tally asks as she steals the beer from my hand.
I frown at her. “I was still drinking that.”
“It’s 3 am, the clubhouse is empty, and you’re only here because you’re worried about your husband.” She snorts as Iopen my mouth to offer a response. “Don’t. You’re just going to sit there and lie to me. Go to bed. I’m sure when he comes back you two can fight and fuck it out. It’s gotten weird here and I kind of miss your smile.”
I had no idea I had been off but it makes sense. I push off the bar just as Saint comes back from the warehouse looking empty. Anger is easier to read on him because it gives shape to his silence. This is different. He walks into the clubhouse with clean clothes, bloodless hands, and eyes so devoid of emotion that every conversation within ten feet of him dies without knowing why.
The others are behind him, dead silence entering the main clubhouse as his gaze finds mine. I brace myself for whatever he’s about to try when he just heads toward the private hall.
I stand there a few moments longer before following Saint, finding him sitting against his desk, his arms folded across his chest. Just as I go to press the door open, I hear Sol.
“You’re making the same mistake she did.”
I angle myself a little to find Sol in the room standing near the window, mostly hidden by the dark, cigar unlit between his fingers. I wonder how long Sol had been in the office or if he had been waiting for Saint this entire time.
Saint doesn’t move. “Get out.”
“Eventually.”
“Now.”
Sol chuckles softly, and the sound makes my skin crawl. “You always did think repetition turned into authority if you said a thing low enough.”
Saint’s voice drops. “You don’t want to have this conversation tonight.”
“No, son. You don’t want to have it. There’s a difference.”
Silence stretches between them. I should leave. Whatever this is, it isn’t meant for me, and Saint would hate knowing I’mstanding here in the dark. But Sol’s first sentence has already hooked into me. The same mistake she did. I know enough about Saint to know there are very few women who can still haunt a room with him in it.
