Tension surges through the room, thick and sudden.
Butcher straightens from the couch, his earlier irritation morphing into something edged and lethal. Basilisk’s scowl turns vicious, the scar along his face glaring menacingly, his fists clenched beside his thighs as his gaze slices through the room like he expects an enemy to materialize out of thin air.
“Shit ain’t cute anymore,” Gavel mutters, patting Lovelyn on the head before standing, shoulders tight.
I drop the note onto the table like it suddenly weighs too damn much. “It’s just some obsessed chick.”
Outwardly, I act dismissive, but inside, my pulse hums erratically, and my thoughts spiral between anticipation, fear, and reluctant excitement. This isn’t just an obsession. This is skill. It’s precision. Someone who knows how to move unseen and get close. That realization unsettles and excites me at once.
Fuck.
I can’t decide if that irritates me or turns me on.
Across the room, Marigold watches me in silence, her sapphire eyes glittering with something raw and wounded. But beneath that, something darker and sharper flickers in her gaze.
It sends a strange, tightening heat through my chest.
My grip tightens on the plush before I toss it on the table like it means nothing and turn back to my brothers.
Chapter Seven
Don’tbesuspicious.
Don’t be suspicious.
The words bounce through my skull like a gleeful little drumbeat as I wait for attention to slide off me. Patience hums under my skin, tight and electric, my body buzzing with the delicious tension of not moving.
Yet.
The longer you spend your life perfecting the art of ghosthood, the easier it becomes to disappear in plain sight. Years of practice. Years of slipping through rooms unnoticed, breathing in spaces people assume are empty.
Also, the minor detail of knowing exactly where every camera sits in and outside the clubhouse helps, but whatever.
That’s just a fun bonus.
What really matters is how dangerously trusting these men can be. It’s almost insulting. They’ve had traitors before. Theyknow what betrayal tastes like. You’d think paranoia would live in their bones by now.
What if I actually wanted to hurt them?
No way would I ever do that to people I love, but still. It does happen.
Which makes what I’m doing now both wildly irresponsible and ridiculously easy. No one is watching me, not really. So, I glide through the club with a bright smile and a casual wave, playing the part of harmless, bubbly, honorary sister. Every greeting fuels that warm, fizzy rush inside my chest, endorphins sparkling through my bloodstream.
God, this is fun.
When their backs turn, I slip outside. Carefully angling my path to avoid the cameras, my steps are instinctive, muscle memory guiding me between blind spots like second nature. The parking lot presents a slightly trickier obstacle course. It’s family day which means bodies are everywhere. Kids dart around, women chat, and brothers are scattered in loose clusters.
Definitely not impossible. Just a bit riskier, that’s all. And honestly, what’s life without a little risk?
Watching his face light up when he discovers one of my gifts makes every gamble feel like a jackpot. That fleeting crack in his composure? Pure magic. Utter perfection.
He’s going to adore this one. I can feel it. And for once, I won’t be tempted to commit plushie homicide when he snuggles it at night.
My fingers trace the bulge in my fanny pack, comfort flaring at the familiar shape nestled safely within.
Sooty McSnuggleface is still secure. The little guy needs my protection just as much as Tomcat does.
With every step toward the gate, giddiness whirls through my chest, my pulse tripping over itself in wild anticipation.
