Page 21 of Pistols & Peonies

I take it without comment, turning back to the bar cart. “The way I see it, since neither of us wants this, we can just stay out of each other’s way,” I grumble as I pour each of us another drink. “You’re free to live your life normally. Go to work, socialize. Just think of it as a change of address.”

“Didn’t you hear?” she asks as I swivel and hand her the glass. “I was relieved of my nutritionist duties at the TTC. Something about how the job’s beneath the mate of the Commander.” She frowns, tips her drink toward me like a toast to bullshit, and downs it in one go.

I do the same, because yeah… that tracks.

The Tactical Training Center– TTC for short– is where enforcers get shaped into weapons. It’s probably not a great look for the Commander’s mate to serve as their lunch lady.

“I’ll see if I can reverse course on that,” I mumble.

She rolls her eyes, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb. “Don’t bother. Kinda hated working there anyway. Other than the eye candy, of course.”

Her gaze drags down my body– quick, like an unconscious response– and her cheeks immediately bloom with a pink flush that looks way too damn good on her. She abruptly shoves the empty glass into my hand like she’s slamming a door on her own reaction, then turns away and strolls toward the windows.

“So even you’re under Alpha’s thumb,” she muses, staring out at the dark sky beyond the glass.

I set her tumbler down on the bar cart with a soft clink that feels too loud against the silence. “He runs the pack,” I state simply.

“Like an evil dictator,” she mutters.

My wolf bristles, protective instinct sparking hot. Not for Gage, for her– for what could happen if anyone else heard her talk like that.

“You should be more careful about what you say,” I warn, voice low.

She glances back at me over her shoulder, chin lifted in challenge. “Or what?” she scoffs. “What can he possibly do to me that’s worse than this? Or does it just personally offend you when someone talks trash about your precious leader?”

The insolence in her tone sets my teeth on edge. Again, not the comments about Gage– fuck him, he’s the reason we’re in this mess– but disrespect is something I don’t tolerate from anyone.

“Don’t be stupid,” I growl.

Defiance flares in her gaze. “Oh, I’m many things, Commander Kane, but I’m definitely not stupid.”

“No?” I fire back, brow lifting. “Then what were you doing at that warehouse?”

If looks could kill, I’d already be bleeding out on the hardwood. Her hands curl into fists, eyes narrowing, jaw clenching tight.

“I told you, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” she bites out.

“Nobody stumbles into a rebel meeting by accident,” I scoff.

“Well I did,” she snaps, jabbing a finger at her chest. “I was just–”

She cuts herself off, snapping her mouth shut and shaking her head hard. Then she laughs– a sharp, humorless sound that scrapes along my nerves.

“Is that your angle? Become my mate to try to get me to talk? Because if that’s what this is, then the joke’s on you, asshole. I don’t know anything.”

“Make sure you keep it that way,” I say, snatching up the whiskey bottle and taking a pull straight from it, the burn not nearly enough to overpower the fire ripping through my veins.

She folds her arms, lifting her chin like she’s begging for another round. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Irritation flares, simmering beneath my skin. And yet, even as anger rises, I’m getting hard. Because that fire in her eyes– the way her chest heaves, breath gone ragged– makes me picture her on her knees. Makes me imagine taming that defiance, holding it tight in my fist, bending her until she breaks sweet.

“Don’t test me,” I warn, voice dropping to a dangerously low octave.

She clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, pure provocation. “Or what, Kane?”

“I’ll put you over my damn knee,” I growl.

She snorts. “I’m not a fucking child.”