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“Nor do you know the lengths I will go to fight for what I want.”
“I’m not the same naive girl you bedded four years ago, Hark. I grew up and learned a few things the hard way. And you no longer wear a shiny gold badge so stop acting like you’re some fucking savior.”
“When did the bastard die?”
I look skyward but I highly doubt anyone is listening to my prayers at this point.
Dark brows scrunch over a deep scowl. Any deeper and those grooves might become a permanent fixture. I know who he is talking about. “Right after he held a gun to my head while I said my vows and then told Sean he could rape me if he had to as long as I produced an heir.”
I hide unhealthy levels of hurt and violent anger behind the mask I slid on the night Hark died in my father’s office.
Startled, my gaze leaps to his face when he curses violently under his breath. “I see,” he states louder. In total Hark form, his expression remains unchanged. But it’s the lingering black flames flickering in his eyes that has dread sinking into my bones.
Never have I heard such measured lethal intent in my life in two small words.
Hello, death. If he was in the room before, the cloaked reaper is now sharing body heat with Hark.
I swallow most of my remaining nerves. Only the jerky movement of my fingers gives away my jittery nerves as I tuck my hair over the pink puckered scar.
Damn, not only was yesterday shitty, but it looks like today is shaping up to be the same thing just a different day. I could really use a pillow and a flat surface right about now.
“Doc said you’ll be okay. Just keep still and let yourself heal for God’s sake.” Which is the only silver lining of tonight. I don’t need the digging of his grave on my conscience.
He pushes on as if I gave him a clean bill of health instead of the other way around.
“All I need is ten minutes and then I’ll be back on my feet.”
Hinges grind seconds before the basement fills up with massive amounts of alpha males. Rook leads the pack.
See. Shitty.
“Asena, this is Ares. Rage. Riot. Ghost.”
Nicknames I presume. Like Dragon. Which has me considering Rook’s name. Real or fake? My father had secured the doctor not wanting me to birth a bastard child in the public eye. I didn’t get to ask a lot of questions.
The doctor points at each man before leaving me with Hark’s friends to check on his rebel patient. Four sets of eyes track the doctor’s movements, giving me their backs for a moment. And the sight of their brand is…intimidating.
Black eyes stare back at me through flames surrounding a large screaming skull across the large expanse of black leather.
Just like Hark’s.
Their cuts, Casanova had called them.
I notice something else too. Everyone is packing. At least one gun is tucked into either a shoulder holster or one strapped to the waist. Nothing new to me. Guns were as popular in my house as forks and spoons are in the rest of the world.
Tea time, dinner time. Wedding or funeral. It didn’t matter. Guns were involved.
Their firepower is not what has me scanning the newcomers or measuring their muted behavior toward their prez. While they uniformly revere their leader there is one among them who does not.
Hark. He doesn’t bother acknowledging his president’s presence.
It’s none of my business, nor my problem. But noteworthy all the same.
And then suddenly I am the focus of their attention again.
“Gentlemen. I won’t be in your way for long. In fact, I’m on my way out right now.” I make eye contact with each of Hark’s friends. Every last one of them towers over me, looking intimidating with their crossed arms and frowns. Okay. Game time.
Lucky me, I don’t cower easily. I mimic their stances minus the testosterone.
