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For now, I might be able to keep their loyalties through fear, but it won't be long before they forget what brought them to my side. Wooed by the green I stuff into their fists; they'll forget about Joe. Enchanted by the lifestyle my generosity will ensure, they'll become loyal. And they'll be bonded in blood in the ring, intoxicated by the power rushing through them after their first win. But, of course, the lessons they'll never forget after their first beat down—
Constructed camaraderie at its finest.
Nevertheless, I have a war on my hands.
What I need to do now is to get my sisters-in-law, my youngest brother, Xander, and my little deer out of the damn District while I bleed the streets with the biker scum safe-housing Dustin. I need to lie to my family.
To keep them safe.
CHAPTERSEVEN
fawn
Maggie and Jasmine natteras I pull the scones from the oven. Waves of scented heat suffuse my nose, making me hum my delight. I plop them on top of the counter, panning my gaze over the browning tops in approval.
Nailed it.
Spinning to find Jasmine already peering over my shoulder, the glee of expectation widening her eyes, I smile, not at all surprised by her presence. "Surely you aren't hungry again? These are big scones."
"I've only had a handful of Maltesers."
I tilt my head. "Ah, what about the egg and bacon pie, the chicken and avocado roll, and the jelly cup?"
She arches a mocking brow at me. "That is otherwise known as breakfast, lunch, and a snack. Now, give me a damn buttermilk scone."
I laugh, waving for her to help herself.
Then, the entire house prickles with static. Jasmine twists to face the entrance to the kitchen. Everyone figuratively behaves. The natter quietens down, the enchanted crockery all freezes into place, and my heart flutters to see— Heels make a dominant rapping sound of importance.
My smile slips slightly as Aurora sashays past the kitchen, rounding the counter. Then she is out of sight, but for her perfume, that adds a floral sophistication to the rich scent of the buttery scones.
She has a similar aura to Clay. For a moment… I thought it might be him home from work.
I dart my gaze to the scones, wondering whether I should offer her one. Then I picture her figure so— She is probably a kale and edamame bean girl… Yet another way she is like Clay Butcher. His words float into my ears, coaxing my lips into a smile again."I am rather addicted to sweet things lately."
I untie my apron.
Plucking a scone from the warm silicon mould, I slide it carefully onto a plate with a knife and butter pouch and wander after her.
I find her sitting on the sofa in the living room. Her dark hair cascading like a silky night-time waterfall down her slender figure. Her spine is relaxed to the backrest, her legs folded elegantly, hands set on her thighs with the old book braced softly in her lap, and she looks even more stunning in this effortless evening state.
It's hard to bury the creeping vines of envy; it is hard to ignore her flawless beauty, her potent femininity. It's fuckingimpossibleto ignore the huge diamond on her ring finger; the faucets create all the colours of the rainbow every fucking time she turns the page.
I attempt to ignore the mocking piece of jewellery as I approach, but just like the fucking crockery in this mansion, it somehow appears animated.
I swallow thickly. "So…" I say to draw her attention. "You don't like cooking, but I bet you like scones."
She smiles politely. "Did you bake those?"
"Yes. Well, with Maggie's supervision,” I say, offering her the plate.
She accepts it before glancing at the spot beside her. "Would you like to sit with me?"
"Um."Yes.I shrug a little to stop myself from saying that word. "Okey dokey."
"Have you ever readThe Secret Garden?"
"No." Taking a place beside her, I lean back on the armrest, pulling my knees up to the side. "It's an old one, right? I've read a Colleen Hoover.Oh, and Erin Mc Luckie Moya has this Motorcycle Romance series calledThe Hell Houndsand that's really hot and the heroes are all—"
