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My gaze drops to Dalton’s old shirt, and I let out a heavy sigh, all too aware of the fact that I haven’t showered today. Hell, the top of my head is still yellow after Dalton washed out the bleach. I never got around to toning my hair.
Hastily making my way to my old bedroom, I burst through the door and storm right into my walk-in closet, finding all of my clothes right back where they belong. I suppose Zade felt like shit after everything went down yesterday, and the least he could do for allowing an attack like that to slip past him again was to offer me my clothes back. Though that offer didn’t also come with the bedroom. I’m still stuck sleeping in Zade’s bed, but if I’m honest with myself, I’ve found it quite comforting. I sleep peacefully beside him. I’ll never admit it to him, but I think he knows. Surely, he must know.
Seeing as the guys weren’t particularly dressed up, I figure this must be a casual thing, and I grab a pair of short workout leggings and find the matching crop before pairing it with an oversized hoodie. I step into a pair of runners before twisting my hair up into a messy bun, not daring to look at myself in the mirror, knowing I’ll see nothing but a mess of yellow, splotchy hair.
Hurrying out to the guys, I meet them just as the elevator opens and I step in with them, my heart racing. I’m not thrilled about the prospect of being used as bait to draw out an attacker, but nothing is going to happen to me—the boys simply won’t allow it.
We get down into Zade’s Escalade, and I don’t miss the way Dalton looks longingly toward his Harley. Candice is his baby, and the fact that he hasn’t been able to ride her much lately is probably weighing on him. But honestly, I think we have bigger things to worry about than that.
The Escalade peels out of the underground parking lot, and we drive for ten minutes before Zade captures my stare through the rearview mirror. “You hungry?” he questions, something the boys have asked me non-stop since my hair appointment, though I suppose that’s what happens when a woman loses her appetite around a bunch of over-the-top alpha assholes. “It could be a while before you get the chance to eat again.”
My stomach rumbles, but I narrow my gaze, not trusting him one bit. Had it been Dalton, Easton, or Sawyer who had asked, then perhaps I’d be happy to go along and see where this line of questions will take me, but with Zade, I can never really trust his intentions.
“I could eat,” I tell him, glancing out the window and realizing we’re in a deserted street, not a restaurant or fast-food chain in sight.
“Okay, good,” Zade says. “Then how about a plate of harden the fuck up? You’ve been moping around non-stop over that dead bitch. You’re the blood heir. Things like this should be bouncing off you. We’re about to walk into a room with some of the most dangerous people in the country, and you’re acting like a little bitch. Pull yourself together.”
Yanking the knife from Dalton’s hip, I throw myself out of my seat and up against the back of Zade’s, my arm flinging around him as I press the tip of the blade against his throat. I expect him to panic, to swerve a little, or at the very least slam the brakes, but not a single one of the assholes even flinches.
Zade just keeps his eyes on the road, cool as a fucking cucumber. “There’s the fucking fighter I know you are,” he says with such nonchalance that it blows me the fuck away. “Go right ahead, Lamb. Take me out. Save yourself. But open your fucking eyes, there’s one of you and four of us. True, you could slit my throat before any of the boys get their hands on you, but what happens to you then? You won’t be able to escape them. You might be fucking them and opening those pretty legs like their greedy whore, letting them live out their wildest fantasies, but when it comes down to it, will they have your back or will they execute you without hesitation?”
I swallow hard, hating how fucking right he is, and despite the blade in my hand, I’ve never felt so out of control.
I press the tip to his skin harder, getting the sweetest satisfaction out of the drop of blood that trails down his throat, but he still doesn’t flinch, allowing me to push the boundaries. My hands start to shake, and I get flashbacks of the knife plunging into Sarah’s throat. The horrific images burned into my brain make me gasp, dropping the blade to his lap.
