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Technically, it’s true. The invitation may have been one I didn’t have the option to turn down, and my stay here will most definitely be enforced, but like Maddoc reminded me last night, I’m the one who came to them asking for help.
The redhead obviously thinks I mean a different type of guest, though. Her gaze lingers on my clothes and my sleep-mussed hair, then she glances behind me like she’s piecing together the fact that I came from upstairs. She smirks, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Fun night?” she asks coolly.
I almost laugh. That’s not quite how I’d describe it, and if she’s feeling jealous of me, I’dgladlytrade places with her.
“It was alongnight,” I answer, opting for a vague but honest answer.
She blinks, like she’s trying to figure out what I mean by that, but before she can say anything else, the sound of heavy footsteps coming toward the living room from the other side draws her attention.
Maddoc stalks into the room from the entrance opposite where I’m standing.
“Isaac. Payton,” he greets the two gang members, ignoring me completely. “Thanks for getting here so quickly.”
The redhead—who I’m guessing is Payton—gives me one last narrow-eyed glare and then turns her attention to Maddoc. There’s an instant shift in her demeanor as soon as he looks at her, her shoulders straightening and the frown lines around her mouth smoothing out as she smiles at him.
“Of course,” she tells him. “We brought you—”
“Wait.” He cuts her off with a raised hand as his gaze flicks to me.
Our gazes meet, and his eyes flare with something that makes my pulse quicken, there and gone so fast I can almost convince myself I imagined it. Then he jerks his head toward the door.
He’s clearly dismissing me so they can talk about whatever it is that these two brought him without me listening in, and after our… conversation in the library last night, I feel like it’s a good idea not to push his buttons this morning.
Without a word, I duck out of the living room doorway and pad toward the kitchen, aware of both Payton and Maddoc watching me as I go.
The low hum of voices picks up again as Maddoc resumes his conversation with the two gang members, and I take my time poking around the kitchen looking for something to eat as I unrepentantly try to eavesdrop.
I know I promised Maddoc I wouldn’t go poking around in “unapproved” parts of the house, but I’m not technically breaking that rule right now. And even though I have no interest in the inner workings of his gang, I can’t help the curiosity that tugs at me. The more I can learn about this world as a whole, the better off I’ll be when it comes to facing off with West Point.
But unfortunately, his voice is just a low, steady rumble in the other room, and I can barely make out any words.
I take an apple from a bowl of fruit on the counter and idly polish its bright red skin as I wander closer to the kitchen doorway, where I might be able to hear a little better.
There’s something about a casino.
Names of people I’ve never heard of.
Payton says something I can’t pick up, and I lean a little closer, turning my head to try to get a better angle… when a heavy hand suddenly lands on my shoulder.
My heart jolts up to a mile a minute, and I whirl around, instinctively lashing out. Dante chuckles, grabbing my wrist before I can land a punch.
“You’ve got a fighter’s instincts,” he comments, an appreciative glint in his green eyes.
I let out a shaky breath, yanking my wrist out of his hand. “Jesus. I didn’t even hear you.”
His grin gets wider. “Yeah, your attention was elsewhere.”
He gives a pointed look toward the conversation happening in the living room, but then his smile drops, and he glances down at my neck. There’s a tiny bruise on one side of my throat from where Logan wrapped his hand around it, and I can practically feel Dante’s gaze moving over that small mark.
“Those instincts of yours aren’t a bad thing, princess. You were putting up a good goddamn fight against that fuckwad the night we met, but you might want to rein them in a little before they get you in trouble,” he murmurs, the softness in his eyes almost enough to fool me into thinking he cares.
I huff out a breath. “If I wasn’t constantly surrounded by people who’d be happy to kill me, maybe I wouldn’t have to be so jumpy.”
“Just offering some words of advice.” He shrugs, running his hand over the light shadow of stubble on his broad jaw.
“Did I ask for it?”
