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“There’s more,” Snake interjects. “I was looking at the footage from the nightclub, and there’s no good view of the shooter. The club was packed, and whoever did it knew exactly where to stand to avoid the cameras. I can’t get a view of him entering or exiting the building. He’s like a phantom.”
I look at Hex helplessly. “Speaking of phantoms. Hex, what did you learn from the ghosts?”
Hex seems as wary as Snake. Shit.
“They aren’t talking,” he tells me simply. “I found Cassandra hiding behind the bar, and she wouldn’t even look at me. I didn’t have time to hunt down the other ghosts before you called church. Sorry, Prez.”
I growl in frustration and look at each of my men. Their faces are drawn and tired. It’s been a long day, and they need to rest. If we’re going to stop any further attacks, we need to be at our sharpest.
“We’re under attack,” I tell the group seriously. “I know it all goes back to Anderson. You’ll think I’m paranoid, but look at what’s happened less than twenty-four hours after his murder. We’re vulnerable right now, and this is no time to lower our guards. Go get some sleep. Tomorrow, we work on a battle plan.”
* * *
Itry to sneak into my room quietly, but I see that Abigail is awake, feeding Daisy. She looks at me happily, expectantly, and I can tell by her face that she never knew anything was amiss. Thank all the gods for that. She’s simply awake to feed our daughter.
“I haven’t seen you all day,” she complains.
I walk over to place a chaste kiss on her lips. I want to deepen it, to bury myself inside of her, but that will have to wait until our daughter knocks out again.
I move to the bed and undress, pulling off my shoes and putting them under the bed, the way she likes it. Abigail has certain habits and chores that help her manage her PTSD. Keeping a tidy room is one of them, and it’s a sacrifice I’m more than willing to make for her.
“It’s been a long day.” I sigh heavily. “It’s been a long year. I feel like we can’t catch a break.”
She nods and stands, walking over to the bed with Daisy in her arms. Daisy is close to sleep now, her belly full of her mother’s milk. Her little eyelids can barely stay open, and they flutter against her mother’s chest.
“Tell me what’s going on,” she whispers. “You don’t have to hide things from me.”
I pull her against my chest and breathe in her scent. Since Abigail came into my life, I feel like I have a real partner. Someone to share my burdens with. But also another person for me to lose.
“Anderson is dead,” I tell her simply.
She gasps, and Daisy moves in her arms, agitated. She rocks our daughter until her eyes flutter again, then she stands and walks her over to her crib.
Daisy fusses for a moment before sleep overtakes her and her breathing changes. These quiet, peaceful moments are the only times Abigail and I have together lately, and we’re usually too tired to do anything about it. Tonight, the news of Anderson hangs over us like a dark cloud.
Abigail walks over to the bed, shrugging off her robe as she goes. She stands before me completely bare and wraps me in her arms, pulling my face against her naked chest. Her hands scratch against my scalp, and I groan appreciatively against her.
“This should be a good thing,” she whispers. “That monster is finally gone. Why are you so tense?”
I pull her down so she’s straddling me, and I already feel my dick growing hard against her. She’s ready for me, open and naked, but I can’t take her like this. Not when I’m too tense to even breathe.
“He’s messing with us,” I whisper into her hair. “Even in death, he’s still finding ways to keep us on our toes. I feel like we will never be free of him.”
She shakes her head and looks up at me. “Because of you, I am free of him. I have been for a long time. So I know you will do whatever needs to be done to handle this. But tonight, let someone else take care of you.”
She pushes me down so I’m lying flat on the bed, then moves down to the floor so she’s on her knees in front of me. I feel her reach for the button of my jeans, and I could come right there at her touch. Our times together are so few and far between these days. I’m desperate for her.
I’m careful not to cry out as she pulls me into her mouth. The last thing I want to do right now is wake up our sleeping daughter.
Seer will fill me in on everything later, but he’s been too careful with me since my dream last night. He’s been walking on eggshells all day and wouldn’t come home for dinner. Any other woman would be pissed, but I’m more worried than anything. Seer thinks I’m fragile, which isn’t something I’ve ever wanted.
But I do feel fragile. My energy has been low for weeks, and I feel the spirit world draining me. I’m constantly nauseous, whether I’m worried about my husband coming home to me or about the potential threat looming around the corner.
There’s too much going on in the club, and the worry drips from the men. They say women are emotional, but they’re consciously blocking out their fear, causing it to leak out into the atmosphere. This house is a powder keg that will explode under too much pressure.
But that’s not my main concern right now. My main concern is Hex. He was in my dreams tonight, which is never a good sign. I go down to the kitchen, hoping I might catch him coming out of church. I make a sandwich for us to share and wait patiently for him to barrel through.
“How did you know?” he asks gratefully when he sees me at the table with the sandwich split between two plates. “I’m fucking starving. Are you sure you aren’t psychic?”
