“As long as you want.”
She leaned up, kissed my cheek, then pressed her forehead to mine. “I love you.”
“Back at you, Maverick.”
She grinned, then headed for the door. I watched her strut up the front steps—scarf blowing, boots clomping, every inch the artist she’d always wanted to be. She stopped at the door, fumbling for keys, then glanced back and gave me a thumbs-up.
I caught movement in the corner of my eye—Lysander and Inez walked up, all smiles. Lysander’s platinum hair was runway coiffed, and he looked dressed like he was making a pit stop at a fashion runway before they got started for the day. Inez, for her part, was wearing a paint-stained jumpsuit and carrying a dress bag and tote that likely carried her shoes and other items to prep for this evening.
The two of them approached Brie, and Lysander immediately placed a hand on her shoulder, the way you might steady someone on a balance beam. My jaw tightened. I had no real reason to dislike the man, except that he was too smooth by half, and every interaction he had with Brie seemed one inch closer to crossing a line.
I made myself unclench. This was Brie’s world today, not mine.
I made my way down the sidewalk with Brie’s things in tow; hat pulled down close to my eyes, while I kept watch. Bronc always said you could spot a threat a mile off if you looked for the one person acting like he didn’t belong. I watched the sidewalk, the street, the gallery windows, counting the seconds until I saw Brie’s silhouette pass behind the glass.
It took ten minutes for the crews of workers to show up. The contractor came in for finishing touches. Next came the florist with tall vases of wildflowers. They reminded me of Brie so much I caught myself smiling.
Harper blew into her studio to help Big Papa set up the tables for Aspen, and the food. Then the company hired to install the sign backed a big truck up to the curb. They unloaded a blue scissor lift, the backup alarm beeping incessantly. I watched it all, running silent mental notes. No one acted suspicious, no one lingered where they shouldn’t. Lysander took charge, charming the install crew and flirting shamelessly with the florist, who was at least thirty years his senior and blushing like a schoolgirl. Inez painted set pieces on the sidewalk with a five-year-old’s sense of decorum. It was all normal, all above board, and yet, every time I saw Lysander’s hand brush Brie’s arm or back, I felt a jolt of something like static up my spine.
That was my problem to fix, not hers.
When the gallery sign went up, Brie ran outside and did a little spin under the awning, arms flung wide, not caring who saw. I snapped a picture of her as I leaned against my truck, then set it as my phone’s background, because fuck it, I was soft like that.
She saw me, grinned, and mouthed, “It’s beautiful.”
I nodded and whispered, “Not as beautiful as you.”
Then, I blew her a kiss, got in the truck, and started the engine. As I pulled away, I checked the rearview. Lysander was still watching her, but there was something different in his face this time—something almost admiring.
I told myself it was fine. Everything was under control. Sheshouldbe admired. She was fucking magnificent, and even a man who preferred males for sexual partners couldn’t deny her appeal.
Still, I made a note to come back at lunch, just to check the perimeter.
Some habits died hard.
The new Iron Valor clubhouse was much improved over the one that had been blown to hell by the Greenbriar pack several months ago. Juliet was a hell of a Luna and had been raised as New York royalty; old money. So she brought a sense of style and a tiny touch of class to the joint. But thank fuck she had become more Iron Valor than any East Coast hoity-toity rich girl, so the clubhouse was warm and inviting. The building was three stories if you counted the basement. A pretty front porch ran the length of the building, and the great room was warm and inviting for family gatherings. The basement was where the adults did their thing; strictly a kid-free zone. Our officer meeting room was down there. It was as no-nonsense as Bronc. But Wrecker had decked it out with all the tech we’d ever need. Wide screens were mounted on the walls for video conferencing and watchingsurveillance cams. Network hubs were on every wall. We were set for any emergency.
I let myself in through the kitchen entrance and followed the sound of raised voices to the meeting room.
The air was thick with the smell of fresh biscuits and sausage gravy, plus a percussive undercurrent of dark roast that could probably eat a hole in your stomach lining. Ms. Pearl always cooked for the officers on big days; she’d made enough food to feed a cavalry platoon, which was about right for our crew.
The men were already at the long table. Bronc at the head, back straight, eyes alert, the man born to lead. Arsenal and Wrecker had their hands wrapped around mugs like they’d just come in from a blizzard. Big Papa was quietly demolishing a mountain of eggs while Doc was picking apart a fruit bowl and watching the room over the rim of his glasses.
As I sat, Arsenal nodded to me. “You’re just in time, Gunner. Bronc was about to make us say grace.”
Bronc gave him the finger, then looked at me. “How’s Brie?”
“She’s good. Real good,” I said, meaning it. “Ate breakfast, dressed up like a peacock, ready to conquer the world.”
Wrecker snorted. “I saw her Instagram post. She looks like an acid trip in human form.”
“She looks happy,” said Big Papa, his voice as big as the rest of him. “That’s all that matters.”
Doc offered a rare smile, then forked another piece of melon. “She and Gunner both look better than last week.”
“Thanks for noticing,” I muttered.
Bronc rapped the table. “Let’s get started. We got three priorities today: security, logistics, and making sure the pack looks good in front of a shitload of humans.”
