Every time I close my eyes, her face is there—the pain, the innocence, the plea. It’s a far more beautiful beratement than the other images that creep in, but just as damaging. Learning more will make it worse, and I promised my family I’d try to get myself straight.
They’re intent on holding me accountable for that promise.
Case in point, my current situation is enduring a ten-mile run with the guys. The air is a comfortable sixty-two degrees, but the sun is a glowering bully at this early hour—glaring me directly in the eyes for a morning browbeating.
Wells is trucking along effortlessly.
Fucker.
Liam is leering at me like I’m public enemy number one.
Not my fault you smoked two packs a day for years, asshole.
And Gage. Who the hell knows where his head is at? He’s drenched in sweat and has a lethal scowl, but that’s no different than any other a.m. workout.
We’ve been at this for hours—the conditioning, not just the run. Thankfully, this is the tail end. So, when we veer onto the path that leads back to the house, I sigh in relief.
Wells believes physical exertion and exhaustion lead to superior mind control. He’s not wrong. It’s a method that has always worked for us. Whether it be erasing a client; searching for someone who’s missing; data mining for the Cabrinis—the specialty Wells offers to KORT through the Mafia he commands; or scouring for damning evidence on a politician or government official for the O’Reilly Mafia—the family Ivy heads and the KORT chair I am second-in-command for. When Wells is stressed or anxious or we have too many loose ends in a case, this is his approach.
It’s also his go-to fix when one of us is flailing. Kicking our asses until our heads are back in the game. Good times.
When we enter the house through the garage, the four of us spill into the kitchen and are greeted by our three girls. Ivy is flipping protein pancakes to please her husband. Celeste is frying bacon to tempt hers. And Felicity is babbling in her swing. While Ivy and Celeste silently acknowledge us, our itty-bitty F-bomb bats at the air and coos.
But it’s the sound of Ryker’s voice emanating from a phone on the countertop that beckons my attention. “It’s rare that my littlepest makes herself useful with me in the kitchen. I’m not sure what the occasion is.”
His little pest is Rena, so I suppose that means she’s there with him. Despite the unflattering nickname, she’s the apple of his eye. All five of her brothers adore her.
A familiar ache seeps into my bones at the thought.
Ivy laughs as she pours more batter on the griddle. “Since we’re all cooking, this analogy should resonate. You’ll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, Ryker. If your goal is to entice Rena to help more often, you need to work on your term of endearment.”
Rena’s sweet giggle fills my kitchen as the guys encircle the island, Gage picking at the muffins he helped bake in the wee hours of the morning while Liam and Wells kiss their girls. “Never gonna happen, Ivy. He’s been calling me that for as long as I can remember. I’m not sure the grump even knows my name.”
She seems to be in better spirits. Maybe I misread things.
I’m a sweaty mess, but I beeline to the baby anyway. I need to hold her. She calms me, and hearing Rena’s voice has my heart thumping worse than it was on that god-awful run.
I’ve always responded to her melodic canter, but now that I’ve smelled her and touched her, my whole body is possessed by a craving to taste her.Fuck me.She’s got my head spinning more than it already was.
Liam wraps an arm around Celeste’s waist and sweeps her dark brown hair off her shoulder, nipping at her neck as he tosses out a goading remark. “Sounds like you’re going soft, Noire, letting Ryker off the hook. If someone tagged me a little pest, I’d be damn sure I was living up to it.”
That has the room erupting in agreement because Liam has always proudly been our pest.
“Do not encourage her, Graves,” Ryker snipes, but there’s a hint of humor threaded through it.
“I’m not going soft,” Rena interjects. “It’s simply a momentary reprieve because I wanted him to teach me how to make mymother’s biscuits, which turned out fantastic, so I think the carbs are outshining his crabbiness. I’m sure by nightfall, he’ll be cursing his little pest again.”
“No doubt,” Ryker chimes, and I’m guessing she swats him or something because it’s followed quickly by a chuckled, “Hey, watch it.”
“So, I guess the menfolk are back from their workout. You had your women cooking up a storm, huh, guys?” she teases, and everything inside me aches to shoo everyone out of this room, to be the only one gifted that sweet, raspy warble and those canorous giggles.
I’m losing my mind.
“Hey now, I was baking at four a.m.,” Gage growls before demolishing the last of his muffin.
“That he was,” Celeste agrees. “And to be candid, cooking isn’t my favorite, but I hate working out more. So, it’s a fair trade. I only run when entertainment is provided.”
Gage points at her, bobbing his head. “We’re startingThe Crowntoday, right?”
