“Well. Good thing we kept that whiteboard.” I lifted my head to watch her slouch across the sanctuary to the fridge, pulling off the whiteboard that currently had a dick drawn on it in red marker. “It’s permanent,” she said with a wince, “but the black pen should write over the penis fine.”
I snorted. Accepted the pen and the dick board, and wedged my skele-bear in the crook of my arm so I could write beside the graffiti:I hear Devil has a massive cock.
She groaned, and gave me an annoyed stare. “Not this again. Stop trying to matchmake us.”
Never. Especially not after everything she’d been through. Everythingwe’dbeen through. Devil was her mate. He knew her soul, knew what she needed. I would have given anything to have Cobra as my mate, to have us hardwired together at the most primal level.
I erased what I’d written with my sleeve and wrote:He gives great hugs. They’ll help.
Even if the bastard had sworn me to secrecy, I could drop hints.
Jessia’s shoulders slumped when she sighed. “I don’t know if I can—be around anyone. You’re different, and everyone here’s different.”
Because we weren’t alphas? There were betas in garrotte’s gang too, but the mind was a delicate thing and I could understand thinking alphas were the problem. Their growls hit harder, barks hurt worse, and the knots were violent when taken by force.
I nodded to show I understood, but I wrote,Devil’s safe. Always.
The look that filled her eyes was so sad, I hugged her again.
“Tell me Cobra’s taking care of you,” she murmured into my hair. “Or I’ll learn how to use this knife and put a hole in his throat.”
A laugh cleared the tightness in my chest. “He always takes care of me,” I said, and startled at the sound of my own voice.
She hugged me fiercely, squeezing so tight a dozen bruises flared to life, but I didn’t complain because that weight on mychest eased a little bit more. All we needed now was for ChaCha to join our huddle.
“Where is she?” I whispered, not trusting my voice to speak any louder.
Jessia shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve seen her a few times, always with Sweetie, and she’s pretending to be okay but…”
But the basement had followed us home. Just like the farm followed me to the compound. I wanted to scream. I’d been here before and it took every bit of strength and will I had to claw my way out.
“We should… have a girl’s night,” Jessia suggested tentatively. “Here in the sanctuary, or maybe in the garden.”
“I’ve got a case of wine,” someone called from the kitchen, proving how private our conversation was. Not at all.
“And we’ve got those chicken skewers that need using,” Mercedes input, smiling warmly at me when I lifted my head.
I sighed. They were all going to get involved, whether we liked it or not, because we were a big happy family here, and that’s what family did—stuck their nose into your business and made themselves welcome even when you threatened to stab them somewhere squishy. I rolled my eyes. Mouthedfine,and Mercedes gave me a proud smile like I’d achieved a remarkable feat.
We all jumped when a loud bang came from behind us, whipping around to watch ChaCha kick the door in—she shouldn’t be kicking anything with her injuries—and hurry into the sanctuary with an orange pot clutched in oven-gloved hands.
“I smuggled us some contraband, but we’ve gotta eat it before Sweetie notices it’s missing,” she said, her eyes snagging on me for a long, charged moment. When I gave her a little wave with my middle finger extended, she grinned. Nowhere near as brightly as normal, but it was ChaCha enough that I could breathe a little easier. She had Sweetie, and us; she’d be okay.
I jerked my chin at the pot with a silent question, and a faint hint of wickedness entered her eyes.
“Feast your eyes on this, ladies.”
Jessia and I closed the distance, peering into the pot to see a gelatinous yellow substance.
“Is that—” Jessia breathed.
“Pure, melted cheesy heaven,” ChaCha confirmed, staggering over to the kitchen table and refusing help when we tried to share the weight. “Get some bread, tortilla chips, a spoon—choose your weapon. We need to destroy the evidence before he notices it’s gone.”
I smirked and took a seat, and for a while as we devoured an ungodly amount of queso, the basement was a little further away.
29
Cobra
