Well, fan-damn-tastic.
“Now give me his name,” Agnes’s brother Ryan demanded, “and tell me exactly where to find him.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. See, Agnes is undercover. And as far as where she is…I don’t exactly know.” He sorta knew. “She’ll come back home alive, though.”
Ryan moved to stand toe to toe with him. “If she doesn’t…” The former Marine turned assassin didn’t even blink as he said, “I will burn down the FBI around you.”
Gray smiled at him. “I love our talks, Ryan. They always make me feel so warm on the inside.”
“I want to see my sister.”
“Good luck with that.”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “Why did I see blood stains outside this room?”
“Um…” He scratched his chin. “Possibly because your sister killed a man.”
“Sonofabitch.”
“Indeed.” And if you think that’s bad, wait until Agnes discovers that the man she’s with is one of the Twin Cobras. Shit. Gray wasn’t really sure how she’d missed seeing Cass’s tattoo—not if the two of them really had been, uh, fucking all night long. But maybe her eyes had been on other places.
When she did find out the truth, though…
Oh, man, but Cass would be in for a world of trouble.
Agnes had never taken betrayal very well. And that is why she is going to be so pissed at me, too…
Chapter Twelve
She wasn’t alone.
Agnes knew this incredibly important fact even before her eyes opened. She felt the big, warm hand that was pressed to her stomach just as she became aware of the soft mattress beneath her body. A mattress—a bed? She was in bed with someone?
What. The. Hell?
Slowly, her eyes opened. Her head turned. Cassius. His head was on the pillow beside hers. His eyes were closed, and his dark lashes looked incredibly, impossibly long and thick. His dark hair was tousled, his muscled chest bare. She didn’t know if the rest of him was bare or not since Agnes could not quite remember how she’d wound up in bed with him. When she strained, the last thing she recalled was trying exceptionally hard not to topple off the back of his motorcycle as he thundered down an endless stretch of road.
His eyes opened. “It’s not polite to stare at someone while they’re sleeping.”
Fair enough. But he probably should have realized an important point about her before this moment. “I’m not particularly polite.”
His lips hitched into a faint smile. Damn if it wasn’t sexy.
Too much about him was sexy.
And…
Dangerous.
Her gaze slid over his chest. Lots of tattoos there. Swirls that she’d seen before during their wild, hot night together. What she could not see…that would be the tats on his back. Like the two-headed cobra.
Her heart drummed faster. “You know what else isn’t polite? Hauling a woman into your bed without her permission.”
He immediately sat up. The covers fell away. She looked down automatically because—again, not polite—and, dang it, she saw jeans. He was wearing his jeans.
She picked up the thick, black comforter and realized that she was still in her pants and shirt, too. Very wrinkled clothing. And she was probably very, very much in need of a shower.
Her growling stomach reminded her that she needed food, too. Stat, please.
