Her mouth went dry. She swallowed. Twice. No good. Her mouth remained dry.
“But, no, sweetheart, you can let that terror fade from your eyes.”
There had not been any terror in her eyes. She was far too good at controlling herself. Wasn’t she?
“I didn’t have to order any hit. People know that he came at me in The Bottomless Pit. I have allies everywhere. He made a fatal mistake. The jackass tried to gain glory by shoving a knife at my back.”
“So…you didn’t order the hit?” Relief had her shoulders sagging. See, he isn’t really a monster. I was right about him. I knew it?—
His callused fingertips slid down her cheek. Then her neck. His fingers stopped to rest right over her racing pulse point. “I didn’t have to order it. He was dead before I could make the call.”
The house seemed to shake as the growling of engines filled the air. Motorcycles were swarming outside.
Cass’s head leaned toward her. His breath blew lightly over her cheek. “But, for the record…” His words were almost a caress against her. “I would have ordered the hit on him in a heartbeat. Because no way did he get to keep living after targeting you.”
Yes, yes, he’d just casually confessed to planning to kill a man.
And, what? You’re gonna act all pristine and perfect when you were the one who held a gun to Judas’s head as you tried to get info on the Twins?
But…she wouldn’t have pulled the trigger.
She would not have pulled it.
Even without Malik’s interference.
She wasn’t that far gone.
Was she?
“Get your game face on, sweetness. It’s time to meet the crew.” His fingers lingered against her throat. “Remember, you’re mine.” Possessive. Hard. “You love me more than anything. And in a heartbeat, you’d kill to keep me safe.” A half-smile twisted his lips. “Just like I’d kill for you. In. A. Heartbeat.”
Game face. Game face. Game. Face. Agnes thought she had it on. She certainly hoped she was wearing the appropriate expression. She’d choked down some of the vilest coffee in existence before heading out because a woman facing a motorcycle gang needed some caffeine churning in her blood, even if the coffee tasted like hell itself. And, for the record, it had.
She’d also paused long enough to slip on the tennis shoes that had been waiting for her. She still didn’t know exactly who to thank for the clothes and shoes, and Agnes was basically just grateful to have the new goods.
Cass marched out of the house—what she now realized was a ranch-style house in the middle of pretty much…nowhere. She saw no other homes. No barns. Just some big fields that eventually gave way to thick woods.
And lots and lots of motorcycles. A quick tally had her realizing that twelve very large motorcycles—all equipped with very large riders—waited in front of the ranch house. The engines were still snarling and growling. The men still gripped the handlebars and stared straight at Cass. Cass, not her, even as she peered around him to try and take in the full scene.
Showtime.
It was probably a good thing that there were no neighbors close by. These guys and their motorcycles were loud. The air practically vibrated as she stood on the porch.
Cass lifted his hand. He closed his fingers into a fist.
Silence. All of the engines stopped at once. Kickstands went down. Boots touched the ground.
The riders didn’t climb off their bikes. They waited. Um, was she supposed to do something? Keep that game face on, woman. Act like you belong.
Cass reached back and caught her hand in his. He pulled her forward, positioning Agnes to stand right beside him. “We’ve got a new member.”
Some of the men wore helmets with face shields. Because of the shields—visors—she couldn’t see their faces clearly. Some had flipped up the shields and their faces—the ones she could see—were stone cold. She didn’t detect any hint of joy. They were definitely not pleased to have her there.
“She’s a Fed,” one called out.
“She’s mine,” Cass snarled back.
That shut the guy up.
