“Yes, you should have,” she agrees. It’s a subtle dig and it hits the mark. “How long has this been going on?”
Time for the cover story.
“Three years.”
“And you proposed, when?”
“Last month. At her favorite museum.”
“The Isabella Gardner.” She nods as if accepting it. “She wears your mother’s ring.”
I hold her stare. Maeve knows what that means—what I told her about my mother all those years ago. Only the woman I’d give my life, my dying breath for, would wear that ring.
“Alright,” she whispers. “But I’m watching you. One wrong thing, she wants out, I’ll end it for her.”
Saluting her, I smirk. “Aye, Captain.” Then, once I lean back, I throw her a devious smile. “Want to know the first time we slept together?”
She makes a face like she’s holding down her breakfast with a death grip. “No, thank you.”
Kicking my feet on to her desk, much to her annoyance, I comment, “I don’t remember Alessio getting the same talk. Why does he get special treatment?”
“Why do you think I have so many clauses in the contract?” She shrugs. “I needed a way to make sure Sloane stayed safe with him too.”
“Does that mean you’ll take it easy on me in the games?” I wink, grinning at her, shoulders lighter than they’ve been for some time.
She rolls her eyes, the usually hidden playfulness rearing its head. “No. I might make it harder for you. See if you’re up to task.”
Pain in the ass.
Killian strolls into the office, casual in a pair of jeans and band shirt, that damned golden chain hanging around hisneck.It’s a simple token of his relationship with Maeve. If it irritates me, I can’t imagine how she feels.
“Roman got Julian this morning,” he says cheerily. “In five neat little packages.”
“Let me guess,” I begin, looking at Maeve. “All red bows?”
She smirks coldly. “An eye for an eye.”
“And how does the prince feel about it?” the reaper asks, smirk firmly in place. I don’t let it get to me. “Watching his best friend murder his half-brother? Any thoughts?”
Maeve’s eyes fall to me and I mull it over. A good person would mourn the loss of a life—normal people might cry for a sibling dying. But Julian was a ruthless dog who deserved far worse than what Maeve gave him.
“You went easy,” I retort. “The old Maeve would have cut off all his fingers, then his tongue before slicing his throat. Getting soft?”
A ghost of a smile curls across her face. “Fuck off.”
”Oh, great. The besties have made up. Boston beware.”
“Did you need something?” She glares at the reaper and I hide a smile. “Or are you in here to piss me off?”
“Both, actually.” He smirks at her, and she bites her inner cheek to keep from strangling him. “The first trial. We need to decide what it is and when. The sooner this happens, the sooner you’ll get a second.”
“And the sooner Roman gets his ass handed to him,” I quip.
Maeve sighs. “Agreed.” Before she can continue, the front door crashes open and we’re all on our feet, guns pulled. Killian and I both jump in front of Maeve, blocking her as we dash into the hallway.
Surrounded by the two guards stationed at the front is Collins, teeth chattering, green eyes wide in fear. Her cute button nose is bright red from the cold and tears.
Everything happens without thought. I drop my gun, scoop her into my arms and bury her face into my chest. She’s shaking—violently, her body convulsing and I hold tighter. I try to absorb her pain and let my warmth sink into her bones.
