Cruz sees it—hell, he enjoys it. A grin sparks, sharp and wild. “If I wanted to tell Bishop, I would’ve done it already,” he says lightly.
“And what’s stopping you?”
He shrugs, takes another drink, eyes never leaving mine. “Haven’t decided if I’ve had the opportunity yet.”
My jaw tightens until it aches. “That’s not funny.”
Cruz lifts a brow, face calm except for the glint that always gives him away. “Who said I was joking?”
He watches me—really watches me—expression smooth, posture loose, but every detail honed sharp as a blade. I recognize what’s underneath it.
He’s calculating and curious.He’swaiting.
“Why didn’t you tell Bishop?” he asks quietly. “Or me and Rafe?”
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper.
Because it would get her killed.
Because Bishop would tell Coco, and she would tell Rafe. And then Bellamy wouldn’t stand a chance.
Instead, I say, “Same reason you didn’t.”
Cruz’s eyes narrow a fraction, but before either of us can press it, the side door beeps and swings open.
Rafe strolls in with a plate piled high with nachos balanced in one hand. A single chip loaded with cheese freezes halfway to his mouth as he takes us in. “What are you two doing in here?”
His gaze sweeps the garage as if he’s expecting to find a blood trail or a trapdoor. Then it snaps back to us, sharper. “Or should I say,whoare you doing?”
Cruz snorts. I drag my hand across my face. Not this shit again.
Rafe squints, like he’s recalibrating. “Did Coco spike the punch again? Because I swear I just saw Bellamy Hale outthere.” A beat. “And I half expected to find her in here between you two.”
My pulse slams once. Of course my brothers would clock theone personI hoped they wouldn’t.
I dip my chin and force my expression to remain neutral.
Cruz, on the other hand, doesn’t hesitate. “Sure was her.” He hops off the workbench and grabs another beer from the fridge. “But c’mon, Rafe, you know Gage doesn’t like interference.”
Rafe whistles low. “Damn. Haven’t seen her in forever.” He wanders over and drops onto the couch, gaze flicking between us. “Weren’t the three of you tight for a while? Surfing, beach parties, all that shit?”
Cruz’s eyes meet mine. Two seconds of silence. One second of something unspoken tightening between us.
Then I scrape a hand down my jaw. “Yeah. That was her. Haven’t seen her in years.”
Rafe hums around a mouthful of nachos. He doesn’t say anything else, but the way his eyes track between us makes it clear he’s seeing something.
Maybe more than I want him to. Maybe more than I understand myself.
“So,” he says casually, licking nacho cheese from his fingers, “you gonna tell me why you’re hiding in here like you’re planning a coup, or should I go find Bishop and let him sniff around instead?”
The grin he gives us is pure Rafe. Sharp and reckless, unhinged enough to be dangerous.
“Nothing to tell,” I say, tone flat.
“We need another job,” Rafe announces abruptly, licking cheese off his thumb.
Cruz barks a laugh. “Jesus. Listen to you. You sound just like Bishop.”
