Silence hits the room like a weight. Goldie’s jaw works and his hair shifts as he shakes his head. “Not cool. We gotta clean this city of this monster. Simple as that.”
Rabid nods. “We’ll put eyes on the street. Get the word out. We’ll sweep this town. No fucking way will we allow this on our territory. I’ll have Chase dig into this Pike, see what else we can turn up.”
I nod once. “Good.”
I leave the office thinking only one thing: He’s not getting anywhere near Riley. Not while I’m breathing. When I get into the bar again, Riley is wrapped in Bianca’s blanket, sipping something warm. She looks overwhelmed, but calmer than before — thanks to the women around her. She fits there, right in the middle of them, as if she’s been part of this family forever. My eyes linger on her, warmth grows in my chest, and I can’t help but smile. It hits me deep, stirs my heart.
She belongs here. With us.
With me.
Sparrow looks up when she feels me near. Her shoulders relax the second our eyes meet. It does something to me — something dangerous, something I can’t ignore and something I can’t fight. I go to her, sit beside her, close but gentle, and brush a stray strand of hair from her cheek.
“You doing okay, Sparrow?”
She nods slightly. “Getting there.”
The fear still lingers in her eyes, the tremble still shakes her fingers. She needs a distraction, something that’s hers. Something good to fill the space in her chest where terror’s been gnawing her fragile heart.
I take her hand in mine.
“How about we get out of here tonight?” I say softly. “Just you and me. Dinner. Something to take your mind off everything.”
She blinks at me, stunned.
“Dinner?” she asks quietly. “Like a date?”
I grin, slow and warm. “Not justlikea date. Itisa date.”
Her smile widens, and before I can brace for it, she leans in and kisses me — soft, warm, grateful. I feel it everywhere.
“Well then,” she whispers against my lips. “I accept. It’s a date.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Riley
I never thought getting ready for a date could feel like this.
I’m standing in the middle of Molly’s tiny office-slash-changing-room behind the bar while four of the most intimidating, confident, wildly different women I’ve ever met circle around me like a fashion SWAT team; Molly holds a curling iron like a weapon; Bianca is sitting on the counter, looping bracelets around her wrist for me to choose from; Claire stands with her arms crossed, the picture of calm authority as she surveys me like she’s assessing tactical readiness; Alessia has just pulled out a shimmering garment bag like she’s presenting a sacred relic, and she unzips it with a dramatic flourish.
Inside is a dress.
No, not just a dress. Awork of art.
Deep emerald silk, fitted bodice, delicate straps, a flowing skirt that looks like it was woven from someone’s dream. The dress you see in magazines and assume only impossible women get to wear at galas and balls that take place in the stratospheric heights of society.
My jaw drops. “I… can’t wear that.”
Alessia arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “You absolutely can. Not just can. You will. You must.” She flicks my shoulder with her manicured fingers. “I’ve had it in my closet forever. Too many memories are attached to it. And frankly,” she pauses andgives a breezy wave, “I never wear it. It deserves someone who will make it shine.”
“I can’t take something so expensive.”
“You’re not taking it,” she cuts in, voice sharp and regal. “You’re receiving it as a gift. Do not insult me by refusing.”
Claire smothers a smile. “Just let her have this, Riley. Fighting Alessia never ends well.”
Molly snorts. “Trust me. I’ve seen her go after a man with a four-hundred-dollar shoe.”
