“Meeting,” I reply sharply. “Now.”
I turn away before he can argue, continuing down the hall toward Wes’ room. I’ve barely made it past the kitchen when he rounds the corner from the opposite hall, wearing nothing but a pair of tight blue boxer briefs. He rubs a hand across his face, blinking slowly into awareness.
“You’re calling a meeting?” he rasps.
I jerk my head in a tight nod and pivot toward the living room without breaking stride, restless energy building under my skin as I drop onto one end of the couch. I brace my forearms on my knees, leaning forward as Wes takes the opposite side, his attention sharpening by the second.
Ford appears a moment later, dragging a loose pair of sweatpants up his hips. Ava trails behind him, her petite figure swallowed up by one of his t-shirts, the hem grazing the tops of her bare thighs.
Something twisted and ugly coils in my chest as I watch her cross the room, some traitorous part of my brain latching onto the thought that it should bemyshirt she’s wearing,mybed she just climbed out of. I clamp down on it hard, forcing my expression to remain neutral.
Ford drops into his recliner and hooks a hand around her waist, dragging her down into his lap. She goes easily, arching her back like a cat before settling against him, her head tipping back onto his shoulder.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood.
“What’s this about?” Wes asks, his gaze flicking between us.
I lean back onto the couch, dragging a hand down my face as I draw a deep, steadying breath to keep the shadows at bay. “I just got off the phone with Damien Voss.”
The mention of that name sucks the air out of the room in an instant.
Wes stiffens, his head snapping in my direction as the lingering fog of sleep disappears completely. Across from us, Ava goes pale, eyes widening in fear. Ford shifts her more comfortably on his lap, arching a brow in my direction.
“And?” he asks.
I hold his gaze. “He wants his property back.”
Ava’s breath catches softly, eyes darting around as if searching for an escape route.
“Yeah, well,” Ford drawls, lazily trailing his fingers along her bare thigh, “that’s obviously not happening.”
Wes leans back and crosses his arms, his jaw ticking. “Hope you told him that,” he grumbles.
“No.”
All three of their heads snap toward me instantly.
“The fuck, Raf?” Ford spits.
I roll my eyes, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck to work out the tension that’s been building there since the call. “I told him the Dollhouse has no claim to her since she’s Kings’ property,” I murmur. “That contract of sale doesn’t mean shit because we didn’t sign off on it.”
Ford scoffs a laugh. “And how’d that land?”
“He disagreed, obviously,” I mutter. “So, I offered to refund her purchase price in exchange for a clean break.”
Wes leans forward slightly, brows pulling together. “And you’re planning to do thathow, exactly?”
“Sell off that weapons shipment we intercepted,” I reply with a shrug. “We need to move it anyway, tie up that loose end before Gideon starts sniffing around. Seemed like a win-win.”
Ford scrubs a hand over his jaw, already reading between the lines. “I’m guessing he didn’t take the deal, or you wouldn’t be waking us up in the middle of the night.”
“No,” I grunt. “Top bid’s already four times that.”
Ford shakes his head, letting out a low whistle. “Damn, our girl’s getting expensive. Maybe we should hold our own auction.”
Ava stiffens in his lap, lips parting in disbelief as she whips her gaze toward him.
“Don’t worry, Ava baby,” he adds with a laugh, clearly pleased with himself for provoking that reaction. “Our deal still holds.” His hand drifts up her side as his gaze drags over her, slow and deliberate. “But Raf should probably pop your cherry sooner rather than later, because once you get fucked, so does their auction. They’ll have to shut it down, cut their losses.”
