“Sleep?”
“Enough.”
“Good.”
I arch a brow.“Are you going to ask how I feel, or are we sticking to the checklist?”
His jaw tightens.“You feel like yourself.”
I pause.That’s ...accurate.We walk side by side, the perimeter of the fence first before heading inside.Everything has just slipped back into the old ways and nothing in my life has ever been this ...easy.Though it really isn’t.
Men pass us without slowing.Without staring.That’s new.I clock the way a prospect defers to me automatically when we cross paths, how another waits for me to clear the doorway before stepping through.And Savage notices too.
“You’re settling in,” he says.
“I don’t float,” I reply.“I root.”
His gaze sharpens, something unreadable flickering there.“That can be dangerous.”
“Only if you plan to move me.”
He doesn’t answer.We stand there, close but not touching, the space between us charged in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with trust.
Saint approaches, expression serious.“We’ve got movement on Fremont.”
Savage straightens instantly.Armor back in place.“Talk,” he orders.
Saint nods toward me, not dismissive, not possessive.Just factual.“You good with her hearing this?”
Savage doesn’t hesitate.“Yes.”
That’s not nothing.We move toward the war room together.I take a seat without being told.No one objects.No one looks twice.
Saint lays out the intel, the cartel is testing lines, low-level pressure, but nothing that requires an immediate response.Savage listens, eyes on the map, hands flat on the table.I watch him instead.
This version of Savage, the one who leads without roaring, who makes space instead of filling it, has always been more dangerous.
The meeting ends quickly.Orders go out and men disperse.As I stand, a woman I recognize from the bar, Roxy, steps into my path.
“Hey,” she says.“Are you coming to cards tonight?”
I blink.“Cards?”
She grins.“Mama M’s teaching the prospects how to lose gracefully.We need entertainment.”
I laugh despite myself.“You assume I’m entertaining.”
“You are,” she replies easily.“And you don’t take shit.That’s valuable.”
I glance at Savage.He’s pretending not to listen and failing.
“Sure,” I say.“Deal me in.”
Roxy beams.“Knew it.”She walks off, already calling dibs on seats.
Savage watches her go, then looks back at me.“You don’t have to...”
“I know,” I interrupt.“I want to.”
