“She’s already got Mama on her side,” Saint mutters.
I don’t look away.“Mama decides for herself.”
“That she does.”
A prospect, young, nervous, and still trying to prove he deserves the air he breathes hovers too close to the kitchen doorway.Raven notices immediately.She always did have an eye for people on the edges.
She turns and lifts a brow.“You gonna stand there staring, or you gonna make yourself useful?”
The kid stiffens.“Uh...”
She hands him the tray without waiting for permission.“Take this to the back table.And don’t drop it, or Mama will murder you and I won’t save you.”
Mama M snorts.The prospect grins, shoulders easing, and hustles off.
Saint chuckles.“She didn’t even ask his name.”
“She didn’t need to,” I say.
She didn’t coddle him.Didn’t flirt.Didn’t talk down.She treated him like he mattered.That kind of shit sticks.
“She’s not scared,” Saint says quietly.
“No,” I reply.“She never is.”
Saint shifts his weight.“You keeping her?”
“For now.”
“For now,” he echoes.“That’s how it starts.”
I turn then, slow and deliberate.“You want to question my calls, you do it behind closed doors.”
He meets my gaze without flinching.“I want to make sure this doesn’t get men killed.Or you.”
I lean in just enough that he hears me over the hum of the generators outside.“If men die because Raven Blackwood walked back into my life, it won’t be because she betrayed us.”
Saint’s eyes sharpen.“Then why?”
I don’t answer.Because the truth is ugly.Because the truth is personal.Because the truth is I’d already decided she wasn’t leaving before she finished her first smart-ass sentence at the gate.
I straighten.“Get Steel.I want eyes on her.Quiet.No intimidation.”
Saint raises a brow.“No intimidation?”
“You want her honest,” I say, “or spooked?”
He nods once.“Steel will handle it.”
“I know.”Steel always does.
Saint walks off, and the clubhouse settles back into its low-level buzz.Cards slap against tables.Someone laughs too loud.Normal, well, normal for us at least.
Inside my head, it’s anything but.I head for my office, shut the door harder than necessary, and brace my hands on the desk.The map on the wall stares back at me, Las Vegas carved into red lines and pressure points.Territory.Routes.Enemies.
And now Raven is back in the middle of it.
I pour myself a drink I don’t want and don’t touch it.My reflection in the glass looks older than I feel.Silver at my temples.Lines carved deep by responsibility and blood.
