Yes. Yes, it would be bad.
A twig snaps beneath my foot, and I freeze, cursing the universe for making the world fall silent at the worst possible moment.
Yet, it seems like Tomcat is the only one who hears it because everyone else keeps laughing, as his head whips toward me, eyes slicing through the dark. He locks onto me, and I go statue-still, barely daring to breathe.
Stupid, Marigold.
So stupid.
I know better than to watch him with the women, but I always do anyway.
Notthat.
I don’t watchthat. Even I have boundaries, few as they are. Spying on my man while he’s with someone else, without either of them knowing, is just…
I shudder.
Eww. No. Just no.
Now, imagining him in the shower? That’s a whole different fantasy. A girl has needs, and the last guy I slept with six months ago barely qualified as a warm-up act.
It’s like, how do youstillmanage to miss the mark when I’m all but giving directions?
No, thank you.
Jack the Dripper never disappoints, so I’ll stick with him until someone actually worth my time comes along.
Tomcat finally looks away, and I lower the binoculars with a heavy breath.
That was way too close for comfort. Next time, I need to be smarter.
Note to self: Stop watching Tomcat with other women.
Not that I’ll actually listen. I never do. But hey, reminders never hurt.
He’s safe in the clubhouse tonight, surrounded by his brothers. I can finally rest, knowing I’ve kept him alive for one more night.
“Until next time,psykhí mou,” I whisper, blowing him a kiss before carefully fading into the night.
One day soon, I’ll step out of the shadows and confess everything. Until then, I’ll keep haunting his every move from the darkness.
Chapter Two
Marigoldmovesthroughthediner like she owns the air itself, bouncing from table to table with that bright, easy smile that makes people linger longer than they planned. The bell over the door jingles every time someone steps inside, and no matter where she is, she calls out a greeting without missing a beat. The sound of her voice always settles something in the room, loosening shoulders and softening conversations.
Plates clatter against the steel ledge as Pierre slides orders through, his gravelly shout oforder upslicing through the low hum. Steam billows out with each dish, thick with grease and spice, making my mouth water even though I’m not hungry. Chairs scrape across tile and vinyl sighs as people settle in and slip away. The whole diner thrums with a rhythm she sets without effort, a heartbeat everyone falls in step with.
My jaw tightens at how clean it looks. You could forget the blood here if you hadn’t stood where bullets ripped it open.
I tense when she laughs, head tipping back, something jagged twisting inside me. My gaze lingers on her, remembering the small, silver scar beneath that sweet diner dress, puckered and forever. If I brushed the fabric aside, it would ask everything of me, a reminder of how close I came to losing her before I ever learned her flavor.
The memory of her blood does something ugly and permanent inside me. It brands her as mine to protect. No patch or ink required. It’s a promise written so deep it’ll never fade.
Sometimes, when I close my eyes, the sting of gunfire and blood burns my nose. I hear glass shatter under my boots as I charge in, heart pounding loud enough to drown the world, desperate to find Marigold. The terrified cries of Pope’s kids still crawl under my skin. I’ll never shake the image of someone as massive as Pope begging Gavel not to die, hands pressed to wounds. But what claws at me most is my own raw voice screaming for Marigold, and my knees nearly buckling when she stood and told me to stop.
“She brings this place to life,” Savior says, leaning his elbows on the table, eyes tracking Marigold as she moves through the diner.
A fierce, possessive ache coils deep in my chest.My woman.She’s lived in my head for years, no matter how far she runs. I’m done with her games, though. The way she lures me in with smoldering glances that promise every filthy thing I want, only to yank it all away the moment we get close to crossing her invisible line. She slips back into her fortress, and I’m left to burn.
