My jaw tenses. “Then we figure out a plan B.”
Reign's quiet for a moment. “What if Kingston tells you to stand down and stick with the original plan? He’s not going to want a war just because you’ve got a hard-on for your wife.”
“Don’t worry. I'll deal with Kingston when the time comes.”
Reign rolls his eyes. “That's not an answer.”
“It's the only answer I've got right now.” I stand up and before I walk out the door, I stop and turn. “Reign?”
"Yeah?" He looks up at me, his fingers still typing.
“Thanks. For helping with this.”
“Don't thank me yet. You might not like what we find.”
“Just keep it between us for now, yeah?” I say.
He nods and gives me a little salute before returning his eyes to the screens.
The drive back to the penthouse gives me time to think. If we can get enough information about the threats against Declan, maybe we can put pressure on him to give up the intel on our family. And then I won't have to play Tierney against him.
I won't have to watch the trust in her eyes turn to betrayal when she finds out what I've been doing all while trying to convince her that whatever is happening between us isn’t total bullshit.
But the annoying as fuck voice in the back of my head keeps saying this is too simple. Too clean.
And in my experience, things are never as easy as they seem.
When I get back, Tierney is in the kitchen making coffee. She’s dressed in jeans, a sweater, and a pair of Ugg boots looking like she's planning to bolt. Her hair's pulled back tight, and she doesn't bother to look up when I walk in.
“Going somewhere, princess?”
“Out.” She doesn't elaborate, just pours coffee into a to-go cup.
“That's specific.”
“I'm going to check on Connor.” Her tone could cut glass. “Unless you have a problem with that too.”
“No problem, except you spent pretty much all last night with him. How much bonding do you need to do?”
She finally looks at me, and her expression is pure ice. “Since when do I report to you?”
“Since you're under protection.”
“From who? The big bad world, or from making my own decisions?” But she doesn’t address my dig at her disappearance after our shower sexcapade.
I lean against the counter, studying her. Everything about her screams ‘fuck off’ - the rigid posture, the clipped responses, the way she won't look me in the eyes.
“You're in a mood,” I say, folding my arms over my chest.
“I'm always in a mood. You just don't usually care enough to notice.”
“Maybe I'm paying more attention now.”
“Don't bother.” She moves toward the door, coffee in hand. “Whatever you think happened yesterday?—”
I reach for her arm. “Wait, what do I think happened?”
She stops, spine stiffening. But she still won’t look at me. “Nothing happened.”
