Grinning, I kiss him once more before rising up on shaky legs. “Good to know I have a default career if I tank this project.”
Slade narrows his eyes as he appears with a fresh set of clothes for me and sets them on the edge of the bed. “You’re not going to be an escort in any reality, so get that idea out of your head right now.”
Reaching for my bra and wrestling it on, I attempt to keep a straight face. “Good news, it wasn’t until you put the thought there, because I was thinking housewife, but I’m flattered you think people would pay high-roller dollars for my mouth.”
I glance from the corner of my eye to see Slade frozen in terror that he put his foot in his mouth and take pity on him, laughing. “Kidding, kidding. Should’ve seen your face, though.”
As I reach for my underwear, I get a hard smack on the ass, resulting in an undignified, startled yelp. Damian intervenes, tugging on his clothes. “Now, now, we don’t have time for round two, so angel, cover up that handprint before Slade’s tempted to add another.”
Slade hums his agreement. “Very true. People to torture, empires to ruin. Not to mention hitting your deadline.”
Damian nods solemnly in agreement. “This was a brief reprieve to help you start your day off right. It was either this or coffee, and I don’t have a clue how to work that monstrosity they call a coffee maker in the kitchen.”
Crossing to the attached bathroom to hastily clean up, I snort. “You aren’t going to hear me complaining.”
After relieving myself and grabbing a washcloth since we went well past the ten minutes that we anticipated on, I slip on the white button up shirt and navy, knee length skirt that Slade brought me. It leaves a good chunk of the scars on my leg on display, but I adamantly refuse to look at them as a painful reminder of that night. Sure, I walked away from it with a permanent reminder, but that’s the part I choose to remember;Iwalked away from it, not him.
Quickly brushing my teeth, I return to the bedroom while running my fingers through my hair, searching around for a hair tie. Slade reaches into his pocket and whips out a scrunchie with a smug smile, like he was anxiously waiting for the opportunity to appear for days simply to show off how prepared he was.
Rising up on my toes, I kiss his cheek with a genuine smile. “You’re a lifesaver.”
He brushes it off. “It’s nothing, I’m sure the others have some stashed around here, too, since you love the things.”
Damian finishes buttoning his jeans, rolling with the jab. “Of course we do, but you can’t have them back. You leave them lying around everywhere, and we like to smell them like perverts while jacking off, so you’re shit out of luck.”
Laughing until my cheeks hurt, I lead the way out of the room while shaking my head. “No need to bicker. Seriously, you’d think after some naked bonding time, you’d be best friends now.”
They both sputter indignantly at the insinuation, more so when we find Bo leaning against the wall around the corner, smirking. “Morning, pretty girl. Sleep well?” Eyes darkening, he kicks off from the wall and takes a predatory step forward.
“More like evening. Guess we’re opting for that nocturnal lifestyle for a while, after all.”
An animalistic rumble vibrates his chest as he stalks forward with lethal grace. “It might kill me, but damn, what a way to go.”
Reality suddenly slams into me, and I bite the inside of my cheek. Skin burning with embarrassment, I turn away from Bo to slap the back of my hand against Damian’s chest.
“Benevolent wake up call, my ass. How is Adrian supposed to take anything I say seriously if I smell like a brothel?”
A shameless grin splits his face as he captures my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the back of it. “Not a brothel; thoroughly satisfied. Means we’re takingreallygood care of you, and bonus, mine and Slade’s scents are all over you. Leaves no doubt in Adrian’s mind that you’re ours, but alsomine, which is important gossip for the little weasel reporting back to the Slaughters and gods only know who else.”
Slade palms my heated cheek, using his thumb to tilt my head to face him. Amusement written all over his features, he teases, “Besides, if I do recall, you happen to like public displays of affection.”
Grumbling, I pull away, not actually upset, more embarrassed about being called out than anything. The thrill of getting caught or watched definitely gets me off, but that’s in the heat of the moment. When reality comes crashing down and I’m expected to talk to the poor bystanders and act like nothing happened? Super fucking awkward. I always chalked these things up to how little interaction I actually had with people growing up, being socially awkward in the best of circumstances. Now, though, I wonder if my hot to cold switch had something to do with my wolf poking her head out between bouts of healing herself all of these years.
By the time we’ve descended the stairs and entered the dining room where the others are waiting with Adrian, I’ve wrangled my game face back on. Sure, he knows exactly what we were up to that kept him waiting even though we were the ones to summon him here, but instead of considering it rude, I tell myself it’s all a part of the game, that this was our first move. He gave the go ahead to Stonewood’s beta to orchestrate the demise of my men so that I could be shipped home to my not-dads like a wayward teenager. I don’t need to schmooze my way into his good graces, because Adrian Ronen is the sort of two-faced asshole that would sell a person’s organs on the black market while acting like the one that found them in the back-alley ice bath.
So let him fucking wait. Consideration isn’t a part of his vocabulary, so it shouldn’t have a place in mine.
“Nice of you to finally join us,” he drawls, resting his chin on his fist.
I’m not sure what possesses me to do it, but I glance up at Hunter, currently leaning against the wall behind our guest. He holds my stare until a malicious smile shatters his trademark scowl, reading my thoughts without me having to say a single word. A split second later, there’s a knife pinning Adrian’s free hand to the dining room table.
Driving it a little deeper to ensure that it won’t budge, Hunter’s voice is flippant, beginning the game of throwing Adrian off balance so that he won’t know what to expect from tonight. “Was my company not delightful enough while you waited? Shame, I thought we were having a lovely conversation in the interim.”
With the assault, Adrian draws in a sharp, pained gasp, and with it comes the scents coating my skin; namely, Damian’s. His impaled hand is temporarily forgotten as his brow furrows, gaze darting to Damian’s neck. Finding nothing, the crease between his eyebrows deepens along with his confusion, and I have to fight off a satisfactory smile at one-upping him.
“My apologies,” he eventually grits out. A brief flash of disdain is tossed my way before it’s completely concealed, keeping his eyes downcast in a faux-submissive manner when he faces Hunter. “I was out of line.”
Snorting, he yanks the blade out, sending a spray of blood droplets across the table. “Cut the bullshit, Adrian. You might fool the Slaughters, but it’s only because their egos keep them from seeing anyone else as a threat.”
