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Not only a Hound, thanks to my club vest, but the husband to a woman that seems to have some high Yakuza connections.

This wasn’t how I planned to tell her.

And I was going to tell her.

Eventually.

I wanted her to trust me first. For her to see me as more than her guard dog. We were meant to start a friendship and then build from that. Growing into what we are today felt natural.

And then, after about twenty or thirty years of being together, I would have told her that we were always together.

Sure, she’d be pissed that the anniversary dates would be off, but by that time, the woman would be so in love with me that I would be forgiven after a week on the couch. Two weeks at the most.

I never saw this coming, though. Never thought I’d have to stake my claim with her family and show my cards with her.

And so far away from home.

I raid the fridge first and pull items out before checking out the pantry. Food’s important, but I’m also looking for a phone. A landline or just a random burner someone left out.

“You won’t find one.”

I look over at the woman who took my phone earlier and raise an eyebrow as I close the drawer I was searching in.

“A fork?” I ask with far more innocence than I’ve ever had in my life.

To the woman’s credit, she doesn’t blink at my words but chuckles. “A phone. Cutlery is in the third drawer on the left of the fridge,” she says with a nod in that direction as she sits on one of the countertop chairs.

The kitchen is grand. I expected nothing less for a place like this. Wide and open, marble everywhere. The island itself is wider than I bet some rooms are in this city. Everything is put away and sterilized at the same time. Everything but the mess I make. And I have a strange satisfaction in it. I might even leave everything out just to put some life into this place.

I take my time prepping the food. Not using any of the ovens or stovetops, I still manage to make an impressive charcuterie board of sorts. If having meats, cheese, fruit, candy, and chips is considered charcuterie. I’m not sure if Nacho Cheese Doritos and Dijon mustard usually appear on a plate together.

But I’m not doing this to win any culinary awards.

Nat’s feeling lost right now. More so than I bet she has in a very long time. She needs comforts around her. And while I might have the money to buy her things she likes, like an e-reader or comfortable clothes, I doubt I’ll be given access back into this place.

They might let me go free, but walking back in is another matter entirely.

“Never expected a Hound to take on such a domestic role.”

I look up at the woman with a critical eye. It’s clear she’s lethal, not only from the company she surrounds herself with but the way she holds herself. While everyone else wears a suit, she’s dressed in leather pants and a thick-strapped tank top. Not low to be revealing but to move freely. I can count at least three weapons on her, blending in with her black outfit and hair, though still noticeable to prove a point. I have no doubt she has several more on her that are unknown to those around her. She doesn’t trust easily, this one. But she’s here, with the Yakuza. Out of family obligations or a sense of loyalty, I don’t know.

“Know many Hounds, do you?”

One shoulder rises. “A few. Met them on a plane once.”

“Gina,” I say as I connect what I see in front of me with what I know about the woman who walked into the clubhouse and took out our comms within seconds.

I was still in the hospital from the three bullets I took when Ruby and Natalie were snatched from the hospital parking lot. Only got the intel briefing once General thought I could handle the stress of being told everything.

By that time, the boys were already in the air, and I’d been left behind.

Something I hated. Still do when I think about it.

Especially when I found out that no one, not even this woman, was going in for Natalie. She wasn’t a priority.

And I get it—to a point.

Ruby was the club’s princess. A member of the family.