by Katee Robert
When she finally loosens her hold and shifts back, she almost looks like herself. Or she would if I didn’t know her well enough by now to see the fine tremor in her hands as she fixes her hair. She clears her throat. “Well, that’s one way to start the day.”
“She’s going to kill Broderick.” She didn’t have to speak the threat explicitly for it to be clear. Just like she didn’t have to voice the direct threat against me. If Aisling kills Broderick… No force in Sabine Valley will stop Abel from razing the Amazon faction to the ground. I can’t even blame him for that; I’m feeling particularly murderous right now, too. Coming back to this city, embroiling ourselves in the power games and political bullshit… How am I supposed to see it as anything other than a mistake if this is the cost?
Home isn’t a place, it’s the people you surround yourself with. The ones you choose. Maybe the Paine brothers don’t realize that, maybe they never would have chosen to return to Sabine Valley if they had. I’ve never asked.
It doesn’t matter.
We’ve come too far now. After Lammas, if Abel and the others buckle, they’ll bring the entire Raider faction down with them. They were hunted after they were driven out of Sabine Valley the first time, but it’s nothing compared to what will happen if they run again. Now both Amazon and Mystic leaders know exactly what kind of threat Abel Paine and his brothers can bring to the fore. They’ll do whatever it takes to ensure they never get another chance.
No, we have no choice.
We have to see this through.
Chapter 20
Broderick
I spend the day training with Donovan, Ezekiel, and Cohen. Or, to be more accurate, checking in on those three. I like to check in with my brothers at least once every couple of days normally, but things have gone sideways since returning to Sabine Valley. I know Abel’s doing fine. Cohen, too. But the others? Impossible to say.
Tomorrow, I’ll search out Gabriel and Finnegan and make sure they’re holding up fine, too.
I’m quickly coming to realize that nothing is the same it was. No one is perfectly okay, and my brothers are fighting their own battles, even if they’re not overt about it. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and glance at the twins.
Donovan and Ezekiel couldn’t be more opposite if they tried. Oh, they are damn near identical and favor the same dapper style, constantly overdressing for everything. But that’s where the similarities end. The sweet kid Ezekiel used to be burned away over the last near-decade, leaving the monster he is now. He’s our monster, but I’m aware enough to call a spade a spade.
Donovan reacted to our exile in a very different way. Instead of grasping so tightly to whatever he values the way the rest of us do, he grasps on to nothing at all. He moves through life, carried by the force of his whims and sense of humor. It boggles my mind.
We’re nearly done when a woman walks into the courtyard. She’s tall and built like a tank, and she’s wearing a muscle T-shirt and basketball shorts. It takes me a few moments to recognize her. Sonya, the self-appointed bodyguard to Donovan’s Bride, Mabel. No one was happy that she tagged along that first night, but she’s kept her head down and hasn’t caused trouble since, so her presence is tolerated. That doesn’t explain why she’s here.
Donovan gives an easy grin when he sees her. “You’re late.”
“Sorry. Mabel lost track of time talking with Rae. She’s not feeling well, and they had some suggestions. And then they got to talking and…you know how it goes.”
Is she blushing?
I exchange a look with Ezekiel. He doesn’t seem inclined to jump in, so I clear my throat. “Is she sick?” If she is, that will complicate things, especially if it’s serious. Mabel is one of our Brides. Her health and safety are paramount to maintaining the Bridal peace.
Sonya opens her mouth, but it’s Donovan who answers breezily. “Just menstruation stuff. She has nasty monthlies, and I thought Rae might have some suggestions to help.”
“Jesus, there’s more than one of them right now?” This from Cohen, low enough that I don’t think he intended me to hear it.
I’ll focus on that later. I frown at Donovan. “Since when do you know a single fucking thing about periods?”
“Since my Bride has one.”
I guess technically, my Bride has one as well. I haven’t seen evidence of it yet, but I’ve also spent most of the past three weeks avoiding her. Not that it matters one way or another. I learned enough to be helpful to Shiloh when she was feeling like garbage because of her body’s cycle. But Donovan has never been particularly close to any of the menstruating people in our group. “You sent her to Rae, though?”
Rae is the doctor Harlow brought into the compound after Eli took a bullet for Abel. And then they…never left. Not that I’m complaining. It’s useful having a doctor around, and best I can tell, Rae is brilliant. I think I heard Harlow say that they were a prodigy back in the day. I don’t understand how someone used to be a prodigy, but having a doctor on the compound has already come in handy.
Even if they are a giant pain in the ass with an attitude problem.
Really, Rae fits right in.
Donovan shrugged. “Mabel said that level of pain is normal for her, but it seems kind of extreme. It’s not like the Mystics have much in the way of real doctors over there. They’re more likely to shove a crystal up your ass and send you on your way.”
“Donovan.”
He grins at Sonya, completely unrepentant. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“The Mystics have plenty of healers.” She tries to glare at him, but her lips curve a little.
“Healers, not doctors. Rae has a fucking medical degree. They didn’t just wake up one day, check the stars, and decide they knew a single damn thing about human bodies.”
This conversation has the feel of well-tread ground, which means it could go on for some time. I stride over to where we left our phones and check the time. I have to go if I’m going to make it to Amazon territory in time to pick up Monroe and Shiloh at the end of the day. “I’ll catch you all later.”
Cohen walks with me into the house. He doesn’t speak until we climb the stairs and approach my room. “You taking care of the Monroe problem?”
“Yeah. I’ve got it covered.” It’s even the truth. Really, I should thank Abel for being such a fucking asshole about this, because he’s paved the way for me to take what I want. I have to, after all. For the greater good of the territory and the Raider faction.
I’m a fucking liar.
I duck into the bedroom and take a quick shower. I made a few trips this morning from the room I was essentially squatting in and this one, transferring my stuff back into the closet. Or at least a corner of the closet available. Between Monroe’s stuff and Shiloh’s stuff, there isn’t much space.
I take slightly more care in dressing than I would normally. A navy suit with a crisp white button-down. I could blame it on being about to enter enemy territory, but the truth is that I want to look good for my women.
My women.
Calling either of them mine feels strange and not entirely accurate. But it’s not not accurate, either. What we have is messy in the extreme, but I’m enjoying it despite myself.
Driving out of the compound feels strange. I don’t leave the walled space that often. Abel runs the territory. Cohen runs our forces. Donovan, Ezekiel, Finnegan, and Gabriel all have smaller responsibilities geared in different specialties. Things are a little different now that Abel has Harlow and Eli as Brides. Harlow has become his Bride wrangler. Eli is his bridge between the past eight years of absence and our presence here now.
And me? I run the household.
I source shit we need, ensure things function as they should, and problem-solve where there are problems needing solved. I keep track of my brothers, ensure they’re all where they’re supposed to be, that no one has fallen through the cracks.
I leave the compound and take my time driving north to toward the bridge that conne
cts Raider territory with Amazon. The last three weeks haven’t changed much on the surface, but I can already see the difference in how people react to the truck I’m driving that marks me as being connected to my family. The first week, people watched us as if expecting violence. Now, most of the suspicion has dissipated, and I even get a few waves.
That cautious acceptance stops the second I cross the bridge. There isn’t a marked difference between the Raider faction and Amazon faction at first. Not unless you count the skyscrapers clustered in the center of their territory. The people still look exactly the same. Normal. So incredibly normal. That’s not the case with the Mystics and their love for dramatic clothing and flowing robes in a mishmash of colors. Amazons don’t go for that kind of in-your-face style. You wouldn’t know they’re even Amazons until they’re sinking a blade between your ribs.
I head for the building at the very center of the territory. It’s a giant steel-and-glass monstrosity that stretches many floors higher than those around it. Any other city in the world, that would just be a coincidence, but not here. Here, this marks the Amazon queen’s work and living space.
Thankfully, I don’t have to get out of the truck or go up. Monroe is one Amazon too many. Her sister seems fine, and her uncle used to be someone who was almost a friend, but Monroe is the very essence of an Amazon. Ruthless and savvy and willing to use whatever weapon is at hand to accomplish her goal.
I’m still not sure what her goal is.
No, that’s not quite true. I might not know her goal when it comes to our factions and the future, but I know her immediate goal.
Get Shiloh into bed with us.
A slow heat curls through me as I catch sight of the women standing on the sidewalk in front of the building. Monroe looks just as good in her green dress as she did this morning, and Shiloh is gorgeous in her customary black tank top and jeans. Her clothes hug her lean body, and I can’t help curling my fingers and remembering how good it felt when she clamped around them.
I can’t believe I agreed to this, but this moment feels almost fated. Like we’ve been on this path, hurtling to this juncture, from the moment we met. Or maybe that’s just what I’m telling myself to excuse taking what I want.
Her.
Them.
Monroe climbs into the truck first. She practically lands in my lap, and then her mouth is on mine. The kiss is messy and a little rough. Fuck, this woman drives me wild. It’s not a comfortable feeling, but I’m slowly getting used to how much I enjoy it.
She leans back and uses her thumb to wipe her lipstick from my mouth. “Missed you.”
“Liar.”
“Only a little.” She laughs. “Are you coming, Shiloh?”
That’s when I notice that Shiloh hasn’t gotten into the truck. She’s staring at us with a strange expression on her face, one I’ve never seen before. It almost appears to be a cross between jealousy and longing, but I afraid to assume. Monroe promised me that we wouldn’t bully Shiloh into doing anything she doesn’t want to do, but part me can’t help the suspicion that she was only in our bed last night for Monroe. Yeah, she got off on my fingers, but it was Monroe’s tongue that pushed her over the edge.
Shiloh gives herself a shake. “Yeah, I’m coming.” She hefts herself up into the truck and shuts the door.
Monroe slides off my lap but stays pressed to my side. “I’d like a favor, husband.”
“What?”
She walks her fingers up my thigh, and it’s everything I can do to keep my physical reaction to a minimum. “I’m parched. I’d like to go get a drink.”
On the other side of her, Shiloh narrows her eyes. “That’s the second time this week.”
“What can I say? I like what I like.” Monroe laughs. “Come out with us, love. It’ll be fun.” She sinks enough innuendo into fun to launch a thousand ships.
Shiloh hesitates but finally nods. “Okay. I guess I could use a drink.”
“That’s our girl,” Monroe murmurs.
Our girl.
The shared term goes straight to my head. As hard as I get off on going head-to-head with Monroe, working together is so much more intoxicating. I keep waiting for the feeling to fade, but it only seems to grow stronger the more time we spend on the same wavelength. It’s enough to make me forget myself, forget the reasons I’m here.
For Shiloh.
For my brothers.
For the faction.
I drive back over the bridge and past the compound and Old Town to a little bar a few blocks south. It’s stood here for decades and used to be a place where Abel, Cohen, and I would drink before we turned twenty-one. The old owner was a friend of our father, and he never bothered to card us. He’s been dead a few years now, and his daughter has run the place ever since. Jennifer is a large white woman who looks like she could crack my head with her bare hands. Her longtime girlfriend, Renée, is a petite Black woman with braids, is her exact opposite, as sweet as she is tiny. She’s the one who waves when we walk through the door and into the dim interior. “Go ahead and sit wherever.”
The place is the same superficially as it was the last time I walked through the door. The bar still stretches across most of the wall across from the door and there are a scattering of tables and chairs, mostly empty. But it’s changed. This place used to be a dump, exactly the kind of bar a person would expect to find minors drinking in because they don’t bother to card. Sticky floors, smoke perpetually gathering in clouds against the ceiling, all sorts of unsavory types lingering in the shadows created by not enough light.
It’s still dim in here, still welcoming in that specific way, but it smells faintly of lemon cleaner, and there are actual framed pieces of art on the wall. They’re all stylized drinking glasses and bottles, nice enough to look at, but they don’t try to make this place anything but what it is. A dive bar, if a cleaner and safer one than it used to be.
Even the clientele seems different, though it’s still too early in the day to say for sure. But the few people already here are wearing clothes that suggest they’re stopping by for a drink on their way home from work.
Things really have changed.
I try for a smile at Renée. “Is the back room open?”
She grins. “I knew you looked familiar. Broderick Paine, right?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s been a while. For you, it’s open.” Renée jerks her thumb at the doorway in the back. “You want me to come back and get your orders, or do you need privacy?”
“Privacy, please. I’ll grab our drinks and take them back myself.”
Her grin widens as she takes in Monroe and Shiloh behind me. “Go on ahead, then.”
The women slide past me and head toward the doorway. Shiloh looks nervous and jumpy. Monroe is all wicked smiles and a loose-limbed stride that somehow manages to scream sex without her doing anything overt. I give our drink orders to Renée, wait for her to fill them, hand her some cash, and follow the women into the back room.
Shiloh and Monroe have their heads close together when I push through the door. The room is exactly like I remember it, if a thousand times cleaner. My shoes don’t stick to the floors as I cross the half-circle booth that takes up most of the space. It’s been reupholstered sometime in the last decade with leather, and the tabletop has been replaced with shiny wood that isn’t cut all to shit. The last time I was back here, there was a knife sticking out of the center of the table.
Monroe grins. “Right on time. I was thinking we’d have some fun and play a game.”
I carefully set the glasses down and eye her. “A drinking game?” I am fully on board with seducing Shiloh, but I’m not going to touch her if she’s drunk. I would assume Monroe is the same; if she hadn’t also been buzzed out of her mind the other day, I don’t think they would have hooked up in the bar’s bathroom. In fact, I’m certain of it. Monroe is too damn protective of the people in her sphere to take advantage of someone like that.
“No, silly man. Drinking gam
es are best done with shots and a determination to get into trouble. This is just a fun little game for friends.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“I couldn’t begin to say. That sounds like a you problem.” She holds up a hand, her expression the very picture of innocence. “Don’t you want to play with me?”
Shiloh makes a choked sound. “You’re so much sometimes, Monroe.”
“You aren’t the first person to say it.” She tucks a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “It strikes me that neither of you had a proper childhood.” She pats the spot next to her. “Stop looming and sit down.”
“I’m not looming.” But I sit, curious on where she’s headed with this. “I had a childhood.”
“You had Bauer Paine as your father, a dead mother, and five younger brothers that you mostly raised.” She snorts. “You had to grow up fast.”
Monroe isn’t exactly wrong. My mother died a long time ago, and my father was hardly the poster child for good parenting. Abel did his best, but he always had his eyes on the role of leading the faction. It inevitably fell to me to supervise my younger brothers. Considering my brothers, that was a full-time job.
It's still a full-time job, even if I’ve been shirking my duties since coming back to the city.
She leans against me as she turns to Shiloh on her other side. “And don’t even try to tell me that you had anything resembling normal teenage years.”
I tense, but Shiloh just shrugs. “It was normal for me.”
I don’t like the shadows that flicker across her face when she talks about the past. She survived horrific things at the hands of her parents. We’ve touched on the subject enough for me to know that, even if I don’t know all the gory details. Her parents were religious and abusive, and they hurt her terribly. I clear my throat, determined to bring the conversation around. “You’re the Amazon heir. You can’t honestly tell me your childhood was normal.”
