“Do you really need all this stuff?” Brenden asks as he lugs a bag into Alexan’s house.
“Uh, yeah, actually, since I’m going to live here now.” I sigh and dump a suitcase down on the floor beside the couch.
“There’s still more back at the house.” My brother wipes his forehead. He seems stressed and shifty, but he’s trying to put on a brave face. I keep catching moments like this where he looks like he’s imagining his own horrible death, and I don’t understand why.
Something happened on his last job. I asked him about it this morning, but he only brushed me aside. He’ll talk about it sooner or later when he’s ready, but clearly whatever went down is still bothering him. He looks thin and on edge, not the outgoing, smirking older brother who taught me how to hotwire cars.
“Most of my decorations are in a few boxes.” I look around my new house, frowning slightly. The place is the definition of minimalist. There’s almost no personality anywhere. Everything’s cold gray and dark wood.
Brenden follows my gaze and gives me one of his old smirks. “I can see why you might want them.”
“Do you mind making another trip?” I stretch my back, eager to get this over with as soon as possible. I’m not happy about moving in with Alexan, but there’s clearly no alternative.
I’m his wife, like it or not, and this is what’s expected.
“Nah, it’s fine.” He moves toward the door and pauses on the stairs. “You know, Dad should be helping.”
“I’m not sure I want his help right now.”
“Come on, Riles. You know he didn’t have much of a choice.”
“That’s what he says, but there are other McGrath girls.”
He gives me a slight frown. “And you’d rather one of them took your place?”
Bastard. I glare at him, annoyed. But he’s right. I wouldn’t swap places with anyone else in my family, only because I couldn’t imagine dooming any of them to this nightmare.
There’s a noise on the steps. I look over to find my husband watching me with his head tilted. His lips push together when he scans the bags and boxes Brenden and I stacked in the living room.
“I see you brought everything you own,” Alexan says.
“Sorry, I guess nobody told you that I’d be moving in. You know, to live here permanently?” I give him a hard look. When Brenden said it, he only annoyed me a little. But Alexan manages to piss me off without really trying.
“I’ll make another trip and let you get settled,” Brenden mutters to me. He nods at Alexan. “You two probably have some talking to do.”
“Wait, it’s fine, you can stay—” But he shuts the door and leaves anyway.
I let out a sigh and face my husband.
“You can unpack upstairs,” Alexan says and turns away. “Bring your things to our bedroom. I made space for you.” He starts to walk upstairs before his words actually break through my annoyed, foggy skull.
“Hold up. Our bedroom?” I follow him to the second floor. He disappears into the master, and I pause at the threshold. Beyond is the bed I’m so familiar with, the cameras in the ceiling, that full-length mirror, all those dirty memories. I step inside, but only a few feet past the door. I can’t bring myself to go further. “I’m staying in the guest room like last night.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” he says, turning to face me. He sits on the edge of the bed and leans back on his hands. His shoulder and chest muscles flex, and I have to try very hard not to lick my lips. For as frustrating as he can be, Alexan is really physically gorgeous.
Even though he’s cold as ice on the outside.
“Forgive me if that doesn’t sound like a good thing,” I say, forcing myself to stay steady.
“I met with Iron Head last night. He’s giving me another month to figure this watch thing out, but after that, he made it clear that the entire Brotherhood and I will suffer if I fail.”
“What does that have to do with me staying in your bedroom?”
He brushes a thumb down his lips before pointing at me. “You are in danger.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Yeah, no kidding. You made that clear already.”
“No, baby, you don’t understand. Iron Head—”
“Stop calling him that,” I say, interrupting. “His name’s Jeremy.”
“Iron Head,” he repeats, looking annoyed, “is personally interested in solving this problem as well, which means he’s absolutely looking into it. If he figures out that you’re the one who took it before I can figure a way out of this, he’ll come for you. I need to make sure you’re safe.”
I try not to laugh at the absurdity of his logic. “And in order to do that… you need me to sleep in your bed? Sounds real convenient.”
“Not necessarily in my bed, but in my room.”
“Great, huge difference, like I’m going to be on the floor or something. We both know you just want a repeat of our first meeting.”
He licks his lips and shrugs. “I can’t deny that.”
“Then it’s a hard no from me. I’ll take my chances in the other room.” I turn to leave, but he says a single word before I can move.
“Artakarg.”
Suddenly, an iron wall slams down in front of me, blocking the exit. More shutters cover the windows. All of them are metal and reinforced. The lights dim to a dull red and cameras descend from the ceiling. Something flutters from a hidden alcove near the dressers and begins buzzing out.
“Is that a fucking murder drone?” I shriek as it begins to circle me. A gun barrel mounted on its belly is aimed at my chest.
“This is why you need to be in my room,” Alexan says, standing up and walking over. He casually reaches out and grabs the drone from midair, flipping it over and deactivating something at its base end. The rotors slow and stop as he places it down on the floor. “I haven’t updated the guest security yet.”
“This is insane,” I say, staring around me. All the entrances are covered with pure steel, all of which I’d bet are blast- and bullet-proof. Cameras record every square inch of the place, and that murder drone is enough to put more than a few holes in an intruder’s face. “Why the hell is your freaking bedroom like this?”
“Because I have a dangerous job and more than a few enemies.” He steps up close to me, looming like a monster. The red lights make his face seem bloody and terrifying. My heart races in my chest as nerves tingle down into my core. “I need you close, little thief. If Mantis comes for us, I can’t guarantee you’d be safe anywhere but right here.”
As much as I hate him, he does make sense. I have to admit that this whole lockdown sequence is really impressive, even if it’s also paranoid and crazy.
“You can always upgrade the guest room?” I suggest sheepishly.
“The walls in here are bulletproof. The glass is as well. Construction on that part of the house would take a year, minimum, and we have four weeks. It’s not feasible.”
I take a deep breath through my nose. God, I hate this. I already feel like I’m giving up a ton, marrying him and moving in, and I don’t want to keep making sacrifices.
But this is my fault.
I can’t keep pretending like it isn’t. Yeah, I didn’t know that stupid antique watch was the property of a super-violent crime syndicate, but I’m still the impulsive moron that took it.
And now Alexan’s stuck trying to protect me when he could just hand me over and wash his hands of all this.
“Alright, fine,” I say, holding up my hands in defeat. “But I want the left side.”
“Avartsvats,” he says, and the lights go back to normal, the cameras ascend back into their sockets, and the shutters disappear. It’s almost like nothing happened, except for the murder drone still lying deactivated at his heels like a happy puppy waiting for belly rubs. “I sleep on the left.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I say, hands curled into fists. Frustration wells in me. There’s a handsome, mocking smile on his face. “Now you’re just being controlling and punishing me for that watch thing.”
“You think I’m that petty?”
“I think I don’t know you well enough to say.”
He laughs softly. His pretty tongue rolls against his teeth. “I’d say you know me very well by now, Riley.”
“Don’t be a prick. I know I fucked up, okay? Is that what you wanted? I admit that I made a mistake pickpocketing that dumb watch. Still doesn’t give you a right to torture me.”
“This is far from torture.” He looks amused. It’s like the only time that cold bastard comes alive is when he’s teasing me.
“I don’t know, right now I think getting my fingernails ripped out one by one would be better than sleeping beside you.”
“I’m wounded.” He puts a hand over his heart. “You hurt me deeply.”
“Doubt that.”
“Tell you what. You can have the left side of the bed if you promise to wear my shirt to sleep in every night.”
I take a sharp breath. Does he know I’ve already been doing that most nights? My cheeks turn red, and I try to come up with a sharp retort, but I only manage to stammer something about him being an asshole, which only makes me feel even more embarrassed because if he didn’t know before, now he definitely does.
“I’m going to put that murder drone between us,” I grumble, getting the heck out of that room. “I’m programming it to shoot if you touch me.”
“That’d be a waste of a good drone,” he says, laughing as I hurry away.
