Page 49

I swallow the retort. Her husband and I will see eye-to-eye when hell freezes over. But the kids are a different story. “How are the twins?”

“Oh, amazing! They’re more like their father every day. Just yesterday, Nico—”

Fucking hell.

I press my index and middle fingers to my temple in a mock gun. My razor-sharp sister, turned into this simpering housewife. What wouldn’t I give to put a bullet in that bastard’s skull.

“Soph,” I cut her short. “I need clothes.”

“For you? Cade, if this is a cry for help—”

“Not for me.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, bracing for impact. “Listen. Clothes in size six, shoes—seven and half, and . . . C cup. Got it?”

Dead silence. Then Sophie’s laugh explodes through the speaker, a sound that usually brings me joy. Now, it grates like steel on concrete.

“Did you just say C cup? Are we talking about a real woman here or a mannequin?”

The headache building behind my eyes intensifies.

“Oh my God! This needs documenting. It’s fucking historic!”

I count to ten. Slowly. “Cool it, Sparrow. It’s not a date. She’s on the run and needs something to wear.” Given Luna’s usual taste, off-the-rack isn’t likely going to cut it. “Make them expensive. Comfortable, too.”

“Ooh, fugitive chic.” Sophie’s voice drips honey. “I like her already.”

“Soph, it’s not what you’re thinking,” I warn.

“I know, Cade, but a girl can wish for a sister. Or a brother. Hell, I’ll take any human at this point, Cade. Although I like the sound of this one. Tell me more.”

I chuckle, even as irritation flares. “How about this? She sells sex. And she’d sacrifice a limb to pitch her business to your husband.”

Sophie’s squeal pierces my eardrum. “Sex! As in . . . toys?”

I glance skyward. “The Bliss Xpress or something equally demented. And an escort app.” Despite myself, a grudging admiration sneaks into my voice. “A red zone bottled up complete with bells and whistles.”

“Oh my God. I fucking love her! Nico will be all over that like a rash.” Her laugh rings out. “Wait till I tell—”

“Hey,” I cut her off.“No parroting.”

“Fine,” she snaps back. “Whatever.”

“The clothes. I need them yesterday. Send one of your golden retrievers, will you?”

Sophie huffs, but I hear her smile. “Will do. How long are you in town for?”

Guilt twists my gut. “I’ll be airborne in a few hours.”

The line goes dead silent. When Sophie speaks, her voice has lost its playful edge. “Wait . . . you’re taking this woman on a mission?”

I knead the tension at my neck. “I’m not.”

I can’t.

How can I take that wildcard anywhere? Loose cannon doesn’t even begin to describe her. Guzzling down spiked drinks. Boldly confronting her enemies. Having an orgasm in the middle of a deadly chase. The image of Luna moaning for me, Christ, fucking shuddering just from my bike’s vibration, hits me like a punch. I push it away. Hard.

“I’m not taking her,” I repeat.

“Uh-huh.” Sarcasm drips from Sophie’s words. “Whatever happened to dropping distressed damsels on my doorstep?”