Page 16

The whispers around us pick up speed, like a rush of startled beetle wings. Jayk scowls, and I settle against him, leaning into his chest. If he’s the king on this chessboard then that’s fine. I can play this game.

I know what the queen’s role is.

Dom and Lucky, and all the women watching here will make sure no one shoots him. There are other ways I can protect Jayk.

I can watch.

Between their caps and clothes and their on-the-nose name, I can assume these people are from the farmlands south of Cyanide. They’re full-faced and strong—healthy the way my brutes were when I met them. They have food.

If they’re asking questions like this, it’s because they want something in exchange.

It takes a beat too long for Jayk to respond.

“We’ll be fine for winter. We’ve got options.” When Sawyer snorts, Jayk bends around me to sneer. “We’ll take it if we need to.”

Cole’s hand finds his shotgun as Sawyer’s eyes turn to glaciers.

There’s an answering click of dozens of guns being refocused, and the air turns brittle.

The cracked, taped-up doors to the sitting room squeak open.

Jasper backs through it with a large gilt-edged porcelain tray. A large, gorgeous teapot sits atop it, alongside a precarious stack of teacups and saucers, and he turns with excruciating care.

The cups rattle as he glides over the lawn, stiff-backed and unheeding of the armed airspace around him. Ninety-odd pairs of eyes watch him as he approaches the throne. His upper lip is curled in dark displeasure, and he doesn’t need to say a word—he’s seething, and it writhes out of every motion.

He places the tray down with the gentlest care and begins unpacking each cup and saucer.

One.

Then another.

Then another.

Cole’s hand leaves his weapon, and civilians shift awkwardly as they wait.

When Jasper unloads the fifth cup, less than halfway there, Lucky steps forward, only to be pinned by dart-like dark eyes.

“Stay, Lucien. Our King has given me a task,” he says silkily.

There are torture chambers and echoing, cobwebbed dungeons in his voice, and I shiver. The corner of Jayk’s mouth lifts further at the silent challenge in it.

Another cup, then another, and then he pours the steaming liquid. The scent of peppermint is sharp and cool, and Jasper makes us wait, taking deliberate care in measuring each tiny cup.

He delivers them to the Reapers, who take the cups and saucers awkwardly where they stand. The bearded one has to shove his pistol back in its holster to hold his set.

Jasper then hands the next cup off to Lucky, who brushes his fingertips over Jasper’s as he takes it, then one goes to Dom, who reluctantly uncurls himself from his bouncer stance to accept. He hands a cup to me, and I apologize with my eyes, praying I don’t get caught in his ire alongside Jayk.

Then he presents a cup and saucer to Jayk.

Jayk stares at it, then lifts his gaze to Jasper. Everything in his expression tells me he’s enjoying this far too much.

“Nah, you keep it. I’ve got my hands full.” He punctuates the drawl by clapping his hand to my ass and squeezing.

The tea in my hand sloshes, and I almost decide to dump it on his head.

In the last two weeks, I’ve been dwelling on every moment between us—him rubbing arnica into my bruises after our first night, his gruff kindness, his vulnerability when he spoke about his mother.

How on earth did I forget he’s an absolute, infuriating jerk ?

Jasper’s eyes linger on Jaykob’s hand, then scan my face. He raises one chill brow at me, and I feel myself turn scarlet.

Is he embarrassed for me or himself? I’m embarrassed for me. Should I be defending Jasper here? That would be gallant, I suppose. Lucky is watching the exchange like he wants to grab popcorn, but I should say something when one of them is being an ass, shouldn’t I?

What is the etiquette when your boyfriends are fighting?

I peek at the Reapers, at how Sawyer is watching every moment.

We do seem to have bigger concerns right now.

“Don’t insult our guests, Jaykob,” Jasper murmurs.

The patience in his quiet voice is violent.

“You might have the emotional bandwidth of a testosterone-drunk orangutan but try to string together enough brain cells to realize we don’t need another war right now.

Drink the tea. And do let me know if they use words over two syllables so I might explain them to you. ”

I sip my tea to hide my wince.

On second thought, they’re big boys. They can handle themselves.

Jayk takes the saucer in his free hand, trying not to spill the fragile cup. I peek at him. His renewed scowl and the glowing tops of his ears have me fighting a sigh. They all know each other too well.

They go for the throat.

Jasper settles by my feet with a curt, ironic glance my way, and Jayk finally rests the saucer on the thick arm of the throne.

It sits at a slight angle over an uneven bump, so he clings to the miniscule handle.

It’s small enough that even I can’t fit my fingers through, but it looks ridiculous in Jayk’s large hand.

He has to pinch the delicate floral curve between two filthy, callused fingers.

The Reapers aren’t faring any better. Pete is holding the saucer in one hand, looking around again at the women, and every time he takes a sip, he sticks his little finger high in the air.

“What were we saying again?” Jayk snaps irritably.

Sawyer lowers his teacup, and the ends of his mustache are damp. “You were saying how you were going to attack us and steal our stores?”

Jayk just nods. “Yeah. That.”

“We’ve got eyes, King. You’ve mostly got women here. Not exactly a huge risk,” Sawyer drawls.

There’s another round of mechanical clicks, and Buck startles, dropping his saucer. He picks it up slowly, looking around with wide eyes.

“We have weapons. Training. You think this shit happens by accident?” Jayk growls, gesturing with the tiny cup. Molten peppermint tidal waves over the rim. “And my girl nearly blew your lights out thirty minutes ago. She can do it again, asshole.”

Cringing, I sip my tea again.

Ah yes.

A masterstroke of training, that.

This time, Cole pipes up. “You’d put her at risk?”

He looks me over, and I can’t help but notice how thick his lashes are. Not as thick as Jasper’s obviously. He’s also got that slow charm in the way he moves that reminds me of Beau—not that it looks nearly as good on him, of course.

He is kind of gorgeous, though.

Cole brushes his thumb over his teacup, and he smiles. Just a little. “Now, I can’t imagine putting any one of these incredible women in danger to wage a pointless war on us.” He shakes his head and adds, as if to himself, “No, sir, not me.”

Jayk’s grip is crushing . “Why the fuck are you people here? You have food. We want it. Give it to us, or I’ll just kill you right here.”

“ Orangutan ,” Jasper mutters, and I throw him a reproachful look.

Sawyer just shakes his head. “Don’t recommend.

Starvation’s an awful way to go. We die?

You get a boatload of nothing. I have a better offer.

” Before Jayk can respond, he looks around at all the civilians muttering behind their weapons.

“Come back with us. We have enough lodgings for all y’all.

Beds . And more food than you could eat.

You don’t need to stay here. None of you need to starve. ”

All the mutters fall silent. The breeze has died too, as if holding its breath, and I hear every tremble of my cup against the saucer.

Back with them? These strangers ?

Too many competing thoughts crash through my mind. Too many memories . My brutes catching me at my most desperate, offering me safety.

The Sinners, catching me in the dark and stealing me away.

“You want us to come back with you? One big happy family?” Jayk sneers.. . but I hear the hint of uncertainty in it.

I press into him further, feeling uncomfortably hot.

“Perhaps,” Jasper muses. When I look down at him, he’s staring into his teacup like he can tell our future in it. “Or perhaps they only want some of us.”

Sloane scoffs from her seat on the porch. The butt of her rifle rests on her thigh, and Mary Beth sits beside her.

“Not fucking likely,” she calls, and there’s an instant, thunderous rattle of guns on wood.

The women stand, whistling approval. Graying Patrick stands beside his wife in cold support, and Valerie’s kindly face is forbidding as she pounds the butt of her rifle against the slab she’d been huddled behind.

Lucky adds a piercing wolf whistle that makes my eardrums bleed but sends a swell of laughter through the fury.

Jayk smirks as Sawyer’s shoulders drop. “I might not be the sharpest tool, but that sounds like a no.”

Cole touches Sawyer’s arm, and Sawyer shrugs him off. The other two, Pete and Buck, look almost... worried.

I frown.

Cole runs his fingers through his hair again, tossing it into further bedroom messiness as he looks up at us.

“This ain’t about that. We could use you, all of you—we have land that needs to be maintained.

Crops that need planting and harvesting.

Livestock needing tending. Extra bodies would help, and we’d feed y’all in exchange. This is a win-win.”

I suppose that... makes sense. It’s not like we couldn’t use the food, and extra help and hands wouldn’t go astray when Alastair eventually comes making demands. Maybe we could consolidate enough to help Red Zone, too.

So why does something about this itch at me?

I glance back at Dom to gauge his reaction, but he’s granite. A silent guard, his arms crossed over his thick chest, the teacup and saucer placed beside his feet.

He can’t be this removed. This is his home.

“How many women do you have back in your territory?” Jasper asks calmly, and I swivel back around.

Cole shakes his head, and Sawyer blows a frustrated breath, “That doesn’t matter, we?—”

“How many? Versus how many men?” It’s a whipcrack, carelessly cruel. Jasper sips his tea again.