Page 26 of Kane

I sucked in a sharp breath, my thighs clenching reflexively as heat flooded my system. And frustrated by how badly I wanted to find out if he meant it.

10

KANE

Iplanned on waiting longer to let Savannah have a little freedom. To keep her isolated—pressed between four walls during the day and the heat of my body at night—until she or her brother cracked. But she’d looked so restless, so fucking tightly wound from pacing and sitting and thinking too much that I caved yesterday. Let her into the common room for a few hours, thinking I’d be in control.

I was wrong.

So far, my new tactic for gaining information had backfired. It was supposed to earn me goodwill so she’d talk. Instead, it was testing my patience to the fucking limit.

Now, she was sitting at the long, dark granite island in the clubhouse kitchen, legs swinging under the stool like she didn’t have a care in the damn world. She wore one of her own shirts this time—a pale blue thing that hugged her curves and made her eyes look even bluer. But she was still barefoot, hair slightly mussed from sleep, lips a little swollen from the way I’d kissed her last night and then left before I did something we couldn’t come back from.

She shouldn’t have been smiling. Not when I was barely keeping it together.

I turned the burner down, flipping the eggs in the cast iron skillet as though it hadn’t become a morning routine I secretly looked forward to. She’d commented on missing real breakfast last week, so now I cooked for her when I could. Not that I explained. I just dropped plates in front of her like it didn’t mean anything.

It seemed she knew better now, though. I could see it in the way her lips curved when I wasn’t looking directly at her. My malfunctioning brain hadn’t connected that by making her breakfast this morning, with both of us in the kitchen, she’d realize that I’d been doing this for her all along.

Fuck. I was so far past the ledge, I didn’t even recognize it anymore.

The screen door groaned open behind me, and heavy boots crossed the tile floor. I glanced up to see Drift wander in.

“Smells like someone’s gettin’ spoiled,” he drawled, grinning as he came into view and tipped his chin at Savannah. “Mornin’, sunshine.”

She arched a brow, lifting her fork and letting her tone drip with mock sarcasm. “That’s suspiciously friendly for the guy who threatened me the first day I stepped foot in town.”

Drift barked out a laugh and dropped onto the chair across from her like they were old friends instead of hostage and enforcer. “Fair. I was bein’ a dick. Club orders were to warn off anyone sniffin’ too close. Didn’t know you were gonna be shacked up in the Prez’s fuckin’ quarters.”

I dropped another plate on the counter a little harder than necessary.

Savannah’s grin sharpened as she took another bite of eggs. After swallowing, she said, “So, what you’re saying is you wererude to a stranger, got proven wrong, and now you’re pretending you have manners.”

He let out a low whistle, shaking his head like he was impressed. “She’s spicy. I get the appeal.”

“Don’t,” I warned, my voice low and flat.

Drift just chuckled and leaned back in his chair, boots crossed at the ankle like he had no plans of leaving. “Relax, Prez. Just talkin’. Though if you’re still comin’ up empty on intel, maybe you should let me take a swing. Get her loosened up. Maybe she’ll talk to someone who doesn’t look like he chews nails.”

Savannah tilted her head, eyes dancing. “You could try. But you wouldn’t be successful.”

Her tone was playful, not flirty. But it didn’t matter.

The second Drift grinned at her like they were co-conspirators, I saw red.

I rounded the island, caught her arm gently but firmly, and hauled her from the stool before she knew what was happening. “We’re done here.”

She blinked, surprised, but didn’t resist. “You know, for someone who claims I’m not a prisoner, you sure manhandle me like one.”

“I warned you what would happen if you kept testing me, sugar,” I growled, voice low in her ear.

She didn’t fight me, but her steps weren’t exactly cooperative either. Every stomp of her bare feet was another jab at my temper. By the time we reached the door to my quarters, I had to count to ten to keep from ripping it off the fucking hinges.

I shoved the door open, pulled her inside, and closed it behind us.

“You done?” I asked, voice rough with everything I couldn’t say.

She spun on me, arms crossed under her breasts. “With breakfast? Apparently.”