Page 85 of Pack of Crooks

He nods. “It’s our home. Yours, too, if you want.”

Do I ever. My entire body is flushed, my scent so sweet it makes my teeth ache, and hope, the fragile butterfly that it is, flutters around inside of me. “Okay,” I say softly, praying that this pack won’t break my heart. “But I have to talk to Lottie first, and I can’t do that until after her cheer competition.”

Mad’s features soften. “You haven’t told her.”

I shake my head, drop my eyes to hide my shame. “She doesn’t need to worry about it.”

“Neither should you,” Kill says, drawing my gaze to his. “You deserve more than you have, Hazel.”

“You deserve more than a couch,” Ezra adds with a slanted look.

Mad strokes his hand up my spine. “Talk to your sister. If she’s not comfortable moving in, we’ll make other arrangements.”

They’d get me my own place for me and Lottie? Tears prick my eyes, but they’re chased by a smile that’s so wide it hurts my cheeks.

What the hell did I do to deserve this pack?

Cheer competitions are terrifying, and I don’t say that lightly. I’ve been cornered by the worst kind of alpha, and I might choose that situation over sitting in a crowd of cheer moms or being surrounded by hormonal teenagers.

The moms are the worst though. With their glory days far behind them, some of them wield their too orange makeup likea sword and their fried, bleached hair like a trophy. I love a good platinum blonde, but this is another extreme. Their smiles are as fake as their Gucci bags. There’s a certain sort of violence in a cheer mom’s eyes that has me picking the back corner of the bleachers set out in front of the stage, far away from the judgmental gazes and backhanded compliments.

Milly eyes a group of moms who immediately start whispering as soon as we take our seats. “Bitches,” she mutters.

“Yup,” I say with a sigh, eyeing the mats and the judges and the lights. Cheer competitions are no joke. Every group here is gunning for a trophy. Lottie’s been practicing so hard, making the most out of the space we have in our cramped apartment. I hope her team does well.

She could use a win.

“Is it always like this?”

“Pretty much,” I tell Milly, eyeing a mom who’s watching me with a curled lip. “What?” The lady scoffs and looks away. Fucking cunt. Not every mom here is like that, though. There are other people in attendance who are nice, but the jerks outnumber the rest of us.

“I looked into Tristan,” Milly begins, tugging out her phone and handing it to me.

I scroll through the document, click on the links, a frown cutting across my face. According to Milly’s research, Tristan’s company has been targeting startups for the last twenty years. He has the majority of shares of the conglomerate, and Kain Industries is huge. “Why is he targeting these companies?”

“Kill them before they even have a chance at becoming competition.” She nods toward the phone. “Keep reading.”

Going back to the document, I click on the next link, eyes widening as a familiar face flashes on the screen. It’s a picture of Gary, the guy Tristan was pissed at. He was found dead in hishome in an apparent suicide. The letter he left detailed his fraud and how the shame drove him to this point.

But he was adamant he didn’t steal the money.Why would he kill himself over something he didn’t do.

“This is. . . sad.”

Milly nods in agreement. “There are some forums speculating that it wasn’t suicide. I’m not sure if I believe them, but Gary isn’t the first executive to suddenly die after something goes wrong within the conglomerate.”

“So, what, we think Tristan is killing them?”

Milly shrugs. “Maybe. Or he’s having someone else do it.”

Unsettled, I hand back the phone. “Will you send me that document?” The pack should know about this.

“Of course.” The first cheer group comes out and she tucks the phone away. “You’re being careful, right? I don’t want my best friend to wind up like Gary.”

My heart skips a beat. Would Tristan kill me if he knew I was there to spy on him? “I’m being careful,” I say, not sure if it’s to assure her or myself.

The music for the routine is loud and grating, and I try my best to give the cheerleaders my attention, but I can’t pull myself out of my head until Lottie appears on stage four groups later.

She’s in the back. I fight a frown and cheer for her as she gets into position. A few moms glare at me. Fuck them. Lottie deserves to have someone excited for her. Their music is less abrasive, and the cheerleaders move in sync, straight arms, pointed steps. A few do handsprings and flips, and when it comes to the flyers, Lottie is suddenly front and center. In the middle group, she’s flung into the air. I grasp Milly’s arm and suck in a breath, watching my little sister flip, trying to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest. Lottie careens back down, and I cover my mouth, but her team catches her with practiced ease. She dismounts with a big grin.