Page 37 of Rule the Night (Blackwell Butchers #1)

MAEVE

Cassie’s Cuppa was packed with late-afternoon patrons when I walked in after my shift at Lushberry. It was one of my favorite spots, with big windows facing Main Street, plenty of tables, and enough houseplants to make the place feel like coffee at a friend’s house instead of a coffee shop.

I spotted Bailey right away, waving like a maniac by the window. She looked great, her dark blonde hair blown out, her makeup impeccable.

She practically tackled me when I reached the table. “Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”

I laughed. “I missed you too.”

We still texted almost every day, but my first three weeks with the Butchers had offered up plenty of distractions.

Between the constant cooking (I’d never met anyone who could eat as much as my three new roommates), work, and the increasing challenge of keeping my hands off Poe, I had my hands full.

No pun intended.

Plus there was my constant tracking of Ethan Todd and the file I was accumulating on the details of his move back to the States, just in case I lost another Hunt and had to try and deal with him myself.

Again.

At least June’s car had been fixed (to the tune of $600). I had a feeling it was on its last legs, but that was a problem for another time.

“I got your coffee and one of those scones you like,” she said.

“Ugh, you’re an angel.” I took a seat across from her and smoothed the floral miniskirt (bought from the summer clearance collection with my employee discount) that I’d paired with a simple red T-shirt and ankle boots.

I took a drink of the coffee, eager for the caffeine to hit my system. I’d been up since six a.m., making homemade tortillas for huevos rancheros (hold the tortillas and beans for Remy), and had popped a cake in the oven for dessert that night.

Remy wouldn’t eat the cake for obvious reasons, and neither would Bram for less obvious reasons (the man clearly had a sweet tooth but so far he’d refused even my most decadent treats), but Poe loved my desserts. Plus I had to admit that I was enjoying being back in the kitchen again.

Bailey and I spent the next hour catching up.

She was dating someone but it was still new and she was being careful not to get too excited — practically a credo for every woman dating in the modern age.

She missed me in the apartment but had gotten used to watching Love or Money alone, and she was thinking of getting a cat and wanted my buy-in since I’d be back eventually.

She was clearly lonely, eager to spill the tea on all the stuff that was too hard to share via text, and I felt bad all over again for bailing on her.

“So?” she asked when she’d finally run out of steam. “How’s it going for you? Really?”

“It’s not as bad as I expected.” It wasn’t entirely untrue. So far, I hadn’t been subjected to any kind of physical torture — unless you counted the fact that I was increasingly horny and forced to live around three hotter-than-hot inked men, one of whom had a penchant for nude meditation.

“Are you lying?”

I shook my head. “I just cook. Like, a lot.”

So far my days had consisted of waking up early, avoiding Poe while he meditated ass-naked on the balcony, prepping food for dinner, working, eating, and stalking Ethan Todd online.

Sometimes I ate in the dining room with the Butchers, but just as often I took my food to my room where I watched Ethan Todd’s latest videos, compared notes with the girls in our encrypted chat, and catalogued the gossip about his movements in online chat forums.

I’d also been doing some online recon of the Warwick Hotel and planning my own trip into the city.

Bailey’s gaze dropped to the gold collar around my neck. “Are they going to make you wear that the whole time?”

“I don’t know,” I said, touching my fingers to the collar. “I forget about it most of the time.”

She frowned. “You shouldn’t.”

I sighed. “It’s just part of it.”

I didn’t want to argue about my deal with the Butchers. It was what it was.

I was grateful when she changed the subject.

“And you’re still working?”

“Yep. I don’t really have time for much else. They eat a lot.”

“What are they like?” she asked.

I tried to think of words to describe the Butchers without scaring Bailey or making her want to come over and get in their pants. “They’re… mysterious.”

She tipped her head. “Mysterious how?”

“Just… I still don’t know much about them. I don’t know what they do for work, and they made me sign an NDA.”

“Wait, they made you sign an NDA?”

She said it a little too loud, and I looked around worried someone might overhear. “Yeah, apparently it’s just a thing they do whenever someone’s in the house.”

“Are they mobsters or something?” she asked.

“I’m not getting that vibe.” It was hard to explain the high-end loft, the designer furnishings and expensive cars, the library and the gourmet kitchen.

The details made them sound like day traders or something, but that wasn’t the vibe either, and even if it was, it wasn’t like I could tell Bailey now that I’d signed the NDA.

“It’s weird, Maeve.”

“I know.” She didn’t need to tell me.

“And they don’t like…” She lowered her voice. “… make you do anything physical?”

“No, not at all.” I didn’t want to tell her that I was having a hard enough time keeping myself from wanting to do something “physical,” at least with Poe and Remy.

Bram hardly acknowledged my existence, which was fine since he still scared the shit out of me.

“Well, that’s good at least.” She stood. “I have to pee. Be right back.”

She threaded her way through the tables toward the restrooms at the back of the coffee shop.

The sun was beginning to set, the place slowly emptying out as the after-work crowd headed home, which was probably why I finally noticed the man sitting at a table against the far window.

Had he been there the whole time, hidden by the crowd?

I didn’t know, but now I saw that it was Bram, sitting with a redhead about my age, deep in conversation.

The shock of it made me sit up straighter. He looked so… normal. Sure, he was still the size of two average men, and the scar that ran down one side of his face still made him look as menacing as all get out.

But his features were softer than usual, his mannerisms relaxed with the pretty redhead sitting across from him.

His girlfriend? The possibility made me feel funny in ways I didn’t want to analyze.

“Sorry,” Bailey said, returning from the bathroom. She followed my gaze. “What?”

“That’s one of them,” I said. “The guy by the window.”

She looked again. “Bram Montgomery is one of the guys who forced you to live with them?”

“They didn’t force me,” I reminded her. “I agreed.”

She shook her head. “Why didn’t you tell me it was him?”

“I didn’t know it was a big deal. I’d never heard of him.” I looked at her again. “Wait, how do you know him?”

As private-school kids, Bailey and I were usually both out of touch when it came to local goings-on. Those seemed reserved for the townies who went to school together at Blackwell High, a world of its own.

“I don’t,” she said. “But I know of him. Everyone does.”

“Except for me.”

“I guess so. I’m surprised your parents didn’t mention him. It’s one of the reasons mine told me to stay away from Southside. They said his name like he was some kind of boogeyman.”

I looked over at Bram, sitting at the table with the redhead. He looked almost like a different person, his features soft as he spoke in low tones to the girl by the window.

Not a boogeyman. Just a man.