Page 74 of Rule the Night

I hated how much I liked his face. Hated that I still got hot — everywhere — just thinking about what we’d done in the studio.

So far he’d been true to his word about not telling Remy or Bram that we’d fucked.

As far as I knew anyway.

“Not today,” I said, making a beeline for the coffee machine. “I put overnight oats in the fridge. Just pop them in themicrowave. Add berries and drizzle some honey or syrup over the top.”

I pulled down a travel cup and set it under the machine.

“Honey and syrup spike your blood sugar,” Remy said, entering the kitchen behind me.

“Ask me if I care,” Poe said.

Remy opened the fridge to start pulling out his smoothie supplies. “You’ll care when you have diabetes by the time you’re thirty. And you’ll care when you’re tired by?— ”

He turned with his hands full and smacked into the closing fridge door, then dropped a container of yogurt. The lid popped off and yogurt splattered all over the floor.

“Fuck.”

He didn’t sound surprised, and honestly, I wasn’t surprised either. After almost a month with the Butchers, I’d gotten used to the chaos that seemed to follow Remy wherever he went. Spilled food, broken dishes, and random injuries seemed par for the course. At first I thought it was because he was so big, but all the Butchers were big and Poe and Bram weren’t clumsy in the slightest.

Remy just didn’t seem to have any spatial awareness. Or any awareness of where his arms and legs were at any given time either.

“I’d help you clean that up but I have to be at work early today,” I said, grabbing a muffin from the freezer.

“I got it,” he said, pulling a bunch of paper towels off the roll by the sink.

“What’s up at work?” Poe asked.

I checked my defensiveness. There was nothing pointed in Poe’s question. I just had a guilty conscience. Which was crazy. I didn’t owe the Butchers anything when I wasn’t at the loft cooking. My fears of being forced into sexual servitude had obviously been unfounded.

Turned out, I didn’t need to be forced into fucking the men who’d caught me in the tunnel. I’d been more than happy to do that — with one of them at least — willingly.

Fuck me.

“Winter stock coming in,” I said in answer to Poe’s question. It was only a white lie: winter stockwouldbe coming in.

Any day now.

“Do you have money for lunch?” he asked when I picked up my bag without grabbing one of the wraps, sandwiches, or salads I’d food-prepped for the week.

“I’m not a kid.” I said it to cover for the fact that it was actually kind of sweet the way Poe asked about my lunch.

“I know. Just making sure you’re covered.” He hadn’t seemed at all hurt that I’d been avoiding him since we’d fucked in the studio and he didn’t seem at all hurt by my protestations now.

That was Poe: even-steven. Must have been all the meditating. Or the nudity.

“Thanks,” I grumbled, determined to hang onto my indignation for no good reason.

I made my way down the stairs and out into the fenced-in parking lot. Five minutes later I was on my way to the train station that would take me into the city.

45

MAEVE

I leftmy car in the lot at the station. With any luck, I’d be back around the time my shift at Lushberry normally ended and would be home right on time, the Butchers none the wiser.

I looked out the window as the train traveled southbound, along the river and into the city. Rural commuter towns the size of Blackwell Falls gave way to the suburbs right outside the city, and the leaves were well on their way to changing, a riot of green, yellow, orange, and red that made the riverbank look like it was on fire in the morning sunlight.