Page 98 of Sire

Nash tongues his teeth, slowly peeling off his soaked Henley. Axel tugs off his running shirt, too. Silently, Siregathers their sweaty garments and strolls toward our laundry room.

Yes, it’s December, but it’s Charleston. It’s mild, they’re hot, and I’m fuming.

I flit my hand at them. “I’m not falling for all your mafia muscles and ink.”Okay, I am,but… “Quit stripping and start talking, now, or no biscuits for you.”

“Tell her.” Nash doesn’t like my ultimatum.

“We don’t know the facts yet,” Axel seethes.

“We should just take her with us.” Sire strolls back into the kitchen. “Or I’ll never get to eat my wife’s cookies again.”

“Tell mewhatand take mewhere?”

Again, they do their brotherly bond shit and don’t say a word. Ice would be impressed with their performance.

“Great.” I throw up my hands. “The silent ex-Bratva treatment. That makes me feelsomuch better.”

Marching toward the kitchen, I shove past them. Plucking a warm biscuit from the tray, I wrap it in a napkin before charging toward the door.

Sire barks, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To buy an insurance policy.”

I’m too small and fast. Bounding down the stairs, I burst out of the door, emerging on the sidewalk before they can stop me. Quickly, I glance both ways before charging across the street.

Blond motorcycle dude crows at my fearless approach, “Well, hey there, little cub. Did you lose your lion?”

“Nope.” I walk right up to his black leather and chrome everything. “I’m sure he’s watching. Isn’t he?”

Blond guy leans, looking over my shoulder, and twiddles his fingers again. “Sure is. Your husband’s standing at his window, and I’ve got about one minute alone with you and at a safe distance before he shanks me.Again.”

“Well then, tell me fast. Why does he wantyouwatching me?”

I can’t see his eyes. His gold aviators reflect the sun, but by his smirk, I can tell he’s liking this. “What do I get for telling ya?”

“My buttery biscuit.”

He cocks his lips. “Darlin’, while I’m sure your buttery biscuit is worth dying for, your lion will kill me, all slow and shit, and I ain’t got the patience for that.”

“Then quickly enjoy this.” I lift my hand, offering my biscuit. “And tell me what you can.”

“Nothin’. He just said to watch his princess.”

“Hisprincess?”

“Yeah. Shocked me, too, but he said, ‘You can’t miss her. She looks like a little Jasmine from Aladdin,’ and I’m a sucker for Disney and not dying today. You know your husband’s an apex predator, right?”

“That’s it? That’s all he said?”

“Kill anyone who touches you. Need he say more?”

“Who’s the other guy watching me?”

“A sucker for banana nut muffins. But he ain’t a nut like me. He won’t crack.”

He snags my biscuit and, like Nash, pops the entire thing in his mouth.

“My name is Wren. I’m Sire’s wife, and no one’s goddamn princess. I’ll poison your next biscuit with yew berry jam if you piss me off, and … thanks for watching me.”