Page 150 of The Forgotten

“Okay, okay. I can share, I guess,” I chuckle. “We need to have a lot of work done to bring this place up to snuff.”

“Like we haven’t been living in campgrounds and hotels all this time?” Lore asks with a snort. He watches as I put the medications down on the island in the large kitchen before rejoining them. “There’s five bedrooms and a loft. I think the loft will make a good place for a nest. God, I just thought about the fact that she probably doesn’t have a space for that at the shelter.”

That’s not to mention the finished basement, hidden nooks, balconies, and rooftop with a fully functioning fireplace. This place is gorgeous, and also has three bathrooms. It’s more than large enough for us, our omega, and babies.

“Nah, she doesn’t. The rooms are pretty small, I’d bet,” I say. “We need to get her out of the shelter.”

“Let’s fix up the house and then figure that out,” Lore says. “Go grab your laptop and let’s start ordering shit.”

“Aye, aye, President,” I say, almost tripping over his boot when I turn.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, walking over to the living room wall to sit.

Furniture, we definitely need that. I begin to catalog the different things we’ll need as I pop my head out of the door. I’m armed and careful wherever I go, and this is no exception. Locking the door despite the fact that I’ll be right back, I jog down the steps to my bike and pull out my laptop, noting the way the street is waking up.

It’s a street full of families and young professionals, and I watch for a moment as people leave to start their day. It might seem like an odd choice for us, but we aren’t planning on bringing our work home.

I need to call Cian tonight to make an appointment to see him. I’m turning back to the door when I see a black sedan park smoothly. It’s expensive and seems out of place. I can spot bulletproof glass anywhere. I have no idea who it is, but I’d much rather be behind the heavy door just in case.

Call me paranoid, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Sprinting up the stairs, I unlock the door with a flick of my wrist and dart inside.

“I think we have company,” I say, locking up behind me.

Wilder and Lore are on their feet in seconds with their guns in their hands, and I put my laptop down in a safe place. I suppose online shopping will have to wait.

A knock on the door has me return to it, and I arch my head toward the glass panels on either side of it to see who it is. While it’s clear on my side, it’s frosted on the public facing one. An older man in a full suit and dark auburn hair stands on my front stoop, with a beta that is clearly his muscle.

Fantastic.

“It’s Cian,” I breathe. “Damn he worked fast.”

Opening the door warily, I gaze at one of the heads of the Irish mafia families.

“Are you stalking property deeds in Minneapolis?” I ask in greeting.

“Something like that,” Cian smirks. “Care to explain why you bought property in my city without coming to see me first?”

“Marie Madden is our scent match and we’re courting her. Would you like to come in, or are we having this entire conversation in the entryway?” Lore asks, cutting to the chase as he moves in next to me.

“That’s…not what I expected you to say,” Cian says slowly.

“The ink has barely dried, and we were just about to order furniture. Is this going to be a whole thing?” I ask.

“God, you bikers are moody assholes,” Cian grumbles, pushing the door open wider.

Stepping back, I allow him to come in.

“Evan, I should be able to take it from here,” he murmurs. “I’ll call you when I’m done? I know that my parents wanted to go out today.”

Evan gazes at him for a moment before nodding. I have a feeling that Cian can easily take care of himself. No one wants to be taken unawares, which is why Lore doesn’t go anywhere alone.

We don’t have a bone to pick with Cian, we simply want to be able to live in his city.

“Please keep in touch,” Evan says before I close the door and lock it.

“See, no chairs,” I say, my hand showing off the empty space.

“Yes, I can see. I suppose the floor will do,” he says wryly.