Page 26 of With A Little Luck

Chapter Twenty-One

Trigg

I should have put a camera in the bathroom in the pack bedroom. My attempt at being considerate backfired in my face.

Quincy and Hartley have been in there for so long that I can only assume they’re doing more than taking a quick shower. There’s no doubt, Quincy needs access to alpha pheromones…and more. I’d just like her to obtain all of those things from me .

I don’t enjoy starting the day pouty, but here we are.

If they take much longer, I might take it upon myself to check in and verify everything is okay.

The door to my room flies open, and my hand pivots from holding the mouse to sliding under the edge of the desk.

I would normally go for the Glock, but Quincy is somewhere around here. If I had to discharge the weapon, she would hear it. Wrapping my palm around the handle of the knife, I pull it from the sheath and twist.

My eyes roll, and I shove the knife away as Ridge strides across the room. None of my fail-safes alerted me to any outside threats, so reaching for a weapon was likely an overreaction, anyway.

“What?” I ask, closing my laptop. It features all the interior feeds, and Ridge doesn’t need to see that.

He tosses himself down on the end of my bed, and my forehead wrinkles. This might be his home, but this is the space I was given. He should have knocked and waited for me to grant him entrance.

“Were those links you sent me last night legit?” he asks, leaning back on his forearms as his legs hang off the end of the bed.

That’s what he wants to ask about?

I can’t decide if I’m annoyed or impressed. A large part of me assumed he wanted an update on Costa Maloney.

“They were,” I assure him, twisting in my chair until we face one another.

“So, basically, Quincy could have major complications with the pregnancy unless she has constant access to alphas?” Ridge pulls a hand to his face, scratching his jaw.

“That is correct.” I cross my ankles, stretching back in the chair. “The times of highest risk are during the first trimester and the last eight weeks of pregnancy. She made it through the first window of concern, but she’s in the second now.”

“How many weeks pregnant is she?” His forehead wrinkles. “I tried a couple of different pregnancy calculator apps, and I only confused myself even worse than when I tried to count that shit out on the calendar on my phone.”

“Thirty-three weeks and a few days.” I frown. “I think. Possibly closer to thirty-four weeks. I based my calculations from the time I asked how far along she was, and she told me she was thirty-one weeks, but I could be off by a bit since she didn’t mention how many days she was.”

“So, we have six or seven weeks left,” he says, sitting up and leaning forward. “We need to wipe out Costa and any of his minions before then. I don’t want to have to deal with this bullshit once the baby comes.”

“That makes two of us,” I agree flatly.

I do like that he said we have six or seven weeks left. It helps me feel included. I have no intention of leaving, even once my job is complete.

“Shit,” Ridge grumbles, leaning back and digging in his pocket.

“I’ve got to keep an eye out for the call from the gate guards.

” He chuckles. “As it turns out, if you shop local, pay an absolutely astronomical rush delivery fee, and promise to take care of the drivers, you can get shit delivered within four hours.”

I squint, trying to decipher what the hell that means. If he purchased extravagant items, they better not be courting gifts for Quincy. Not unless he plans to tell her they’re also from me. I won’t allow him to one-up me, and I tell him all of that.

Ridge barks a laugh, stands up, and flips me off. “What I did or didn’t buy Quincy has nothing to do with you. You’re not sponging off my presence of mind. Buy your own shit.”

I checked his financials when Easton mentioned Ridge’s yearly earnings, and he is more than capable of providing Quincy and the baby a comfortable life without ever needing to take another contract.

However, I’ve seen cheap individuals who only maintain wealth because they’re too frugal to buy necessities, let alone gifts.

Now I can’t decide if I’ll be more annoyed if he did buy Quincy something lavish or if I’ll be more bothered if whatever he ordered isn’t for her at all.

Easton made a point of calling Ridge cheap, and if he’s buying anything, it really should be for Quincy or the baby.

Dammit.

I’m moody.

Even I don’t know what will set my system at ease.

“If you see Hartley, tell him I could use some help if he has a minute. I’m going to need more than just Knox to help me carry all that shit inside once it gets here.” Ridge takes off toward the door.

“Find a way to convince Quincy to quit her job,” I say to his back. “Otherwise, I’ll burn Hartley’s family restaurant to the ground to ensure she’s not continually straining her body. She has no need for the meager amount of money she earns in tips.”

In reality, I won’t do it, but a highly sought after arsonist owes me a favor. It won’t be easy to replace, so I’ve held on to that marker for several years, and I would still call it in without question.

I could burn the restaurant down on my own, but Flick has the ability to make it look like an accident.

I dislike Hartley.

I have no ill will toward his family. The least I can do would be to make sure they can cash in on the insurance payout.

Ridge stops dead in his tracks and turns around. “One of these days, Quincy is going to see you for who you really are.”

“She already has.” A cutting smile crosses my face. “She still doesn’t fear me, because she can sense that she has no reason to.”

“You might be crazier than your fucking brother,” Ridge mutters.

My eyes narrow. “Don’t worry. I’ll broach the conversation with her myself.”

“Oh yeah,” he scoffs. “That’ll go over great. Just make sure Hartley is around to hear it.”

Shrugging, I shove out of my chair. “If everything goes to plan, he’ll be busy with you. Now, won’t he?”

“I’m going to check on my dog.” Ridge sighs, spinning around and walking to the door. “If you see Quincy, let her know breakfast is on the stove.”

I’m apparently on my own for nutrition.

Ridge must get the call he’s been waiting for. He and Knox put on their coats and exit through the garage. I continue monitoring the cameras, watching as Hartley helps Quincy into her outfit for the day.

My head tilts, and I contemplate whether I should turn up the heat. She ends up in a sweater, a dress, and leggings. That is way more layers than she ever wore at her house. However, what she said about being appropriately dressed in someone else’s home rings in my mind.

I close my laptop, perfectly planning my interception. Let’s see how Hartley enjoys that.

“Good morning.” I nod, stepping out of my room and closing the door behind me.

Focusing on the annoying alpha, I continue.

“Ridge and Knox are outside, but Ridge asked me to send you out if I saw you. He said they could use another set of hands.” My message has been delivered, so I slide my gaze to Quincy.

“There’s breakfast on the counter. I’ll be happy to keep you company while they’re busy. ”

“I am starving,” Quincy says, smiling. “This is perfect. I was actually hoping to find a few minutes to talk to you alone.” She looks at Hartley. “If that’s okay with you?”

His teeth grind together, and after a nearly uncomfortable pause, he nods. “Yeah, where do I find them?”

“Head out through the garage. I believe you should see a delivery truck.” I smile as politely as I’m capable of, but I’m sure he can sense that it’s a victory grin.

“I’ll find you once I’m done,” Hart murmurs.

The man must have a death wish. He shoves his tongue into Quincy’s mouth, and the two share a never-ending kiss.

I’m just debating how traumatized Quincy would be if I stabbed him in front of her when they finally separate. He pats her ass and gives her stomach a gentle caress before jogging toward the stairs.

Hopefully he forgets to put his jacket on and catches pneumonia.

He’s barely out of earshot when Quincy quirks an eyebrow.

“You and I need to talk.”

My lips purse.

I’m not sure I like the sound of that.

There’s a lull in our conversation as I make Quincy a plate. The kitchen has barstools and a small breakfast nook, but neither will be comfortable for Quincy. As such, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and guide her to the living room to eat.

I frown, squinting at King as he lounges in the chair I was going to take. Settling for the couch, I put everything down on the end table and get myself situated.

“Come along,” I say, patting my thighs. “I’d like you to sit in my lap as I feed you this time.”

Her lips push together, and I almost think she’s going to deny my request, but she comes to kneel over me.

“Don’t hover.” I grab the plate, setting it on the arm of the couch.

Quincy finally lowers onto my lap, and it soothes the unsettled feeling that I’ve been battling all morning. The baby belly pushes against my stomach, and I find myself smiling at the contact.

I offer a bite of scrambled eggs, and her nose wrinkles. She still takes it, swallowing and reaching for the bottle of water I brought with us.

She takes a swig and places it down on the end table. “I eat eggs occasionally, but I usually prefer to have ketchup with them to hide the taste since they’re not my favorite.”

“I can check the refrigerator?—”

“No, it’s fine. Just for next time,” she says with a laugh.

God, that smile will be my undoing.

My entire adult life, I’ve been able to tell, at least objectively speaking, I’m attractive. It’s always seemed like more of a nuisance, mostly because I don’t enjoy being touched.

Or I didn’t before meeting Quincy.

When someone flirted with me, I ignored their advances or pretended I didn’t notice them at all. Well, unless I could use it to my advantage to complete a job.

This has left me very ill-prepared for how to make Quincy want me. The soul match connection is on my side, but I don’t like the idea that she may only end up with me out of a biological response.

“These are the types of things I need to know.” I twist and switch to cutting up the French toast. “My memory is excellent. If you tell me something once, I won’t forget.” Holding out the fork, I wait for her to take the offered bite.

The way her lips wrap around the tines of the fork makes my cock jolt, and I frown. I normally have much better control of my body, but Quincy’s sweet scent is too close to maintain my normal level of control.

Her long dark hair falls over her shoulders, cascading down her breasts, and I swallow audibly. I brushed my fingers over her cheeks as she slept and teased my hands down her soft arms, but I do have some boundaries.

No matter how hard my cock became, I never crossed a single line that I didn’t think we could come back from.

Whoever cooked breakfast this morning went for sausage over bacon, and I slice the patty into several pieces. Jabbing a chunk, I slather it in the syrup and offer Quincy a bite.

She takes it and lets out a contented sigh as she stretches to take another drink.

Once she’s done, she refocuses on me.

Something in her energy says I won’t like whatever comes next, and I’m tempted to keep her busy with more French toast.

“Well, get on with it, then,” I murmur, feeding myself a bite of the eggs since she didn’t seem too enamored with those.

The omega huffs, planting her hand on my chest just over my heart.

“Thank you for bringing me that pile of your clothes last night. They really helped settle my system.” She smiles, but it’s tense. “Did you put cameras in the pack bedroom?”

I should have given her another bite…

Dammit.