Don’t You Pucking Dare (The Blackridge Reapers #2)

Chapter 24

The surveillance feeds show Lola and Amanda stumbling through the party like best friends. Interesting development—the cellist and the mean girl, arms linked, guards down. Lola's wearing those leather pants like a second skin, my altered Ravens shirt making it clear who she belongs to.

Seeing her at the game earlier shifted something in my chest. For a moment, I was just a hockey player making her smile. Almost forgot about the chamber waiting below.

"She came." Noah's voice carries approval.

"Right on schedule." I check the time. Everything's aligned. "Two AM?"

He claps my shoulder. "Everything is falling into place."

Amanda needs to be gone by then. Her obsession's becoming a liability.

I slip on my mask, feeling power settle over me like armor. Time to remind everyone who runs this game. I move through the crowd without acknowledging Lola, though I feel her eyes following me. Let her want. Let her burn.

Amanda makes first contact, predictable. But my focus is on Lola, the way those boots make her legs look endless. The alcohol's made her cheeks flush, her eyes bright.

"Ladies." I let the word carry weight.

Amanda's hand finds my chest. Amateur move. I remove it like brushing away a fly. "Not tonight."

"Why not?" She presses closer, breath heavy with tequila. "We could share."

"Thing is..." I step back, building tension. "It's not happening with you."

"What do you mean?"

"Tell her, Lola." I watch fury build in Amanda's eyes. "Tell her who I'm really fucking tonight."

Lola's drunk enough to look genuinely confused. "What?"

I wrap my arm around her waist, claiming territory. "Only Lola gets my attention tonight."

Amanda's face twists. Good. Let her storm off feeling betrayed. One less complication.

Lola tries to follow her—always the good girl—but my fingers circle her wrist. "Stay, Duchess. I've been waiting for you."

"Waiting? More like playing games, Brody." Her voice carries heat.

My hand finds the curve of her ass. "Enjoyed the hockey game tonight, baby?"

She just stares, caught between wanting to chase Amanda and wanting to stay. But we both know which urge will win.

It's all proceeding exactly as planned.

"You were quite the fan tonight." I let my voice drop low, watching her struggle between chasing Amanda and staying. "All those cheers, jumping around..."

Her lips form a pout that sends blood rushing south. Last time I saw those pouty lips, they were wrapped tightly around my cock as punishment. If she tests me right now, I’ll gladly shove it down her throat again.

She turns away, but I press against her back, letting her feel exactly what she does to me. "Miss me, Duchess?"

Her silence is new. I don’t fucking like it. I squeeze her ass and nod toward the hallway. I need to get her alone, need to remind her who she belongs to. Amanda's poisoned her mind with high school stories she has no business knowing.

The moment we're out of sight, I grab her face. "Playing detective with Amanda? Think a few stories means you know me?"

Her eyes burn into mine. "I don't know you, Brody." She pushes against my chest, but it's weak. Unconvincing.

I tighten my grip on her jaw. "Damn right you don't. Where have you been hiding these past few weeks, huh?"

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Defiance flashes in her eyes. "Owner…"

The word hits like a shot of pure heat. "Wrong answer, Duchess."

I crash my mouth against hers, claiming what's mine. She resists for a heartbeat before her lips part, letting my tongue sweep in. The taste of her—tequila and surrender—floods my senses. Fuck these weeks of distance. Fuck the plan. Right now I just need her.

She stumbles against the wall, and reality crashes back. She's drunk—too drunk. I pull back, studying her flushed face. "Why all the drinks, Duchess? Trying to forget me?"

Her laugh hits something in my chest. She kisses me again, messy and real. "Nobody could forget you." She observes my face closely.

The words make me pause. I've read this all wrong. Her silence wasn't anger—she's drunk and missing me. The realization shouldn't affect me, but it does. I kiss her deeper, hand sliding to her throat. I kiss her until I’m out of breath.

I whisper, "Tonight's going to be fun."

"Got something planned?" Her voice carries an edge I can't place.

"You could say that."

Her finger traces my lips, deceptively gentle. "Is my mom in the trunk of your car?"

Ice floods my veins. "What?"

Those eyes—usually so warm—turn calculating. She stares at me and then touches her nose with mine. "Can I trust you, Brody?"

"As long as you listen to me." I keep my voice steady. "I'll keep you safe."

"But you're using me, aren’t you?"

My gut twists. She's drunk enough to speak the truth but not drunk enough to miss things. How much has she figured out? I study her face, trying to read what's behind those eyes. She’s spent these last few weeks putting this puzzle together, hasn’t she? I never took her for a na?ve girl. This conversation needs to wait until after tonight. After I earn my place.

I brush hair from her face, buying time. "Everyone serves a purpose here." My gaze travels her body, appreciating the way those leather pants hug her curves. "But you're more than business to me. After tonight, everything will make sense. I’ll tell you everything." She looks hesitant, so I lean in, "Trust me, Duchess."

"Should I, Brody? Should I trust you?"

The question hangs between us. She has every right to doubt me. The plan was simple—use her, then discard her. But these weeks apart have shown me something else. Every time I fucked my hand, it was her pretty face I saw. I’m not done with her yet.

Some pawns become queens without warning.

But two AM is coming. And the Reapers are waiting.

I watch Lola disappear around the corner, determined to find Amanda. Fuck. I need Noah. He's deep in conversation with some pledges, but this can't wait.

"What?" he snaps as I pull him into the study. Old money surrounds us—leather-bound books and hunting trophies no one's touched in decades.

"Lola's asking about her mother." The words taste like ash. "Something about her being in the trunk of a car."

"What?" Noah stills, putting the pieces together. His fingers rake through his hair. He's dealt with complications before, but this feels different.

I continue, "Maybe he knows about tonight. Maybe this whole thing's too easy for a man like him. Jackson warned me that I would be another target too. Some shit about my dad."

Noah's voice drops lower. "If she says anything else, let me know." He pulls out his phone. "I need to call my brother. Hold the plan."

I leave him to his call, unease crawling under my skin. I need to find Lola. The mansion feels like a maze tonight—crystal chandeliers casting shadows across marble floors, Persian rugs muffling footsteps, dark wood paneling hiding a century of secrets. Music pulses from downstairs while the upper floors stay tomb-quiet. Every room I check is empty: the library with its floor-to-ceiling shelves, the billiards room where deals get made, the smoking room where old Reapers gather.

I can’t fucking find her anywhere.

Through a second-floor window, moonlight catches the garden maze where I first claimed her. Of course. She's drawn to that place like a moth to flame.

Time to remind her why.