Chapter Eighteen
CAINE
“It’s your birthday today,” I said from the doorway to the nursery. Dylan glanced up at me from the floor, his brows knitted, though a smirk spread across his plush lips.
“Yes, I’m aware,” he sassed, earning himself a blank stare.
“You’re twenty-five. That’s not too old to be taken over my knee.”
His eyes flared at the warning. “You were the one saying obvious shit. Not me.” He shrugged before turning back to his task of collecting colourful, numbered blocks and tossing them into a red bin.
I noticed his fingernails were painted black.
The skin around them was also black. “If you don’t want the cheek, don’t give me ammunition. ”
Ammunition was irrelevant. He would sass an empty room, if only to guarantee he won the fight. “What would you like to do?”
“Do?”
I was regretting this already. “For your birthday.”
I’d spent the past week locked in my office, figuring out our next course.
Zoya had found no traces of fingerprints or residue on the body.
Whoever had killed the Alpha, had ensured it was scrubbed clean.
For seven whole days I’d been stuck in an endless loop of wanting to tear apart anyone in sight and combating the voices in my ear, harping on about another heir since Minseo was an omega. I needed a distraction.
I hadn’t interacted with Dylan since the night in my study, and I’d found myself almost pining after his presence.
Ridiculous. Withdrawals, no doubt, my body craving a hit of those addictive pheromones up close, this week being the longest I’d gone without them directly under my nose since our mating.
His birthday had escaped me, though mercifully I’d clocked Edith on the CCTV sneaking a cake into the playroom with a candle in it, and it jogged my memory.
I should have been more attentive. It was a celebration I was responsible for remembering as his Alpha.
Though he seemed stunned I knew the date at all.
“I . . .” He frowned again, arms dangling inside the box. “I never do anything. I mean, Edith brought me a cake. Minnie sang to me and painted my nails before her nap, so that’s more than usual. It’s just another day, it’s not a big deal.”
That irked me. I didn’t know why. “Not what I asked.”
He sighed as if I was the one being difficult. “Well, I think Minnie would enjoy the zoo,” he said. “We could go there once she’s woken up?”
“I didn’t ask about Minseo,” I clarified. Though his comment was duly noted. Her birthday was in October. “I asked about you. It is your birthday, what do you want?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“Think about it,” I said. My patience was not infinite, but I was persevering. “Is there an activity or event you’ve wanted to do but never could?”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to take me somewhere?” He scoffed, though his mocking smirk was back in full force. “Dates weren’t in the contract.”
I want your company.
“It’s not a date,” I gritted my teeth. “And I’m bored.”
He sighed again, louder. “This isn’t another one of your ‘drown the peasant in wealth for my morning superiority trip’ notions, right?”
“I have never—”
He held up his hand, counting his fingers. “Minnie’s nursery, clothes shopping, the jewellery, the horse, the—”
“I was providing for you,” I clarified. “It’s my duty, and what’s in the contract. Besides, only two things on that list were for you specifically.”
He hummed as if he didn’t believe a word I said.
I refrained from pinching the bridge of my nose. Barely. “Will you cease being an antagonising little shit for one day and cooperate?”
He considered it, and thankfully decided for whatever reason to behave. “Fine, I’ll play along with your Alpha bullshit. Still don’t know what I want to do, though.”
“You have an hour,” I said. “I will prepare our escort.”
He hesitated, his eyes drifting to where our daughter lay asleep in her cot, an uneasy expression casting his face.
I could read his mind.
“She’ll be safe,” I assured him. “Edith and Brian will protect her with their lives. There is surveillance, sentinels, and I’d be alerted as soon as anything raised suspicion.”
He nodded.
“And nothing will happen to you while I’m beside you,” I added. “I swear it.”
He faced me again, and after another pause, released a slow, relieved breath. “Okay.”
“One hour,” I reminded him, and marched out of the room.
“This is what you want to do?”
“Yup.”
I inhaled deeply, letting it accumulate before it whittled away in my lungs. “Very well.”
We were in district forty-two, Dylan’s home district, currently standing outside a .
. . bowling alley. I had the distinct impression he’d chosen this activity purely to coax a reaction out of me, knowing it would be the last place I’d ever have visited—besides a buffet, though I wouldn’t dare put that idea into his head.
He’d given George the address, lips thinned to conceal his grin the entire car journey here since I was left in the dark.
It was obviously of great amusement to him, plunging me into unfamiliar territory.
He was a brat through to his very core, and if the alternative wasn’t a rotting corpse and chasing a dead-end scheme, I might’ve ordered the car around without bothering to get out.
Though, if it gave him a thrill on his birthday, who was I to refuse?
Next year, it would be an overnight trip to Paris. No objections.
“I’ve always wanted to go bowling,” he said as we headed towards the entrance. “But I never got the chance.”
I hummed. “Can’t say I’ve had the same inclination.”
He knocked his shoulder against mine. “Come on, misery guts. It’ll be fun.” His expression adopted its signature impish tint. “You know that word, right? Fun?”
Throwing balls down an alley wasn’t in the realm of my idea of fun. Torture on the other hand . . . “I’m aware of it.”
He snorted. “Apparently there are communal shoes too.”
My face paled, my feet rooting to the spot. “What?”
“Holy shit, your face!” He chuckled, doubling over, and the musical resonance only made the urge to strangle him slightly less visceral. “I wish I had a camera—fucking hell.”
“Glad I amuse you,” I said blankly before carrying on walking, reaching the door and wrenching it open. The noise and scents pelted into me at speed—gaudy music, spilt alcohol left to fester, microwaveable food. People.
Too many people.
“Look, I really only wanted to grind your gears,” he admitted, stepping up from behind me. He sounded sincere. “But we can go somewhere else. No biggie.”
“No,” I said quickly, squaring my shoulders. Though it was gratifying to hear I was right about his motives. “This is what you want, so we’ll do it.”
After a brief pause, he shrugged. “Okay, but my second choice was karaoke on an open-topped bus, so—”
“We’re doing this.”
He laughed again and dipped inside. I followed him.
We had to pass through a minefield of arcade games and a bar to reach the counter.
It wasn’t as busy inside as the racket and smells suggested.
There were only two lanes currently occupied, eight people in total from my cursory scan.
There were children scurrying around, hopping from game to game.
One had a sauce of some description smeared over his mouth and hands, and he was touching the control panels.
I clenched my jaw.
“Hey,” Dylan greeted the staff member, a middle-aged beta woman. “Can we get a lane for two, please?
“Sure, hun,” she chirped, lunging up from her chair behind the rounded desk. “Is that for one game or—”
Her eyes drifted over Dylan’s shoulder, landing on me. She froze on the spot.
Her breath caught.
“Two,” I said, answering her question.
She jolted, swallowing thickly, barely managing to tear her gaze away.
“Uh, sure!” she said, shaking her head as if to clear it, her nerves visibly frazzled.
Her fingers were clumsy on the computer keyboard, and after a moment, she sighed in defeat, lifting her head to send Dylan a weak smile. “Gimme a sec, hun.”
She disappeared to the far side of the counter, behind a wall of shoe shelves, out of view. Dylan turned to me, his eyebrow raised in judgement. “Is that how people always react when they see you?”
“Mostly.”
He snorted. “Poor girl.”
“It might have been the sight of Raegan,” I justified, peering over my shoulder before returning my gaze. “Her gun is hidden, but she does cut a very imposing figure.”
“Nope, was definitely you,” he stated, leaning against the counter. “I know you basically run the city and are the king of a massive crime-syndicate thing, but come on . . . you’re not that terrifying.”
“We’re not a crime syndicate,” I said flatly, resenting the fact he didn’t find me the least bit intimidating.
“Well, you’re definitely not a syndicate of sunshine and rainbows either.”
“No,” I said. “That would be the next pack over.”
He huffed in amusement, and an older Alpha male strode around the corner, wiping his hands on a dishcloth.
“Alpha Devereux,” he greeted with a hint of Scottish brogue, dipping his head. He didn’t appear quite so terrified, though he was uncertain. “Yer here to . . . bowl?”
“No,” I drawled. “I’m here to collect your taxes.”
“He means yes,” Dylan corrected, shooting me a scathing look over his shoulder.
“Course.” The Alpha nodded, whipping the dishcloth over his shoulder and hunching over the computer. “I can have the place cleared out, if that’s yer preference?”
“That won’t be necessary.” I glanced around. “It’s not exactly overcrowded.”
“Monday’s are slow.” He pressed a few buttons on the keyboard before standing. “Awrighty, I’ve put ye on number eight—it’s the middle lane on the far side of the room. There’s no one over there. I’ll make sure the area is off limits so yer no disturbed.”
I nodded once.
“Thank you,” Dylan said. “How much do we—”
The Alpha threw up his hands. “It’s on the house. And if there’s anything you need, dinna hesitate to ask fur Ricky.”
“Uh, thanks,” Dylan repeated, chewing on his lip.