Chapter Ten #2
The man was a criminal, yes. Yet ever since she’d learned Mr. Rollings had survived, and that Maxen had caught the intruder, she no longer saw him as the villain who prowled the shadows.
Perhaps he was sullen, brooding, impossible, but he did not seem bad.
Wicked men did not trouble themselves with the safety of others, did they?
Sleep on the floor for them? Make their heart flutter for them?
Hah, Calliope. That’s just you!
She let out a little cough and gave the man before her, her best arched brow. “I suppose they are not in their right mind, then. That being said, are you going to offer me something to drink or not?”
*
Maxen stalked up to Fury’s in a rare mood. The kind between fluster and foul. The worst kind. He’d only felt this way once before, nineteen years ago, the day his mother had perished.
Christ.
Don’t think about that. That . . .
He cursed.
Calliope was not his mother.
However, he had left for only a few hours to take care of some business, and when he’d returned, her shop had been closed.
Very well. But he had knocked. And knocked.
And finally, slipped his key into the lock to go and hunt her down.
Moral? No. But he wasn’t in the moral business.
He hadn’t entered her lodgings upstairs, though, unlike last time.
Something her innocent head hadn’t thought to question.
He had knocked.
But no Calliope.
Prince, yes, sniffing at the door, but no owner.
Damn it. The clock would be striking seven in the evening.
Where would she have gone? He pushed through their tavern door with a scowl.
Reaper had a network of little urchins all around Brighton.
They’d find her in an hour. But how the hell had she slipped away without him being notified?
“Reaper, I need you to—” Maxen stopped dead in his tracks.
There she was.
Calliope Turner.
Standing at the bar.
In his damn tavern.
At the center of his world.
She turned as if she’d felt him before she heard him, her eyes widening the smallest fraction.
But dear Christ.
Breeches hugged her shapely legs like she’d been born for them. His gaze skipped to the grey cap that failed to hide her hair, several curls spilling free, refusing to be tamed. But it was the ale she’d taken a sip from, leaving her lips glistening, that struck low, hard, and straight at his cock.
Not even her boot had clobbered this hard.
And every one of his brothers present had their eyes on her. Not one of them seemed to have attempted to stop whatever she was up to here. No, they had served her ale.
Did he even bloody exist?
And Calliope? She looked pleased. No. More than that.
She looked comfortable.
“What,” he bit out, stepping forward, “in God’s name are you doing here? And what in God’s name are you wearing?”
She grinned up at him. “Maxen.”
The sound of his name on her lips, those glistening lips, stoked more heat in his loins. He resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. Damn it. She had no right to look unbothered while he had no patience for this burn in his body. He stalked over to her. “I asked you a question.”
“I’m here on a matter of business.”
“In that?” He gestured to her ensemble.
She glanced down at said ensemble before lifting her far too innocent gaze back to him. “It’s my business guise.”
It was meant to drive him insane. “Damn reckless.” He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders. “And it’s cold.”
Reaper snorted.
Maxen shot him a warning look. “People don’t do business here except with us.”
She nodded, taking a slow sip of ale, and damn if he couldn’t help but follow way she tipped her glass, the way her throat worked as she swallowed, the way her tongue darted out to chase the last drop.
He must have lost his reason entirely.
“So your brother told me,” she murmured as she lowered the mug.
“We asked her, too,” Reaper said. “But so far, we haven’t been able to get a serious answer from her.”
“I went to your shop,” Maxen said. “You were gone.”
She cocked her head, and the smallest smile curved her lips. “Would you believe me if I said I was summoned here?”
Summoned? No. “Were you?”
“I received a request to meet here. I thought it might be,” she paused for a breath before saying, “Mr. Rollings. I believe you may be acquainted with him.”
Rollings? Impossible. But still, “You came here thinking Rollings would be waiting?” He could throttle her for her recklessness.
Reaper chuckled. “How rare to see you in such a state of agitation, frère.”
Maxen kept his attention locked on Calliope, continuing to ignore that arse he called a brother. “Who delivered the note?”
“A boy. I didn’t recognize him.”
That could be one in hundreds. “What did he look like?”
“Twelve, maybe younger. Brown hair. Cap too big for his head. A face full of freckles.”
That narrowed it down to exactly still one in hundreds. Maxen’s jaw ticked. He turned to Reaper. “Any of yours assigned to keep an eye on her?”
Reaper shook his head. “Didn’t think she’d need eyes with you casting a long shadows and darkening doorways playing landlord, practically haunting the place.”
Calliope choked on her ale.
“She does now,” Maxen bit out, a flush spreading to the tips of his ears, cursing his brother to perdition.
Calliope’s brows lifted, placing her glass on the bar. “What’s going on? I’m right here, you know.”
“Exactly,” Maxen growled. “Here. Dressed like that. In the one place no outsider has any business being, let alone unarmed.”
“I’m not unarmed.” She crossed her arms. “I brought my wits.”
“She brought her wits,” Reaper echoed, laughing into his drink. “I’m starting to like her more than you, frère.”
“This isn’t amusing,” Maxen snarled. At least the others had the foresight to keep their mouths shut.
Reaper flicked a coin over his knuckles. “Didn’t say it was.”
Maxen looked to Dagger. Honestly, he just needed to catch a breath from the sight of Calliope wrapped in his coat. “Any news on Serpent yet? Where is Drake?”
His brother’s face hardened. “No word. Serpent seems to be missing. We were just about to discuss our next course of action when she arrived. Drake should circle back any moment.”
“Someone went missing?” Calliope exclaimed, aghast.
“Our brother,” Reaper said darkly. “And someone will pay dearly if he doesn’t show face soon.”
“Oh.”
“This is no longer a trivial matter. We need to tighten the ship.” He glanced at Calliope. “That means you, too.”
“Me? What exactly does tightening the ship mean?”
“It means,” Reaper spoke first. “Welcome aboard the Fury ship. You are moving in.”
“What?” If her eyes had been wide before, they were practically full moons now. “Why me?”
“You might have become a target to get to us.” As much as he loathed admitting the truth, he refused to deny the severity of the note she’d received.
Someone was playing with them.
“What us?” Knight muttered from behind the bar. “You.”
She shook her head. “A target? That’s absurd. Isn’t it?”
He wished that were the case. “Whoever sent that note wanted you in here. Standing among us. They probably wanted to confirm how we would receive you.” His voice dropped. “To question what you are to us.”
Dagger grunted. “That’s not the worst theory.”
Saint, Knight, and Reaper, for once, remained silent.
Calliope’s brows furrowed. “Oh? And what am I to you?”
“That’s irrelevant. Someone is baiting us, and you stepped willingly into their trap.”
“I didn’t know it was a trap,” she snapped. “I thought I was finally getting answers.”
His gaze sharpened, hunting for any tell. “To what exactly?”
She clamped her mouth shut.
“What answers, Calliope?”
Her chin lifted a fraction. “And why should I tell you?”
“Because I’m asking nicely.”
“This is nicely?” She scoffed, so did half his brothers, but she still said, “About you, if you must know. After I learned we share an acquaintance, I thought I’d ask if the opportunity arose.”
That was nothing he didn’t know. Nothing Rollings hadn’t told them. Nothing suspicious on the surface. Beneath, suspicious as hell. Why else would she be curious about him if she didn’t suspect their business?
Was she the woman of that night with Rollings or not? He had yet to broaden his search for the owner of the slipper beyond her, his gut still pointing to this little tenant enjoying a pint in his tavern.
“You could have just asked me.”
One brow ticked upward. “I doubt you’d tell me all I want to know.”
“Sharp as a blade, this one,” Reaper drawled. “And what do you want to know?”
She bit her lip, glanced at each of his brothers before meeting his gaze again. “Whether you all are the beasts of Brighton.”
Bloody Rollings.
“Beasts?” Reaper chuckled. “Could we consider ourselves beasts?”
Saint grunted.
“So, Maxen, I ask again, what am I to you? Because I assure you, I don’t find the answer to that irrelevant at all.”
Maxen opened his mouth, closed it. Her words blazed with damn danger. Because the truth wasn’t safe. Not for her. Not for him. And not in this world where blood covered his hands and death was just a question of time.
So he didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
She’d just asked the one question he’d been shoving into the dark where it couldn’t touch him for a long, long time.