Chapter Eight #2
Nevertheless, she might or might not be connected to someone who had tried to end his life, and that within itself was threat enough.
If Maxen found out, there would be hell to pay.
Wrath would rain down. His ire would be enough for each and every brother to meddle in Drake’s affairs and distract them from their main purpose—keeping ears out for their uncle.
He couldn’t have that.
This was also why Reaper and Deveraux had kept his secret and also proved his point.
They practically attached themselves to him.
He’d had to slip out of his own home the day he ushered her to his dungeon.
No matter what, Drake would rather solve the matter privately and discreetly.
So what the hell did he do now? Pretend interest in the little spitfire?
It wouldn’t be a lie. It wouldn’t be the full truth either.
But it was the least of two troublesome situations.
He refused to acknowledge how her shirt shaped her, and how those sandy trousers hugged her legs, how her chin lifted in blazing defiance, eyes bright with a spark meant to challenge him.
“You’re taking her on a night of fun, frère?” How unlike you was what Reaper didn’t say.
Damn it. Poor choice of words. “None of your damn business,” Drake ground out. “I don’t encroach on your nights of fun.”
“I don’t have nights of fun,” Reaper tossed back.
Violet arched a brow and made a turn for the door. “I can’t imagine what this fun might even be. Perhaps I should just head home.”
“Running away?” Drake challenged. “Again?”
A flicker of surprise flared bright in her gaze before it vanished behind a deliberate narrowing of her eyes. He had her. She’d walked straight into his trap. Again. He couldn’t deny the charge of delight at watching her forcefully gather herself and smile.
“I do enjoy running from time to time,” she said lightly, a faint barb in her tone. “Especially when it’s from brutes.”
“Then why step into a place with brutes in the first place?” Drake countered, studying her face. Even the smallest twitch didn’t escape his notice.
She shrugged, pretending to be unbothered, but he caught the slight tension at the corner of her eye.
“Perhaps to face my fears,” she murmured.
Bold claim. “You face them and run away when you meet?”
“Face to face is face to face, is it not?” she responded tartly. “I never said one must linger.”
Drake regarded her closely. He didn’t detect any lies. But he’d be a fool to take her responses at face value. She met him without flinching, but the slightest tightness gathered in her eyes, probably already calculating escape routes even while her lips made light of the affair.
“Besides,” she added. “Running can be rather clarifying.”
Clarifying, indeed.
Drake sensed Reaper and Dagger’s attention sharpen.
Damnation.
He needed to get her out of here. His brothers were still watching her. Watching him. One spark in the wrong direction and they’d start pulling at threads he couldn’t afford anyone touching. He couldn’t give them half a chance to pry more.
“Are you sure we cannot join you, frère?”
Deveraux nodded.
“Enough.” She was his to deal with. Even if it meant being haunted by jokes about him and this little flame rather than allowing his brothers to shoulder into danger on his behalf.
In the end, that wasn’t even a choice. Would never be a choice.
Family came first. His brothers’ safety came first. And Violet Sharpe would be dealt with, if she needed to be dealt with, by his own hand.
If Reaper and Deveraux had any sense, they’d damn well help him keep the rest of the brood off his back.
Violet, on the other hand—Drake didn’t give her the chance to breathe or think. He caught her eye, a half-grin curving his mouth, then drew her sharply into him, enveloping her beneath the wing of his arm.
“Come, little spitfire, it’s time for our fun.” Without looking at his brothers, he said lazily, but not without a slight warning, “We’ll take our leave now.”
Those blue eyes spat fire at him, and Drake winked at her in response, chuckling when her glare turned positively murderous.
Time to see how this minx reacted at his fight tonight.
He guided her out the door, ignoring the sets of eyes boring into his back. They might follow them out, but that wouldn’t make much of a difference. His goal was simply to observe her reaction, and if he was lucky, learn the truth.
“Just what was all that?” she demanded.
“Taking control of the matter.”
Her gaze cut over him sharply, looking unconvinced. “I didn’t know there was any need for control.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Drake said wryly. “If you did, I’d have to reevaluate my sense of judgment.”
“That’s not an answer,” she accused. “You know they’ll misunderstand your actions.”
“If they do, they do; if they don’t, they don’t.” They wouldn’t. Still, the temptation to tease her was too great.
Her eyes widened. “You want them to misunderstand, don’t you?” she said, incredulous. “And what of me? Do my feelings not count?”
He grinned at her. “If you cared about something like that, you shouldn’t have stepped foot into my house.”
“Fine,” she said tightly. “Then what is this fun you’re dragging me to?”
Drake would be an idiot not to hear the thin, buried edge of worry she thought she’d tucked neatly away. He bent his head toward her. “A surprise.”
Her brows drew together. “I don’t like surprises.”
“Not to worry, Miss Sharpe. No harm will befall you while you are with me.”
She stared up at him, assessing, weighing. A soft breeze tugged at a strand of her hair from beneath her cap, but she didn’t bother to tuck it back.
His fingers twitched.
Why the devil did she have to be so tempting?
“Bloody hell.”
“What now?” she muttered, her brows drawing together.
“You are both hellfire and holy water, woman.”