Chapter Seven
Don’t be suspicious.
Don’t be suspicious.
The words bounce through my skull like a gleeful little drumbeat as I wait for attention to slide off me. Patience hums under my skin, tight and electric, my body buzzing with the delicious tension of not moving.
Yet.
The longer you spend your life perfecting the art of ghosthood, the easier it becomes to disappear in plain sight. Years of practice. Years of slipping through rooms unnoticed, breathing in spaces people assume are empty.
Also, the minor detail of knowing exactly where every camera sits in and outside the clubhouse helps, but whatever.
That’s just a fun bonus.
What really matters is how dangerously trusting these men can be. It’s almost insulting. They’ve had traitors before. They know what betrayal tastes like. You’d think paranoia would live in their bones by now.
What if I actually wanted to hurt them?
No way would I ever do that to people I love, but still. It does happen.
Which makes what I’m doing now both wildly irresponsible and ridiculously easy.
No one is watching me, not really. So, I glide through the club with a bright smile and a casual wave, playing the part of harmless, bubbly, honorary sister.
Every greeting fuels that warm, fizzy rush inside my chest, endorphins sparkling through my bloodstream.
God, this is fun.
When their backs turn, I slip outside. Carefully angling my path to avoid the cameras, my steps are instinctive, muscle memory guiding me between blind spots like second nature.
The parking lot presents a slightly trickier obstacle course.
It’s family day which means bodies are everywhere.
Kids dart around, women chat, and brothers are scattered in loose clusters.
Definitely not impossible. Just a bit riskier, that’s all. And honestly, what’s life without a little risk?
Watching his face light up when he discovers one of my gifts makes every gamble feel like a jackpot. That fleeting crack in his composure? Pure magic. Utter perfection.
He’s going to adore this one. I can feel it. And for once, I won’t be tempted to commit plushie homicide when he snuggles it at night.
My fingers trace the bulge in my fanny pack, comfort flaring at the familiar shape nestled safely within.
Sooty McSnuggleface is still secure. The little guy needs my protection just as much as Tomcat does.
With every step toward the gate, giddiness whirls through my chest, my pulse tripping over itself in wild anticipation.
But of course, someone just has to block my path. Of course. Because apparently, the universe is allergic to letting me enjoy anything in peace.
Her big doe eyes and button nose purse into an irritated pout, betraying the insecurity that clings to her every gesture.
Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long. I’ve been here almost an hour. Usually, the territorial strutting kicks off within minutes.
Club bunnies are remarkably predictable creatures.
You’d think after the first time, they’d catch on that they’re background noise to me. You can’t stake a claim on someone who’s already spoken for.
Silly girls.
Her glare is fierce enough to peel paint off the walls.
I tilt my head, examining her like a curious scientist with a new specimen. “Huh.”
Her brows slam together. “What?”
“I think I finally understand why they call you Bambi.” I squint slightly, considering. “When you’re not trying so hard to be ugly, you’re actually really pretty.”
I can almost see the gears in her head screeching to a stop.
Did I insult her?
Did I compliment her?
She short-circuits right before my eyes, poor thing.
She shakes her head, a scowl blooming across her face.
“Why are you always here?” she snaps.
“Um,” I blink, feigning confusion. “Because I’m invited?”
“Everyone feels sorry for you because you were shot last year. That’s all it is.”
A slow, satisfied smile creeps across my lips.
Ah, there it is. Jealousy always wears the same bitter disguise.
“Is it, though?” My voice stays light. “Or is that just what you have to tell yourself because it makes it easier for you to fall asleep at night?”
Her nostrils flare in response to my question.
Cute.
I glance around with practiced nonchalance, a thread of alertness weaving through my amusement. A few people glance over, but no one really cares.
Good. Very good.
The last thing I need is an audience spoiling my grand gift reveal.
I let out an exaggerated sigh and face her again.
“Can we just skip this tired little dance?” I wave a hand between us.
“You act like you have a claim. I remind you that you don’t.
You double down, hoping maybe delusion works if you try hard enough.
Then comes the messy part where I accidentally on purpose bruise your ego.
” I give her my best sympathetic smile. “That part is honestly my least favorite.”
Her glare sharpens, and I lean in, dropping my voice as if confiding a secret. “It’s really not your fault. Men have this tragic habit of dickmatizing anything that breathes. Nature can be so unkind.”
Her jaw tightens.
Oh, she is absolutely hating every second of this.
“Honestly,” I continue breezily, straightening again, “I’d much rather skip all of that and get straight to my favorite part.” A brief nod toward the exit. “Watching you walk away.” I beam, saccharine-sweet. “Yeah, that would suit me perfectly.”
“I don’t get it. Why do you think you’re so special?” she asks.
I sigh. Ah, right on cue. Served up fresh: one steaming plate of messy chaos, just the way I like it. “Babe, it won’t work.”
Her scowl deepens. “What won’t?”
“This.” I flick my fingers dismissively between us, like shooing a pesky fly.
“You trying to intimidate me because you’ve fucked Tomcat.
Newsflash, Bambi.” My smile grows, shimmering and cold.
“So has half the city.” Her jaw snaps open, shuts, swings open again.
“So, maybe,” I say, voice sugary, “you should ask yourself why you believe you’re so special just because he handed you his willy a time or two? ”
The outrage that flashes across her face is spectacular. Truly, this is premium entertainment. Five stars, would watch again.
Words fail her completely, lips moving uselessly while her brain desperately tries to reboot.
I pat her shoulder, making a sympathetic tsk. “Hard to figure out, huh?”
Her glare sharpens, and I lean in slightly, conspiratorial, like I’m about to offer genuine comfort. “It’s okay. You tried.” Then, because I’m generous like that, I decide to help her out. “Would it make you feel better if I pretended to be properly intimidated? I think I can manage scared. Maybe.”
Before she can respond, my hands fly to my cheeks.
Eyes wide, lips trembling, I’m in full performance mode.
“Oh no,” I whisper dramatically. “I’m so sorry.
It won’t happen again. I’ll stay away. I promise.
Please don’t beat me up or something.” I drop my hands, blinking normally. “There.” I tilt my head. “How’d I do?”
Bambi physically recoils. Like…actually recoils. As if whatever is wrong with me might be contagious. “You’re crazy.”
I grin at her, delighted. “Oh! Thanks. I know. Hey, I just got a new knife. Want a peek?”
Something splinters behind her eyes, her confidence cracking as fear slowly seeps in.
Delicious.
“Whatever,” Bambi mutters, turning sharply on her heel.
Retreat. Sweet, glorious retreat.
“So you don’t want to see it?” I call lightly after her as she hurries off.
She glances back once before practically speed-walking away like her survival instincts finally kicked in.
I giggle, quietly thrilled, as her pace quickens.
God, people are adorable.
I shake off the encounter with the giddy ease of a cheerful sociopath and zero in on my mission. The parking lot transforms into my personal playground. I dart between cars, glide past people, grinning, waving, scattering harmless quips like confetti.
I’m invisible and alive with buzzing, fizzy exhilaration.
Camera choreography is everything. When the front camera sweeps left, I slip right.
When the gatehouse lens pivots out, I slide in.
A seamless dance of timing, instinct, and years spent where I didn’t belong.
Then, the sun blazes against the fence, slicing a golden wall of shadow between the gatehouse and perimeter, creating my perfect opening.
I move fast, fingers diving into my fanny pack for my most treasured stowaway. Sooty McSnuggleface peeks out from his snug hideaway, his fur still toasty from being close to me. I plant a swift kiss on his miniature plush crown.
“For luck,” I murmur.
Then I place him with precision, right in direct line of sight where the prospect at the gate can’t possibly miss him.
I really hope this doesn’t land the poor guy in hot water. That would be absurd. It’s not his fault I’ve memorized every chink in their security armor. Honestly, if they just asked, I could teach them how to outsmart sneaky little shits like me.
That’s just the kind of helpful person I am.
With my precious cargo in place, heading back inside feels like shedding a heavy coat. The pressure eases, the electric buzz in my muscles unwinds.
Mission accomplished.
The guys are still locked away in Church, so I scan the room for someone bearable to hover near until the real entertainment starts.
Birdie lounges against the wall, her smile glowing as she watches her twins. They weave through the room, laughing and chatting, slipping seamlessly into the wild rhythm of club family life.
Nearby, Valkyrie stands rooted in place, eyes fixed. Manic’s son, Deveruex, is across the room, and the longing etched on Valkyrie’s face lands like a silent, unexpected blow to my chest.
My hand lifts instinctively, pressing lightly against my sternum. Because that look, that ache, yeah. I know that feeling.
So sad.