Chapter 55 Zeth
Zeth
So much for being careful and setting myself up on the floor. I shouldn’t have bothered. My thoughts keep me awake, hurling endless possibilities at me as dawn incrementally lightens the bedroom. Eventually, I abandon the idea of sleep and get up, leaving the bedroom quietly and heading outside.
It’s hot as fuck during the day, but at night, the desert is frigid.
My breath clouds in great plumes as I take a quick walk.
The line of bikes propped up alongside the villa is worrying.
I count them off, one through eleven. Eleven fucking Widow Makers.
I’d banked on a lot of things, but Rebel showing up with his boys never made it onto my list of inconvenient shit that might go down while I was here.
The Widow Makers are based out of New Mexico.
Rebel must have set off as soon as he’d ended that phone call with Jacob yesterday.
They rode all day and halfway through the night until they got here.
Not a good sign. Thirteen hours with your balls crushed up against a gas tank is gonna make anyone cranky.
And from what I’ve heard about Rebel, he gets cranky easy.
But then again, so do I.
Back in the room, Sloane’s still asleep. Her hair looks like a bird’s been nesting in it, and there are weird crease marks on her cheek from the pillow. She’s fucking beautiful. I feel like a spare part standing there staring at her, so I stomp around the room, making enough noise to wake the dead.
“Zeth?”
I pause my task, letting the duvet drop back to the floor, and there she is, half sitting up and blinking at me through huge, sleepy owl eyes.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” Yeah, I totally meant to fucking wake you.
“But since you’re up, we need to talk about tonight.
” Tonight. Jacob and Rebel, two big dogs, trapped in a small building with a bunch of other criminals, all of whom are up to no good.
And then me and her in the middle of it all.
Yeah, I’m a sick motherfucker. Why? Because there’s a good chance Jacob’s gonna murder my ass.
And an equally good chance that Rebel will recognize Sloane.
And yet my dick is still getting hard when I think about taking Sloane to this event.
“Yeah? What’s the plan?”
“The plan is that you get your ass dressed and come for some breakfast. No one’s gonna be up yet.
We can talk and eat.” My stomach’s complaining like it thinks my throat’s been cut.
I need sustenance, and I need to leave this room before I forget all common sense and climb up in that bed with Sloane.
She pats her head and must get a sense of what’s going on with her hair. Her eyes widen, but she just shrugs. I love that about her. She doesn’t give a fuck about her appearance.
“Okay,” she says, climbing out of bed. She’s wearing a long T-shirt and panties, and the sight of bare skin makes my dick stir in my jeans all over again. Girl’s got legs for days. “Will there be coffee?” she asks.
“Hell yes. I’ll make sure of it.”