Chapter Six
Six
Caine
“Is that a…” Margot’s voice trails off, cheeks reddening.
I want to tease her, but I’m also disturbed that I just knocked my brother’s cock ring out from under the fridge.
Knowing less about Shane’s sex life would be fantastic.
I’m already privy to the fact that the catalyst for Claire’s and his romantic relationship involved an arrangement where he hired her to be his sexual prey for thirty days, which feels like enough information to last a lifetime.
“Yeah. I’m glad I used the pen to get it out.” I balance the ring on the end of the pen, holding it away from my body. “What should we do with it?”
“Put it in their room.”
“Or, hear me out, we burn it.”
Margot cranes her neck to study the ring. “That looks like a fancy one; they’ll probably want to keep it.”
“Didn’t realize you were a cock ring connoisseur,” I tease, enjoying how she flushes deeper. “What makes a cock ring fancy?”
Ring dangling from the pen, we head out of the kitchen. Margot sighs. “We aren’t having this conversation.”
“I’m trying to learn. Educate me.” I wiggle the pen in her direction, and she speeds up, heading for the stairs.
My quest for knowledge is momentarily forgotten, because good god, her ass is spectacular from this angle.
Granted, an angle doesn’t exist where it doesn’t look fantastic, but this one is peak cheek appreciation positioning.
Behind and slightly below her, I can admire everything: the sway of her hips, the muscles flexing, the mind-melting jiggle with each step.
I’m so entranced I catch the toe of my boot on a stair with a loud thunk, barely regaining my balance before it turns into an actual trip.
Margot glances back, and I give her my most innocent look.
At the second floor I take the lead to avoid any more dis-ass-tractions.
Margot trails behind me, Gremlin still pocketed.
Besides her bathroom break in the backyard, the snack-sized Yorkie hasn’t hit the ground.
I think she knows what’s up because she hasn’t fidgeted once.
The curtains are closed in Claire and Shane’s room, and when we step into the dim space, the cock ring glows a fluorescent light green.
Festive.
Margot’s looking around the room, on snake patrol, though we’ve already swept the second floor. I nudge her with my elbow. “Is this what you meant by ‘fancy’?”
Her eyes widen. “I was thinking it might vibrate, but this works too.”
“There are vibrating ones?” I know there are, but I want to see if I can get her to say cock ring. Gingerly, I angle the pen, sliding the toy onto the nightstand.
“You can answer that question yourself with a quick Google search.” The primness of her answer makes me fight back a smile.
We finish searching the downstairs around 3:00 a.m., and I suggest we try to catch a few hours of sleep and regroup.
I’m wired, so I doubt I will, but Margot looks like she’s a hard sneeze away from going comatose.
Eventually, I’ll need to let her know that she’s going to have to come to the convention with me tomorrow—er, today—but I think she’ll take the news better after a power nap.
We head upstairs. Instead of going into an unoccupied guest room, I follow Margot to hers.
“What are you doing?” The question drips with exasperation.
It warms my heart. Prickly Margot is my favorite Margot.
That look of put-out-ness suits her face.
It’s like watching one of those feel-good videos of people releasing rehabilitated birds or foxes back into the wild. A nature-is-healing moment.
“Napping.” I slip past her and into the room, launching myself onto the bed.
“Damnit, Cai—”
“Look, you were left a rattlesnake—presumably by your less-than-stellar ex-husband. That is some horror movie shit, so we are following horror movie rules. If it would get a character killed in a horror movie, you don’t do it.”
Margot glares at me, but places Gremlin onto the bed; she sniffs the dark blue duvet and curls up.
“Rule number one: we stick together so we don’t get picked off.” I side-eye the Yorkie. “That includes you, Germ.”
Margot nibbles her bottom lip but doesn’t argue.
She also doesn’t push back at the nickname.
The first time I met Gremlin, she was fresh from the rescue and sporting a questionable fur style.
Margot swears to this day that she used clippers, but I maintain she had to have used children’s safety scissors, because it takes effort to do a hack job like that.
However the haircut happened, it made Gremlin look like one of those germs in cold medicine commercials.
With a soft, disgruntled sound, Margot moves to the closet and closes the door. A minute later she comes out wearing sweatpants and holding a throw blanket. “You have to stay on top of the covers.”
Still no argument?
Odd.
She must be exhausted. Or genuinely scared.
I was preparing to negotiate for a spot in the leather armchair in the corner, or even take the floor, so my position on the bed is a huge victory.
Balling up the blanket, she tosses it to me.
Spreading the throw across my legs, I say nothing.
I’m not about to talk myself out of a win.
“You being in here feels inappropriate.” Her words are unconvincing, muffled by the duvet she’s already burrowed beneath.
“Only if you want it to be.” Immediately, I regret the line. Teasing her is reflexive, but this isn’t the time.
Margot scoffs, but for some reason, my quip seems to have relaxed her. “Stay on your side unless you want to get zapped again.”
“You got it, killer.” Relieved that my mouth hasn’t earned me exile, I lounge back against the headboard. Gremlin crawls up onto my chest, settling in for ear scritches. Pulling my phone back out, I return to my earlier search results. The more I can learn about Nicholas Ammon, the better.
Margot
Out of all the sounds to wake up to, Caine muttering, “Well, I’ll be damned,” is easily in my top five most concerning.
My eyes aren’t even open yet as I ask, “What did you do?”
“Nothing.” The answer comes too quickly, followed by a sliding sound and a thud.
I sit up in time to catch him stepping away from my dresser.
“Why are you in there?” My hard-shelled suitcase is on the floor.
One side is full of neatly folded clothing.
Gremlin sits in the other, a hot pink bandanna around her neck and one of my tiny claw hairclips holding her bangs out of her eyes. “What is happening right now?”
“Thought I’d get a head start on your packing.” He gives me a charming smile.
I scowl, brain still defogging. “What? Where am I going?”
“To Scream Scene—it’s a horror convention. I’m tattooing there tomorrow, and have a work thing tonight. Think you can be ready to hit the road in a few hours?”
“No.”
He steps back toward the dresser, tugging open a drawer. “How long do you need, then?”
“No, because I’m not going. And have you heard of boundaries?” One foot snags on the blanket as I launch out of bed. Hopping on the other as I shake free slightly diminishes the impact of my words.
“Of course. That’s why I shut your panty drawer earlier and figured you could pack those yourself.” His expression is neutral, but nonsense sparkles in his eyes. “See? Boundaries.”
“I’m not going.” Ignoring the panty comment, I move to unpack my suitcase.
Caine sighs. “If you were watching yourself in a horror movie, you’d be yelling at the horror movie you to listen to the extremely attractive man trying to keep you safe.”
He’s right, but I’m not admitting that.
“You know I have a job, right? I can’t just take off on a whim.
” It’s a teensy fib. With the exception of some tasks I have for Shane that involve me popping into the firm here and there, all my work is virtual.
Most of what I do can be done from anywhere I have Wi-Fi or I can use my hotspot.
Regardless, I’m not inclined to set a precedent of letting a man tell me where I’m going or what I’m doing.
“You’ll still be able to do your thing. We’ll leave in a few hours, and you can work from the hotel this afternoon. Tomorrow’s Saturday, and the convention, then there’s an after-party that night. We’ll head out Sunday morning. No big deal.”
The rebuttal is easy. “I need to order cameras for the house, but they probably won’t be here for a day or two. What if something else happens in the meantime?”
“Then you definitely shouldn’t be here alone if it does.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, scrolls, then passes it over. I see that three small solar-powered cameras have been ordered and arrive on Monday.
Faced with this responsibleness, all I have to say is “Oh.”
“Didn’t Shane used to have cameras?” Caine asks suddenly. “Or am I remembering wrong? I took a lap around the house but didn’t see any.”
“He did, but they were wired into the security system, and there was some kind of electrical problem, so he took them down.” I shrug. “Since the house wasn’t going to be empty while they’re gone, there was no rush to get new ones sorted. So I should definitely stay to watch the house.”
“Not happening. But if you really want to be difficult, why don’t we call Claire and get her opinion? See if she’d rather you hold down the fort or take your happy ass on the road?”
Motherfucker.
Claire doesn’t know about any of this. I try to act cool, as if he hasn’t played a dangerously effective card.
“You’re going to tell on me? What are we, twelve?”
Taking the phone back, he taps away from emails into his contacts, scrolling to Claire/Shane Sat Phone. Finger hovering over the call button, he looks at me, face completely neutral.
I try a new angle. “Okay, so you call Claire. What’s she going to do?”
“Be very disappointed in your irresponsible decisions.” His retort is instant. “Also worry about you when she should be enjoying the Appalachian Trail.”
Shit.
“Come on,” I try wheedling. “It’ll be fine. Seriously. I’ll lock myself in. Send you proof-of-life texts.”