Chapter 8
NASH
The first sign Mia is not okay is that she lets me drive. The second is her shaking hands. The third is her soft eyes as she stares at nothing in particular on the way over. I don’t mention any of them out loud, but I tuck them away into my mental file labeled “understanding Mia Reyes.”
At the scene of the fire, I watch her soften for her friends Crow and Claire. Then I watch her harden into a weapon when she takes that phone call.
It’s Ramsey; I know it without having to ask.
Nor do I have to ask why he’d call her with his threats instead of the pack alphas.
After all of one day observing the mafia pack, it’s clear Mia’s their biggest asset.
It doesn’t surprise me at all that Ramsey would target her directly.
It’s what I would do if I wanted to shake them up.
Or recruit her to my side. I wonder which game he’s playing or if he’s fine with either outcome.
I don’t mention any of that. Instead, I watch and give her space. And when the call ends, I’m already beside her, offering the only thing I can: myself as a weapon against her enemies.
It seems to help. Or at least bring her back to herself.
Then, I hang back while she speaks to Crow again. The way his face flushes with fury. Then Razor and Dutch arrive, and the four of them disappear for a few minutes. I’m glad she has people who care about her, but by the time she returns, my wolf is anxious to be the one at her side again.
I still can’t quite believe fate has brought us back together again, however threatening those reasons are. I never expected a second chance with the red-haired goddess before me, but I’d be an idiot to let it pass me by again.
The three males veer off, heading for the law enforcement still securing the scene. Mia aims for me, which pleases me more than it should. When she walks up, I shove my hands into my pockets to keep from reaching for her. My fingers close around her car keys in my front pants pocket.
“You ready to get out of here?” I ask.
“Oh, I, uh, probably need to call Grey and check in.”
“Already done.”
I’ve texted Grey updates every few minutes so he knows the danger is over and there’s been one loss of life, but there’s no point in him coming down here to see it for himself.
Not when the rest of his pack leadership is already here doing it for him.
Not when it could be another trap from Ramsey to draw him out.
“Oh.” She blinks, her gaze tracking where Crow and Claire are getting into Razor’s car. “Well, then we’ll just head back to the estate so we can brief him.”
My phone dings. “It’s Grey. He says you should go home. Get some rest.”
I show her the text because I know she’ll see it as an order and therefore be more likely to comply.
Sure enough, she sighs. “Okay.”
“I’ll drive.” I stride for her car before she can argue.
Surprisingly, she lets me tuck her into the passenger seat for a second time today.
I shoot another text off to Marcus, ignoring the ones from him about Lovaro’s demands, and then climb in.
She doesn’t say a word while I drive. I don’t push.
I've learned enough about Mia Reyes in the last forty-eight hours to know that silence from her isn’t disconnection.
She’s processing. Running the incident backward and forward and sideways, looking for the variable she missed, the call she should have made differently, the version of events where Bobby goes home tonight.
She won’t find it. There isn’t one. Ramsey made that choice, not her. But she’s not ready to hear that yet, so I drive and leave her to her thoughts.
The city scrolls past the windows in amber and neon as the sun dips behind the mountains.
A group of people stands at a crosswalk, laughing at something.
I watch Mia study them with an expression that isn’t quite envy and isn’t quite grief; it’s something in between.
The look of someone who protects normal so that other people can have it, knowing they’ve put themselves outside of it in the process.
My wolf notices more than just the look on her face. He homes in on the set of her shoulders. The way her hands are clenched in her lap, like she’s working hard to keep them still. The faint smell of smoke that clings to her hair despite clearly not being where the worst of it was.
She’s holding herself together with both hands and doing it so well that anyone who didn't know her would think she was fine.
I know her.
Not well enough. Not yet. But I aim to change that.
“Claire’s going to blame herself,” she says at last. She glances at me briefly. “She went back for him. Bobby.”
“That’ll weigh on her for a while,” I say.
“A year ago, she probably wouldn’t have tried to save him,” she says.
“You saved her,” I say. It’s not a question. I already know from the protectiveness in her eyes.
“Some asshole tried to rape her. One of Franco’s inner circle. The guys and I intervened.”
The way she says that last word speaks volumes. I don’t bother to ask whether the perp is alive. I know he’s not.
“You do that a lot?” I ask instead.
She cuts me a look. “What?”
“Intervene.”
“More than I should have to,” she says grimly. Then she looks back out the window, lost in her own thoughts again.
The rest of the drive is quiet. My wolf settles into a particular sort of peace of being in the right place even when the circumstances are wrong. That seems to be our story so far.
When I pull up outside her building, I don’t reach for the door, but I do cut the engine. For several beats, we sit in silence, unmoving.
After a moment, she surprises me when she asks, “Do you want to come up?”
I look at her. She’s staring straight ahead, chin level.
I read her face carefully. This isn’t what it was two nights ago.
The wanting in her eyes, her pretending she didn’t.
This is something else. Someone who has been strong all day for everyone around her and has nothing left to perform with.
She’s offering to let her guard down in front of me.
My wolf is practically panting with eagerness.
“Yeah,” I say. “I do.”
Upstairs, she showers while I make myself at home in her kitchen.
I find wine without much trouble. She strikes me as someone who keeps a good bottle accessible.
I pour two glasses and set them on the coffee table, then stand at her windows looking out at the city.
It’s coming to life underneath the darkening sky.
I understand it better now, the view. Why she needs it.
This city glittering below like it’s fine, like it didn’t almost tear itself apart, like there isn’t a man out there right now planning the next thing he’ll burn just to make a point.
She looks at it every day and chooses to believe it’s worth protecting anyway.
That takes more courage than anything I’ve watched her do tactically.
When I turn, the raccoon has materialized on the kitchen counter behind me. I don’t know where he came from or how he got in. The little shit is sneakier than any wolf I’ve ever known. Good thing he’s her friend, or I’d have to make a pelt out of him.
“How was the topiary?” I ask.
He regards me with dark, unimpressed eyes and deposits a diamond-studded hair clip on the counter with great ceremony.
“Ah, I see you found greener pastures elsewhere,” I say.
He slinks off, disappearing around the corner of the sofa.
When Mia emerges, she’s in dark leggings, an oversized shirt that’s been washed to within an inch of its life, and thick socks. Her hair is damp from the shower, which only makes the red brighter and slightly wavy. She looks younger like this. Less armored. And so damn sexy that my mouth waters.
I swallow. And force myself to blink.
“Your friend has returned,” I say, nodding at the raccoon, mostly so she doesn’t catch me gawking at her. Or the erection I’m trying to hide. “He brought you a present.”
Mia walks over and picks up the hair clip, inspecting it. “Did you swipe this from the mansion?” she asks.
The rodent chitters at her.
“This is Lexi’s,” she tells him. “She’s my friend. You need to put it back.”
The rodent scowls.
Mia shakes her head, sets it back on the counter, and walks away. She drops onto the couch, pulls her legs up beneath her, and reaches for her wine. “Thanks for this,” she says, lifting it up as if in toast. “Best dinner ever.”
I take the other end of the couch and pick up my own glass. “To our first meal together,” I say solemnly.
She snorts, and we both drink.
For a while, we just sit. The city hums below us. Echo investigates my jacket pocket with more boldness than I’d expect from something my wolf sees as prey, finds nothing of interest, and retires to the back of the couch between us like a small furry chaperone.
“He brought me a diamond bracelet this morning,” Mia says.
“I heard.”
She looks at me, brows drawn in sudden suspicion. “From who?”
“Dutch. He was overly concerned about the property law implications."
“How did Dutch—Crow,” she realizes and then mutters, “Tattletale.”
She snorts into her wine. It's the first sound she’s made that isn’t grief or strategy, and I feel it in my chest like relief.
“You have a good group of friends in those guys,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, they can be total dumbasses, but I love them.”
“Family is like that.”
She doesn’t answer right away. Her gaze has slipped farther away again.
“Crow loved that place,” she says after a moment.
“It’s only been a few weeks since Lexi offered it to him, but…
He named it after his mother. He’d just— He’d finally built something that was his.
And Ramsey walked in with a can of accelerant, and—” She stops.
Sets her wine down. “He knew what he was doing. That's the part I can’t stop thinking about. When he saw that sign, he knew exactly what that place meant to Crow, and he chose it anyway. Or because of it.”
“Yes,” I say. Because she’s right, and she knows she’s right, and the last thing she needs is me placating her.