by Sadie Moss
I would advise her to do a great many things. But she’s not my client. I am not her protector. And somehow, even before she opens her mouth, I know what her answer will be.
“Yes.”
Chapter Seven
TRINITY
The drive back to Beckett’s place is tense.
Actually, things have been tense ever since Ryland summoned Beckett back into his office and told his brother he was on board.
I’m sitting in the back, as usual, while Ryland sits in the front passenger seat. He’s clearly uncomfortable not being the one driving. He started for the driver’s door when we went down to the car and gave Beckett a dark look when Greed elbowed him aside.
Sheesh. If I thought the tension was thick in the office, it’s about a thousand times worse now that we’re all trapped in a tiny metal box.
It feels like I’m stuck in between two icebergs. I had no idea what a “cold front” was until now, but this is definitely it.
Part of me wonders if I should tell them to fight each other the way Beckett and Ford did—but something tells me this is so much deeper than that. Whatever Ford and Beckett struggled with, it was solved simply by getting their anger out, and now they’re square. Or as square as anyone can ever be with Ford and his constant wrath.
This grudge isn’t going to be solved with just a quick fist-fight. In fact, if they do get into a physical altercation, I’m worried they might actually kill each other.
I don’t say anything the entire drive back, and neither do they. I can’t wait for the car ride to be over. When we park, Beckett’s quick to get out and get the door for me, offering his hand to help me stand. He gives a cold, hard look to Ryland as he does so, and uses his arm to tuck me against his side.
It’s odd. It’s like he’s marking his territory with me, putting a claim on me in a way. But he’s also behaving more aloof toward me than he ever has before. Like he doesn’t want me to think he sees me as anything special, while simultaneously wanting Ryland to back off.
The ride up in the elevator makes me feel so claustrophobic I could scream. When the doors open onto the penthouse, it’s like a breath of fresh air, instant relief.
Remington is deep in silent conversation with Knight. Even though Remi could be talking, he’s signing too, and the two of them wear easy smiles as their hands and fingers fly. I slow my steps a little as I watch them, my heart warming. They seem to be enjoying themselves, actually acting like brothers who like each other’s company, and that’s the first time I’ve seen that sort of thing from any of the seven since I met them.
Sawyer’s lounging around, still shirtless, while Ford kicks at the couch, trying to get Lust to get up and box with him.
“Come on. I won’t knock you on your ass this time.” The rugged blond man bares his teeth. “Promise.”
“And risk this pretty face?” Sawyer drawls, a hint of bitterness coloring his tone. “No.”
One long finger reaches up to trace a scar on his cheek as he speaks. I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it, but my gaze is drawn to the gesture, and curiosity flares inside me. Has he always been scarred like that? Somehow, I’m not sure he has.
“Hey, you’re all in one piece! Wouldja look at that?” Nix calls, looking up from the easy chair he’s taken over.
The others all freeze.
Sawyer leaps to his feet next to Ford, the two of them standing like soldiers at attention. Nix doesn’t stand, but he does sit up a bit straighter. Remington and Knight stop their conversation, and Remi takes a step forward as if he’s about to get in between Beckett and Ryland.
“Pride. Glad to see you came.” Remington nods at Ryland, his tone cautious.
I’m not quite sure why, but it breaks my heart. I hate the way the entire room seems tied up in one giant knot now.
Everything seemed to be going well when Ryland and Beckett were gone. Everyone was getting along and relaxed. Now these two are back, and so is all of the tension. Maybe they could all be a real family, could be like true brothers, if it weren’t for these two and whatever bad blood exists between them.
What is it between them? Something about their leadership, perhaps? A difference in how they felt things should be run in the family? The others all seem to look up to them for guidance.
Was it always like this? Did they get along once and now it’s changed? They are the seven sins. Maybe they didn’t ever get along well together. They’re all ultimately self-serving, aren’t they? They’re going to compete for their sin to be the one that everyone gives into. There’s no room for them to coexist, really, is there?
I don’t know. And I want to know, I want to ask. Partly because it should help me on my mission, but also because… well… I genuinely want to help them. I want them all to get along. I want that moment of relaxed happiness we walked in on to last, to stay. I know it’s not my mission, and I know it’s probably none of my business but… I can’t help but want it all the same.
“You’re all looking well,” Ryland comments. “Beckett, I hope you’ve managed to stock your bar with some semblance of decent alcohol. I’m going to drink it.”
Beckett looks like he’d rather shove an entire bottle of whiskey down Ryland’s throat than let him actually drink anything of his, but he says nothing. Knight signs something at Remington, who gives a small smile and nods. Then he walks over to me, shoving a hand through his reddish-brown hair.
“How are you doing?” he asks quietly. “I know the two of them can be a lot.”
I get the feeling Knight asked him to check on me, and that warms my heart even more. I look over at Envy and give him a smile. He looks startled, returning my smile with a quick one of his own before looking away.
“I’m doing… all right,” I tell Remington, focusing back on him. “It wasn’t exactly a picnic though.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.” He smiles encouragingly at me. “But don’t you worry, Trin, we’ll sort them all out.”
“Even you can’t fix everything,” I point out. “Peacekeeper.”
The sweet-faced chef shoots me a lopsided grin, looking pleased at my teasing him.
Sawyer saunters up, and Remington gives him a warning look, but the personification of lust doesn’t seem interested in fucking me—not right this moment, anyway.
“Any idea what we’ll do with this?” he asks quietly, looking at Remington and me in turn.
It seems that between Remi as the peacekeeper and myself as the neutral party, Sawyer’s looking to one or both of us to fix this mess. I have no idea how I could possibly do that, and frankly I don’t want to go up against Ryland again. I’m scared of him in a way that’s different from of any of the others.
“We’ll think of a plan to deal with the portals,” Remington says. He speaks cautiously, obviously not wanting to make any promises. Gluttony is all about indulging in too much, in treating yourself to the point of bursting. But Remington isn’t a fool, and he seems to know when he shouldn’t indulge in too much optimism.
Sawyer gives him a narrow-eyed look. “I wasn’t talking about the portals and you know it.”
Geez. Even his grumpiness is sexy. It feels almost like an insult that he’s managing to make grouchiness attractive.
“Neither of them is going to listen to me,” I point out.
Sawyer gives me an odd look, one that’s softer than I would’ve expected from him, but also rather shrewd. “Mmm. Maybe it’s for the best that they don’t… but Beck listens to you more than you think.”
“All right, let’s get this all into gear.” As if summoned by his name, Beckett breaks into our conversation. His entire body is still radiating tension, and he looks like he doesn’t want to waste another moment. “We need to figure out how to close these portals without making a network of new ones appear every time we do.”
“There’s always the bookie.” Remington shrugs, looking around at his gathered brothers. “He’s the person we got the information from in the first place, and he�
��s the one who got away and must’ve told whoever set this all up that we were going to close the portals.”
“If you’ll recall,” Beckett replies, “the last time we went looking for him, it didn’t go so well.”
Oh, man.
I want to melt into the floor with embarrassment as my cheeks flush. No, it didn’t go very well. I ended up doused with some kind of lust dust that made me so horny I couldn’t even think, and Beckett, Remington, and Phoenix ended up, ah, helping me get all that arousal out of my system.
Twice.
Sawyer gets an odd look on his face, then smirks, and I realize he can sense the lust that’s rising up inside me at the memory of that incident. I glare at him, but that only seems to make his amusement grow.
Great.
“We’ll do it right this time, then,” Ryland says. “Now that I’m here.”
Ah, crap. Beckett looks ready to punch Ryland at that. I glance at Remington as my stomach twists itself into a tight knot. “Please tell me they’re not going to be like this the entire time,” I whisper.
He just winces. “Ah… it could be worse?”
I grin weakly at him, but I don’t speak the words that pop into my mind.
Could it really?
Chapter Eight
PHOENIX
In true Beck and Ry style, the two of them immediately start debating our options for how to track down Henrik, pointing out the flaws in each other’s plans before positing new ideas of their own.
Back when they got along, they could solve almost any problem in under a minute flat this way. It was like they shared a damn brain, and when the two of them put their heads together, they literally became twice as smart as anyone else in the damn room.
These days though? Their need to one-up each other tends to override that brain-sharing trick they used to do, and it devolves into a heated argument pretty quick.
Ford doesn’t help. Poor guy’s been itching for a fight, and the angry energy that’s brewing in the atmosphere between Beck and Ry is just ramping up his wrath even more. He jumps into the argument with both feet, adding to the chaos as Knight throws in commentary from the sidelines and Remi tries to keep a lid on the whole thing. Sawyer tends to pick up on people’s emotions, so he gets drawn into a debate with Ford, his voice rising as they face off toe-to-toe.
Trinity, meanwhile, looks flabbergasted.
And not in the good way.
I roll my eyes. For fuck’s sake. I love these assholes, I really do, but they can be a bunch of damn morons sometimes.
Even Remi, who tried the hardest to keep us together when things went to shit, sometimes tries too hard—he gets too invested, and it makes it hard for him to keep any sense of objectivity. To think straight.
Lucky for all of them, I’m still here.
“Psst. Hey, Trin.” I glance at the angel, and she drags her gaze away from the chaotic debate unfolding in front of us, her eyes wide as her gaze meets mine.
“What?” She’s practically whispering, as if she’s surrounded by a bunch of sleeping babies instead of a handful of domineering alpha males.
I grin at her, then jerk my head in the direction of the hallway. “Come with me.”
Without waiting to see if she’ll comply, I turn and stroll down the corridor. She either will or she won’t, and if she doesn’t, I’m not gonna fucking drag her after me or something. I’ll leave the caveman shit to Beck, Ford, and Ryland.
And to be honest, I’m not all that surprised when I hear the soft sound of footfalls behind me a moment later.
“What are we doing?” Trinity asks, still keeping her voice low. It’s fucking adorable.
“We’re on a secret mission,” I murmur back as I lead her down the hall toward the room where Ford interrogated Henrik.
She hesitates when we reach the room, and I’m sure she’s remembering exactly what went on in here. But she doesn’t wait outside when I push the door open and walk in.
The room still stinks a little of fear and blood, and I frown in distaste. My house is bigger than Beckett’s apartment, since it’s way out in the middle of fucking nowhere and I’ve had plenty of room to expand. But for some reason, I’ve never seen the need to outfit one of my spare rooms as a makeshift holding cell/torture chamber.
Different priorities, I guess.
Trin makes a face too, and I grin at the cute way her nose wrinkles. She’s obviously not a fan of this room either.
“What are we doing in here?” She looks around a little suspiciously, and I nudge her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, sweet cheeks. I’m not gonna lock you up or anything. But we need to find something of Henrik’s. Something he left behind.”
Her eyebrows fly up. “Like what? I mean, I doubt he left his wallet here or anything.”
That draws a full laugh out of me, and she flushes a little, ducking her head. She likes it when she makes me laugh, and I’ve noticed the same thing in her interactions with Remi—it makes her happy when she sees him happy.
She’s so damn good sometimes I can hardly stand it.
And I don’t mean that as an insult. Not like I would for some other angels I’ve met. She’s good in a way that isn’t condescending or self-satisfied. Her good intentions are all directed outward, seeming to come from a genuine desire to help other people, to see them thrive and be happy. Not like so many supposedly “good” people who really only act out a desire to make themselves feel better or more important.
How the hell did this chick get kicked out of Heaven? I mean, seriously, if there isn’t room for someone like her up there, who the fuck is left?
Shaking my head, I pull myself from my thoughts and walk slowly across the room, stopping near the chair where Ford tied up Henrik.
“Nah, I doubt we’ll find his wallet.” I lift a brow, shooting Trin a wicked grin. “Although wouldn’t you like to see what kinds of establishments he’s got frequent buyer punch-cards for?”
She blurts a startled laugh before she can stop herself, then her cheeks flush and she clamps her mouth shut—probably imagining exactly what those punch-cards might be.
I smile in satisfaction. I like making her laugh.
“So, what kind of thing then?” she asks more seriously, her gaze tracking over the chair and the floor around it.
“Well, it has to be something personal to Henrik. Normally, it would probably be a possession, but since we’ve already established he didn’t leave his wallet, we’ll probably have to think a little smaller than that.” I move slowly around the chair, scanning the bare floor with a keen gaze. “Like something that was once a part of Henrik.”
“A part of—” She breaks off. “Oh. You mean like blood.”
“Or sweat. Or spit.” I shrug. “Although blood will probably be easier to spot. But Ford gave him a few good hits when we were questioning him. It’s highly likely that one of those punches left some trace of Henrik in this room. We just need to find it. We can use that to track him.”
Trinity looks a little horrified at the idea of doing a treasure hunt for a droplet of spit or blood. But she’s tougher than she looks, and smart as a whip. She heard the guys bickering back in the living room, and I can tell by the shift in her expression that she’s realizing we can just bypass all the arguing and come up with a better solution ourselves.
“Okay.” She nods once, then crouches down, swiveling her head back and forth as she scans the floor.
I do the same, continuing to look for evidence of Henrik’s DNA. We work in silence for a few minutes, passing by each other as we walk in slow circles around the chair, scanning the cement floor.
Actually, I find myself watching Trin more than the floor, and my footsteps slow as I get absorbed in the serious look on her face and the way she chews on one corner of her lip as she concentrates. Her dark brown eyes are soft and intent, and I can’t seem to stop staring at them.
When she notices that I’ve basically stopped walking, she glances up at me, her nose doing th
at sexy little scrunchy thing again.
“Wait a minute. Did you just ask me to come help you so you wouldn’t have to do the searching yourself?”
I spread my arms, chuckling as I shrug one shoulder. “Caught me.”
That, and I could see how freaked out you were watching the full overwhelming force of my brothers arguing.
That, and I wanted to get you alone for a minute. Wanted your company. Wanted to make you smile.
I clear my throat, a little worried that if I don’t watch myself I’ll do something stupid, like speak those half-formed thoughts out loud. I like Trinity, and I don’t quite know why that feels so dangerous, but it does. It’s not the fact that she’s an angel—I don’t have any other angel friends or even acquaintances, but unlike Ford and some of my other brothers, I don’t view angels as being inherently “the enemy.” I don’t view most people as being my enemies, actually.
Make love not war, man. I know the hippies stole that as a catchphrase, but who do you think came up with it?
Damn right. My lazy ass did.
Trinity gives me a look that’s half amused and half exasperated, but she doesn’t storm out of the room or stop looking. Instead, she drops to her hands and knees, crouching even lower to get a better look at the floor.
Shit. She’s putting me to shame. I really should help, but now I find myself unable to focus for an entirely different reason.
Does she know how fucking sexy she looks right now? Ass up in the air like that, back arched as she scours the floor for signs of Henrik’s blood? I feel a little like Sawyer right now, and I shake my head ruefully at the thought. I swear, that guy could get a boner at a fucking funeral. There is no such thing as the “appropriate time” as far as he’s concerned.
Usually, I’m not quite as bad as that, but shit. I can feel all my blood rushing south.
Come on, dude. Chill out.
I peel my gaze away from Trin’s ass before she notices, then drop down to the floor beside her. I’m no less affected by her this close up, but at least now I’m actually helping.