Page 3 of The Thief

When Krys went out, he always dressed like he was going to a BDSM club. Lots of black, lots of leather, and sometimes jewelry. He still wore black attire at home but without all the chains and leather.

Virgil put his arm around him. “You have a hole in your belt in the wrong place.”

Krys knocked his arm away. “Maybe you should stop staring at my ass.”

Virgil shimmied his shoulders and feigned an indignant look.

I put my napkin on my lap. “If it bothers you so much, why not just stay home and drink? It’ll save you money.”

Virgil lifted the labradorite pendant around his neck and pressed the smooth stone against his bottom lip. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, half-price drinks means more women.”

Archer chuckled and grabbed a chicken breast from the serving dish. “How many women do you need?”

“As many as it takes,” Virgil replied. “I’m not a man easily sated. My sexual appetite requires a feast with lots of variety.” His blue eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint.

Archer snorted. “It’s a good thing you’re not human, or you would have contracted a disease by now.”

Virgil rolled his eyes upward. “Thank the fates. If there’s one thing I’m glad about, it’s never having to worry about condoms. I tried one of those once when they came out with the flavors, but it felt like I was wearing a scuba suit on my?—”

Tak cleared his throat, killing the sex talk.

I took a gander at Archer, who looked especially handsome. His shorn undercut was cleaner, indicating he must have been to the barber recently. Archer’s bleached ends gradually blended in with his naturally brown hair, the top long and styled forward in textured chunks. While Virgil talked excitedly about his expectations for the evening, Archer tugged the collar of his soft leather jacket, which he only wore when they went out. Sure, some bars were chilly, but I suspected the real reason he wore it in summer was to conceal his missing arm.

Bear leaned over the table and set down a second platter of fried chicken, which had a sear that would’ve made any Southerner proud. Instead of breading, he seasoned his meat with a mixture of spices that elevated it to perfection. Occasionally Bear would put the food on the other table and we’d fill our plates buffet-style. But mostly we set the bowls in front of us and passed everything around, which I preferred since it felt more like a family dinner.

I leaned to the side and caught my reflection in the window, the overhead lights doing me no favors. Sometimes we used candles because others found them romantic, but all they did was remind me of childhood when we used oil lanterns.

“I love this table,” I said, admiring the smooth finish.

While claiming his usual seat at the left head of the table, Tak said, “All from that big oak tree we cut down. It’s unfortunate to destroy something so old and majestic, but it posed a danger to the house.”

After setting the toothpick dispensers on the table, Hope pulled out the chair to Tak’s left and sat across from her brother. “You were right. I’d much rather have this beautiful piece than a swing.”

“No one says you can’t have a swing.” Tak sipped his glass of ice water and smiled. “My girl is finally coming home tomorrow.”

Hope used tongs to put a corncob on her plate. “Only because you bribed my former packmates to help finish the stable in record time—all without my father knowing. If he finds out, he’ll be displeased.”

Tak buttered his garlic roll. “Yes, but I’ll have my mare back.”

Hope shook out her napkin. “Sometimes I think you love that horse more than you do me.”

Tak flicked his eyes up to her in amusement, then leaned in close. “The sooner I get my mare back, the faster I can build the heat house.” He waggled his eyebrows, putting a blush on her cheeks.

Melody yawned loudly as she entered the room. I glanced over my shoulder at her black leggings and jean shorts. She’d sewn purple material to the leg openings and back pockets. Melody’s bold personality was reflected in her clothing line, and she always experimented with designs. She didn’t focus on marketing to a specific age group, so the clothes ranged from sophisticated to funky. Hope often modeled Mel’s classier pants and blouses, testing out the fabric and fit for women with curves.

Melody pulled out the wooden chair next to Hope and straddled it. “What’s for dessert?”

“We haven’t eaten dinner yet,” Hope informed her.

“I’m not that hungry.”

Lakota put a piece of chicken on his plate. “Then just eat a little.”

Mel twirled her hair around her index finger. “I had a big lunch.”

“Don’t start with that again, female.” Lakota finished spooning a few pieces of okra onto the plate. “You promised to eat something. Dinner first.” He stood and handed her the plate of food he’d made. “Peach pie later,” he murmured, his fingers grazing hers.

She gave him an amorous look. I wondered what the story was between those two and peach pie, because they brought it up every so often. And Bear had only made it once.

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