Page 172 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

“Luciana. Go back upstairs. I’ll bring you something to eat.”

I blink in surprise. Cade never dismisses me. His voice, usually smooth and grounding, is strained now, sharp enough to scrape against my nerves.

It’s obvious they were fighting about me. But hell if I’ll let Scar, or anyone else, decide whether I belong in Cade’s life. Especially not someone who can’t handle that Cade can’t give away every piece of himself anymore.

“No, I’m fine, Cade,” I say with forced cheer, the smile on my face feeling brittle. “I’m already here. Might as well fix something for myself.”

My gaze flickers to the glass-paneled walk-in pantry behind the door, its faint light illuminating rows of carefully organized shelves. I hesitate, not making a move to go there just yet.

Instead, I glance at Scar, who still hasn’t turned to face me. Hoping to diffuse the tension, I offer a polite greeting. “Morning, Scar.”

For a few heavy heartbeats, Scar doesn’t respond. When he finally turns, his face splits into a blinding grin. “Good morning, Luciana. Want some coffee?”

My spine stiffens at the sound of my full name. No one except Cade calls me that. No one.

Creep.

“No, I’m good, thanks, Scar.” My smile is just as bright and fake.

I glance at Cade for support, but he only glares at me, his eyes flicking meaningfully to the door.

Leave? Not a fucking chance.

A surge of defiance wells up in me as I shoot Scar another smile. I’m sick of tiptoeing around this asshole, sick of the mind games and passive aggression he throws my way, and if Cade won’t draw the line, I will.

Slowly, deliberately, I lift my left hand, brushing my hair back in a motion that feels almost theatrical.

“Fuck me.” Scar’s gaze zeroes in on the ring, narrowing. A heartbeat later, he emits a sudden, jagged laugh that almost makes me flinch while Cade spears both hands through his hair, a rare show of frustration.

“Well, Pretty,” Scar drawls. “It looks like we’re heading for a funeral, then.”

Confused and annoyed by the cryptic remark, I whirl on him. “If you have a problem with me, Scar, I suggest you man up and face me and stop hiding behind riddles and masks.”

Scar doesn’t even acknowledge that I’ve spoken. He doesn’t take his eyes off Cade. For an eerie second, it’s like I don’t exist to him.

Cade takes a breath and commands, “Take Saint for a walk, Derek.”

Derek? His real name is Derek?

Scar grabs a dishcloth, wrapping it slowly around his bleeding hand. “Sure.” He crouches to Saint. “Come on. Mom and Dad need to talk. You don’t want to be in here for this one.”

He reaches out to ruffle Saint’s fur, but the dog jerks away, growling low in his throat. Saint’s red eyes flick between Scar and Cade, his body rigid, tail low.

“Go, Saint.” Cade’s gruff command sets the dog straightening and slinking out of the kitchen. Scar trails after him, tossing one last unreadable look over his shoulder at Cade before disappearing through the door.

The instant it shuts, Cade strides toward me, his tone urgent. “Luciana—”

“Let me guess, he doesn’t approve?” I snap bitterly. “I’m so sick of having to elbow my way into your life, Cade. You either want this enough to fight for us, or you don’t.”

Hisjaw tightens. “This isn’t the time or place,” he bites out. “I’ll explain later. Let’s go—”

“Oh, you’ll explain right now.” I plant my feet, refusing to let him brush this off. “Why the hell does his opinion even matter?”

His brows furrow. “Listen. You can come with me, or—”

“What? You’ll drag me?” My voice rises, anger and hurt bleeding together.

“Luciana.” His warning tone sharpens, but I see the crack in his resolve.

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