Page 94 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

With each name, each connection, I watch the panic in the room begin to recede, replaced by something closer to hope. These boys have grown up in this world of favors and obligations, of power traded like currency. They understand how the game is played.

“This works,” I continue, stopping in the center of the room, “or we all burn. And I mean all of us. Rhea included. So everyone better be committed.”

The words hang in the air like a threat and a promise combined. They want to survive this? Fine. But they’ll do it my way, with my rules, and they’ll protect what’s mine in the process.

Noah nods slowly, understanding passing between us like an electric current. “What do you need from us?”

“Complete loyalty. Total commitment. Anyone who breaks ranks, anyone who even thinks about throwing Rhea under the bus to save themselves—” I let the threat hang unfinished, my gaze sweeping the room one more time.

They get the message. All of them. I can see it in the way shoulders straighten, in the way eyes focus with new determination. The panic is still there, but it’s been channeled now, directed toward a common goal.

Protecting the organization. Protecting themselves.

As the meeting breaks up, as the expensive cars begin to disappear into the night, I remain in the chamber, letting the silence settle around me like armor. The satisfaction from earlier returns, but it’s different now—sharper, more complex.

Protecting Rhea now means protecting the entire Reaper organization. And that means making her truly one of us, binding her to this world so completely that separating her from it becomes impossible.

The thought sends a thrill through me, dark and possessive and perfect. She’ll be mine not just by choice now, but by necessity. Protected not just by my love, but by the weight of an entire criminal empire.

She wanted to know what she was agreeing to when she said she belonged to me.

Now she’s about to find out.

And I can’t wait to see her face when she realizes there’s no going back.

Not for any of us.

Chapter 20

The apartment feels different when I walk through the door, like the air itself has shifted while I was gone. Thicker somehow, charged with the kind of tension that makes my skin prickle and my nerves sing. Gregory meows from his perch on the windowsill, but even his greeting sounds muted, distant.

It takes me a moment to register why everything feels so wrong, and then I see Cassidy. She sits curled in the corner of our secondhand couch, knees drawn up to her chest, mascara streaking down her cheeks in dark rivers. Her blonde hair hangs limp around her face, and she’s clutching a tissue box like a lifeline. When she sees me, her blue eyes fill with fresh tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, the words barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator. “I’m so fucking sorry, Rhea, but they kept asking questions and I thought you were in trouble.”

The bottom drops out of my stomach, a cold realization spreading through my chest like ice water. I know, even before she says another word, that my life as I knew it has just ended. Again.

I close the door behind me with deliberate care, my movements measured and calm despite the chaos threatening to consume me from the inside out. Thatcher’s shirt still hangs loose on my frame, carrying his scent like a promise and a warning wrapped in Egyptian cotton.

“What questions?” My voice is steady, controlled. A psychology major’s voice—clinical and detached, designed to extract information without revealing emotion.

Cassidy’s face crumples further, if that’s even possible. “The FBI, Rhea. They came here this afternoon, asking about Halloween night. About Jack.” She sobs into the tissue, her shoulders shaking with the force of her tears. “They said someone matching your description was seen with him at the party.”

Each word hits me like a physical blow, but I don’t flinch. Don’t react. Instead, I move to the kitchen island, placing my hands flat against the cool granite surface and letting the solid weight of it anchor me.

“What exactly did you tell them?”

“They asked if you came home upset that night.” Cassidy wipes her nose, looking at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I said yes because you did. You were crying and shaking and you went straight to the shower and—” Her voice breaks. “I was trying to help. I thought if I told them you were home by midnight, it would give you an alibi.”

But I don’t know if I was home by midnight. I was terrified, so I walked on foot, and I have no idea how long that actually took. And if the FBI are building a timeline, if they’re looking for windows of opportunity, Cassidy just handed them everything they need to place me at the scene.

“What else?” I keep my voice level, but something cold and calculating is unfurling in my chest. A survival instinct I didn’t know I possessed.

“They asked if you had blood on your clothes.” Cassidy’s voice is getting smaller with each confession. “I said I didn’t notice but... God, Rhea, there was blood, wasn’t there? On your dress when you got home?”

Yes. There was blood. Jack’s blood from when I hit him with the bottle. My best friend, my roommate, the person I’ve trusted with my secrets for two years, has unknowingly painted me as the prime suspect in a federal murder investigation.

“They said they might want to talk to you,” Cassidy continues, her words rushing together in a desperate stream. “They left a card and said to call them when you got home. Rhea, I’m so sorry. I thought I was helping.”

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