Page 62 of Sexting the Bikers
She smirks. “We’ll find out tonight.”
Reaper shakes his head, muttering something under his breath—but I can’t help but notice the way he looks at her. Not like a man watching a fuse burn…but like one wondering if the explosion might just be worth it.
“Mikhail Zaika coming here still doesn’t mean he’ll want an audience with you,” I point out. “Do I have to remind you how things work in your world?”
Her face falls a little. “No, you don’t.”
I feel like a total asshole. “What I mean is, I still think this is absolutely insane.”
“What’s the fanciest hotel in the area?” she asks, as if that solves anything.
“This town doesn’t do fancy,” I mutter.
“Just patronize me, please,” she says, lips twitching like she knows she’s pushing it.
Dog sighs. “Well…there’s one Marriott. About a half-hour drive from here, right by the coast. It’s the only place with real room service and linens that don’t itch.”
“That’s it,” she says immediately. “Mikhail loves fancy—or at least he did when I met him years ago in New York. Velvet suits. Smelled like money and too much cologne.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You think he’ll actually stay there?”
She nods with way too much certainty. “He’s already nearby, probably needs a quick crash pad before sniffing around town. He’ll want comfort and control. That hotel gives him both.”
“You seem happy about this,” I mutter, watching her with narrowed eyes.
Her smile’s quick. Almost too quick. “I’m happy we’re doing something instead of just sitting around waiting to get hit.”
“Uh-huh.”
She’s practically glowing—like she just won a game we didn’t know we were playing. That alone puts every instinct I have on edge.
Dog watches her too, tense, lips pressed together. He doesn’t say anything, but I know what he’s thinking.
None of us like this.
Except her.
And that’s what makes me uneasy.
She turns to Reaper now, chin lifted like she’s calling a bluff at a high-stakes table. “So. Are we doing this or not?”
Reaper doesn’t answer right away. His jaw ticks like he’s weighing options, none of which he likes. Finally, he turns to me.
“Bishop. You take her to the hotel.”
“But—” Dog starts.
“No buts,” Reaper snaps. “I need my master-at-arms here, fortifying our defenses. If Novikov comes knocking again, I want to be ready.”
Dog looks like he wants to argue, but he bites his tongue and nods, jaw clenched tight.
I glance at Katya. She’s the only one in the room who looks vaguely pleased with the arrangement. She shrugs, all innocent-like, but there’s a glint in her eyes I don’t like. “I just think it’s time we stop reacting and start playing offense.”
“Right,” I say slowly. “And this offense starts at the Marriott?”
“Hopefully it doesn’t get to that.”
18
