Page 127 of Sinful
"You sound certain."
"I am. Because he's got something to come back to now. That changes a man."
Two women emerge from the kitchen carrying trays of sandwiches.
The first one—brunette, maybe late twenties, curves poured into tight jeans—catches my eye and smiles. "You're Bravos's ol' lady, right? I'm Lucky."
"Helle."
"Nice to meet you. This is Marlboro." She nods toward the other woman—redhead, younger, quieter.
Marlboro gives a small wave, sets the trays down on the table.
They're clubwhores.
I can tell from the way they move through the space—comfortable but not claiming it, helpful but not entitled.
Part of the club but not protected by it the way an ol' lady is.
"Must be nice," Lucky says, not bitter, just observational. "Getting the commitment. The claim."
"It's terrifying," I admit.
"Yeah, but you've got security. You know?" She starts organizing the sandwiches. "We're just here until we're not. No promises. No protection beyond what they feel like giving."
Marlboro nods but doesn't say anything.
I don't know how to respond to that, so I help them set up food instead.
Phantom finds me two hours later when the meeting finally breaks.
Men file out looking grim and focused.
Bravos catches my eye, gives a small nod—I'm okay, we're okay—then disappears with Shadow to check weapons inventory.
"Walk with me," Phantom says.
It's not a request.
We head away from the clubhouse chaos, toward one of the paddocks on the north side of the property.
Horses graze in the distance, peaceful and beautiful at the same time.
"Bravos tells me you're staying," Phantom says. "After tomorrow."
"That's the plan."
"Good. He needs that. Stability. Something to come back to."
We stop at a small cabin I didn't notice before—set back from the paddock, half-hidden by trees.
Two bedrooms, by the look of it.
Porch wrapping around the front.
Needs work—paint peeling, windows dusty—but solid bones.
"It's yours," Phantom says. "Yours and his."
