Page 7 of Ren: Warlord Brides
“You don’t want to sell.”
“But you don’t love the bakery the way I do. You’re stuck with it. With me.”
“Gemmy-bean, I’m not stuck.” As soon as she uttered the words, she knew they were true. She could leave anytime. Only obligation and a sense of duty tied her to the bakery. “If I wanted to leave, I’d leave.”
“Wow, you didn’t even hesitate. That’s cold, sis. Real cold.”
Emry nudged their feet together. “I might not love the bakery the way you do, but I don’t hate it. And I’d quit before I started hating it.”
She sighed, hanging her head forward. “I wish I still smoked. This feels like the moment for a cigarette.”
“No, you don’t, and gross.”
“I messed up, and I know you’re mad. I don’t want you to be mad anymore,” Gemma said, tucking the photo back into her wallet.
Unsaid between them was the tangible need she had to recreate something good, something from before everything went to hell. She clung to that dream, and Emry didn’t blame her. That dream gave them hope in their darkest days. She did the wrong thing for the right reason. How could she be upset?
“We’ll figure it out.” They always did.
* * *
The alien came backthe next day. He waited in the back, lounging on the steps like a sleepy cat enjoying the sun.
Scratch that. Not a sleepy cat. Lounging like an alley cat sizing up a mouse.
Emry didn’t have the energy to play whatever game he thought he was playing.
“What do you want?” she asked, heaving the trash bag into the dumpster.
“I seek to insult my cardiovascular system. The morsel you prepared yesterday was exceptional.” He licked his lips. Ugh. That was just gross and unnecessary.
“This back here,” Emry gestured to the narrow alley and back lot, “is private property. You need to leave.”
He seemed unimpressed. “I know about you, Ivon Emry LeBeaux.”
“Who the hell is Ivan Emry?” she asked, knowing full well that the alien was talking about her. He had an accent, but it wasn’t that thick.
“Ivon Ren is your mate.”
“And?” Emry resisted the urge to fold her arms over her chest because she once read that was a defensive gesture and made you look vulnerable. She leaned against the cinderblock wall. “Is this blackmail? Buddy, you are barking up the wrong tree. I am fed up with blackmailers.”
“Terran idioms. No one is barking.”
“But you are lurking and skulking. Scram.” She turned to leave.
A hand on her arm stopped her.
She glared at the purple hand holding her. His grip was loose, but he could easily tighten it into a crushing grasp.
“Not until you hear my offer, female.”
Ah, there it was. A squeeze, light, but just enough to let her know he had raw muscle and superior size on his side to make her do what he wanted.
“I am so fucking sick of you aliens!” She jerked away, giving herself a bruise. “You think just because you’re so big and mighty, that you can do whatever you want. Well, fuck off! You can fuck right off. I have a mate, and I got rights.” The words poured out of her, her frustration venting in a blue cloud of swears and threats. “So what if Ren’s not here? You can’t touch another male’s mate. I’ll report you to the FBIA and your warlord.”
The Feds, the Federal Bureau of Interstellar Affairs.
A slow grin spread across his face, the alley cat readying to pounce on the poor mouse.
