Page 33 of Ruthless Reign

She’d taken to sleeping in my room the last couple nights, but sleep was a generous term for what she did. I stayed with her, and even though I ached to reach out to her, to hold her, to touch her, I could tell she didn’t want it. She tossed and turned, hiking the covers high only to kick them all off in frustration again. I knew because I barely slept, either.

How could I? How could any of us with the threat of Séamas O’Sullivan hanging over our heads?

It seemed at least that he laid the blame for his two dead Sons squarely at the Kents’ feet since there had been no retaliation against us. All we could do now was make sure they didn’t die for nothing.

“Hey, you good, Vixen?”

She dipped her head, not meeting my eyes as she sipped her coffee, genuine surprise in her eyes when it didn’t taste like shit. That’s right, baby girl, I got you.

“Why don’t you go get ready, yeah?”

“For what?”

“We’re going out.”

I felt Hardin’s glare searing into my back and ignored it. We’d been locked up in this house for two days. It was time to get out. We needed air, space. We needed…

“I don’t know about you, Vixen, but I’d really like to shoot some shit? You game?”

“Kaleb?”

I inhaled deeply to temper my frustration as I turned to my brother. “We agreed,” I reminded him. “She needs training. I’d feel better if she carried a weapon and had at least half a clue about how to use it, wouldn’t you?”

His cheekbones flared, but he said nothing.

“Don’t you have a meet today with the police force?” Becca asked, and it was the first time in two days she’d looked me in the eyes. In them I saw something like hope, and I grinned, tugging her close to kiss her cheek.

“We have time, Vix,” I told her, spinning her around to swat her on the ass, earning myself a blush and the whisper of a smile. “Now go get ready. We leave in twenty. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Since when do you cook?” Hardin grumbled from his chair.

“Since today, jackass. Now get up and help me.”

The drive to the private gun range had more tension than a goddamned courtroom on conviction day. I tried to lighten the mood. Twice. But neither Hardin nor Becca seemed to be having it. So I settled for the radio to drown out the silence. I’d have rolled down the windows to let some air into the soul sucking vacuum of the cab, but it was fucking pelting rain outside. So hard Hardin had to give me a hand reattaching the hardtop to the Bronco.

Now that it was back on, I doubted we’d take it off, either. I liked having the wall of metal between Vixen and the outside world as we drove. It was better than nothing but empty air.

I barely got the Bronco into park right up close to the range door when Hardin stepped out, shutting the door behind him as he flipped the collar of his jacket up and stalked inside.

Becca undid her seatbelt, her face falling as she scooted to the door closest to the entrance to get out.

“Hey, hold up a sec, Vixen.”

“Hmm?”

She looked so damn sad. I hated it.

“Was the omelet I made you that bad?”

Another attempt to make her smile crashed and burned and the impish look she gave me added insult to injury, telling me everything I needed to know about the inedibility of my cooking.

I sighed. “What’s up with you and Hardin. You haven’t said a word to each other since Friday.”

“He’s not exactly chatty. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

I gave her a look. “You know what I mean.”

She threw her hands up. “I don’t know what the fuck his problem is, why don’t you ask him?”

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