Page 29 of Sabotage

“You know where Ryann went off to?” I ask, my question directed at Gianna.

“She went to the kitchen. Said she was hungry and was going to fix food for everyone,” Gianna answers.

I didn’t know Ryann could cook. She’d never actually cooked here at the clubhouse.

“Ry’s cooking?” The question passes Maverick’s lips with more than a hint of excitement.

“That’s what I said,” Gianna states, rolling her eyes a bit. “Why? You going to get a hard-on for her food now?”

“Gianna,” Nevaeh calls, somewhat pissy. “Lose the attitude.”

“I don’t have an attitude, Vaeh, but just asking a simple question.” Gianna gets to her feet and, without another word, walks away. I wouldn’t call it stomping because her feet didn’t make any noise, but you could tell something was up with her.

“The hell was that about?” Maverick mutters.

“Don’t mind her,” Finnegan states, getting our attention. “She’s been in a mood for the past few weeks.” The way he says this, he’s acting like it’s normal for her to have these moods.

“You wanna liberate on that?” War demands are coming closer. Shyann is right behind him.

“Nope,” Finnegan answers with a popping sound on the P. “You might be her brother, and I respect you and this club, but that doesn’t mean my loyalty isn’t to her and that I won’t protect her. I also won’t talk about her behind her back. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve calls to make.” Pulling his phone from his pocket, he walked in the opposite direction than Gianna went, heading for the exit.

“I don’t know if I like that guy or want to punch him in the face.” War grunts.

“Gotta say I agree with you on that,” I mutter and look to Maverick. “What’s up with you asking about Ryann’s cookin’?”

“Brother, you have no clue what you’re in for. She’s in the mood to cook. She fuckin’ cooks. Damn woman can make shit that should taste good taste fan-fuckin-tastic,” he explains, grinning.

“She’s really good in the kitchen,” Nevaeh agrees. “I’m not sure what she’s making, but it’s going to be good, I’m sure of it.”

“Right.” I leave them to it and head for the kitchen to see y what Ryann’s working on. The fact she can cook isn’t what surprises me or annoys me. Hell, I don’t know what it is that’s annoying me about this. Maybe it’s just the simple fact I didn’t know this about her.I get there’s gonna be things I don’t know, but we’re going to get there. I’ll learn shit about her, and she’ll learn things about me.

What the issue is, is probably the fact Maverick knows these things about her, and I’m just now learning it. He’s lived with her and Nevaeh. He’s spent time with her when I was a dickhead ignoring her . . . avoiding her.

Fuck.

I push into the kitchen only to come to a halt just inside. Ryann wasn’t cooking like they said she was in here doing. Well, she is, but she’s not. Instead, I find her in a standoff with one of the torpedoes. Or as the ol’ ladies call them . . . tor-pe-da-hoes.

“The fuck is going on here?” I demand, moving around the center island where Ryann has several areas stationed for different things. On the stove, she has a few pots with water, looking ready to start boiling at any given second.

Ryann doesn’t bother looking at me when she answers. “It’s nothing, Sabotage, just some skanky bitch thinking she can scare me off by telling me stories on how good you are with that cock of yours.”

Fucking hell.

Stepping in behind Ryann, I wrap her up in my arms, pulling her flush to my front. “That so?” I ask, shooting a glare in Dreamboat’s direction. “You wanna enlighten me on this as well?”

Dreamboat’s face pales just the slightest amount, and she shakes her head as she whispers, “No.”

“Good, then you can get the fuck out of here and keep my fuckin’ name out of your mouth.”

She doesn’t wait around for me to lay into her further, nor does she make a peep as she rushes through the kitchen doors and disappears to the other side.

Ryann pulls out of my arms, not bothering to look at me as she goes about doing something at the stove.

“What’re you making?” I ask, coming up behind her still.

“My spaghetti with homemade meatballs, a salad, and my pasta e fagioli,” she answers, her voice terse and somewhat pissed.

“Sounds good,” I tell her, reaching up to grip her upper arms. “You wanna tell me what’s got you pissed?”

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