Page 81 of From the Ashes

Five days he’s been avoiding me.

Not that he’ll admit that that’s what he’s doing.

But while Kaos, Kovu, and Bishop are struggling to let me out of their sight, Crew is nowhere to be found. He’s out at the casino more often than not, foregoing his home office because I’m here all the time.

That’s the other thing I’m pissed about.

They have me on fucking house arrest. Okay, maybe it’s not that dramatic, but they won’t let me leave unless I take two of them with me, which isn’t ideal when I need to deal with De Marco business.

This afternoon, we’ll all be going to a meeting of the five families, the first one since I came back from the dead and kicked my uncle and cousin out of the position I was born for.

That feels like such a long time ago, but in reality, it’s only been a month.

I try not to think of everything that has happened in that time, knowing it’s a dark path I have no business falling down when there’s still so much that needs to be taken care of.

Kovu and Kaos are out doing surveillance on a guy we think was at the cemetery that night. But we can’t be sure seeing as they were all wearing ski masks the whole time.

Bishop is overseeing the cleanup at the fight club. They’re not sure if they’re going to rebuild or move to a new location, but Kovu asked him to take care of it because he’s still feeling a little…unhinged.

I wince as I move, my body aching from all the ways he’s used it in the last few days. But I’ve loved every second.

I’m covered in his marks. Bruises from his teeth and hands, cuts from his knife, and even a couple of welts on my ass from when he and Bishop tag-teamed me with a belt.

My pussy clenches at the thought, and I roll my eyes at myself.

Hussy.

I stare down at my laptop and try to remember what I’m doing. I’ve been going over some of our financials from the time Michael and Scott were taking care of things, making sure they weren’t trying to launder any money for themselves, but our accountant must have been keeping them on the straight and narrow.

I know what you’re thinking: criminal enterprises have accountants? Yep, we sure do, and they’re even more of a pain in the ass than for a legitimate company, if you can believe it.

I glance at my bedroom door and purse my lips. I wonder if Crew’s here today.

My money is that he’s not. He’s chosen to be anywhere but where I am for days, but I know for a fact they don’t like to leave me here alone.

Decision made, I slip off the edge of my bed and pad down the hallway toward the stairs. In my spare time, although limited, I’ve been training with the guys, trying to get some of my fitness back, and lord, are they putting me through my paces. Between the gym and sex, I can barely move half the time.

Once I make it to the floor the offices are on, I take a deep breath to steel myself against whatever he’s going to say to try to make me leave.

He probably thinks I can’t see what he’s doing, but he’s clearly forgetting who he’s dealing with.

I don’t bother knocking because no one else does, and a part of me loves how much it irritates him when none of us listen, and low and behold, there he is sitting behind his desk.

He’s wearing an all-black suit today, complete with a black tie and shirt, and my steps falter as I take him in. Holy shit does he look good, but then he always does.

His eyes flick up with irritation, but when he sees me striding toward him, it’s replaced with concern. Exactly how you want your boyfriend to look at you when you enter a room.

“Camilla, what are you doing in here?”

“I’m bored, and you’re avoiding me.” I shrug as I round the desk. I push his chair back slightly so I can slip between him and the desk, and I perch on the edge.

I’m wearing one of Kovu’s shirts, my usual attire when I’m at home, and no panties. A smile tugs at my lips at that thought, because it was Crew’s rule, and yet it’s about to bite him in the ass.

“I’m not avoiding you. I’m just busy,” he argues, but he makes no move to touch me, or even look at my bare legs and nipples that are pressing against the soft cotton.

“Bullshit.” I cross one leg over the other, and the T-shirt creeps higher up my thigh, but he keeps his eyes locked on my face.

“Camilla—”

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