Page 24 of Treachery

Right? Dammit! Her own emotions were so confused and frustrating, she didn’t know what the hell she should be doing.

Shaking her head, she offered him a self-deprecating smile. “I just hit my foot on something.” Moving out of his arms, she immediately felt the loss of his heat, but she ignored it, bending down to shift the pile so she could see what she kicked.

Oh God.

Hell…that couldn’t be what she thought it was.

But it was; she recognized the faded American flag design on the side. It once belonged to her step-father.

“Goddamn asshole,” she snarled, snatching the dented Zippo lighter from the floor.

“A lighter?” Locust narrowed his eyes at her, his gaze taking in her expression. “I’m guessin’ you know who that belongs to.” Did he voice getdeadlyall of a sudden?

She bit her lip, torn; if she told him it was Elijah’s lighter, would he think it was some kind of setup, and she was playing some long con against the Unchained, or would he see it for what it was, her step-brother violating her privacy?

He must have seen something on her face, felt her hesitation, because he tensed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“You know who it is,” he said, his gaze dropping to the Zippo clutched in her hand. “Ratchet.” He spat that name like it was made of rotten meat. “Ratchet did this.”

Nadia stood there, the Zippo pressing painfully into her palm from the force of her fingers squeezing it. She was unbalanced, off-kilter, overwhelmed—she didn’t know what to say to him. She was terrified that his next words, his next actions, would tear down the last, crumbling pieces of the wall she’d only just begun to rebuild.

Working to keep her voice even, she answered, “Yes.”

Locust swore, pounding his fist into his own thigh. She jumped, shocked at the violence but, strangely, not scared of him. He might have torn out her heart, but he’d never physically hurt her…she…well, she knew that much. She didn’t know why, but she felt that she wasphysicallysafe with him.

“Shit,” Locust sighed, reaching out and wrapping his arms around her. Against his chest, she stopped breathing; he was much too close, his scent was right there, tantalizing her nose. If she breathed too deeply, she’d be lost in him. Without warning, Locust pressed a lingering kiss against the top of her head. “I didn’t mean to scare you, baby. I’m just fucking pissed.” He growled low, the rumble vibrating through her, which raisedgoosebumps along her arms, her neck, and proceeded to make her nipples hard. “What do you think he was looking for?”

She sucked her lip into her mouth and pondered that, ignoring Locust’s grunt. Lifting her gaze, she saw where his gaze was pointing—her mouth, his eyes heated, hooded.

That’s fake, right? If it is, that man winsallthe Oscars!

“Um….” She cleared her throat, then tried again. “Maybe…maybe he’s looking for that box of stuff his old landlord sent me. I don’t have that anymore, though. You know I hate junk; I went through it, and tossed almost everything in it. I only kept the cellphone….”

Locust tensed, his body going stiff as a board.

“Shit,” he muttered. “That’s the phone you gave Frost.”

She nodded. “It was the only thing I had of his that he could have been looking for.” But what could he want with an old, dead burner phone?

If he’d been in his right mind when he’d arrived and found her in the bathroom, Locust would have thought to pull up the camera footage from yesterday while she was at work, and find the asshole thief himself. But he hadn’t been in his right mind; the woman he loved had called, angry, and then things got tense. When he’d heard someone had trashed her closet, his heart flew into his throat, and his body lit up with an unholy, vengeful fire so hot, it was still smoldering.

She’s alright, she’s safe….Yeah, but for how long? Obviously her asshole brother was up to something, and with who was on his ass, he was liable to be dangerous, too. A junkie with nothing to lose was as bad a cornered, wounded dog—strikingout at whoever got too close. In this case, the dog let himself into Nadia’s house, looking through her shit for something he thought he needed.

“How did he get in?” Nadia muttered, rubbing at her temples, her cute as a button nose, lightly dotted with golden freckles, scrunched up in annoyance. Fuck, she was adorable. He fought the urge to kiss her nose, then drop a kiss to that mouth, biting her bottom lip himself. Then he’d take her mouth like he’d wanted to for weeks since she’d tried ending them. Yes,tried, because there was no fucking way they were over.

“The same way I’d get in—” and had “—through that back door you never fucking lock.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I have a feeling that, even if the door was locked, he’d still find a way in. He wanted that phone, right? So even if I’d locked the place down like Fort Knox, he’d find his way in. That’s Elijah, only showing initiative when he wants something.” She growled, stomped from the closet, and threw the lighter on her dresser.

He’d grab that later and send it to one of their contacts in the Wilkes-Barre PD. Their contact would get particulates, or some shit, off it, and send Red any information he could about anywhere it would have been—anywhere that fucker Ratchet had been. Maybe there were clues on it the Unchained could use to find the motherfucker. At this point, they were desperate for any clues to finding the asshole.

Shoving her fingers through her loose, silky hair, Nadia sighed. “I don’t understand why he didn’t just call me and ask for it. It isn’t like he and I weren’t at least speaking to one another.” A sad, wistful look came over her face, and his heart ached at her expression. She sat on the end of her bed, her gaze miles away. Needing to be near her, she sat down beside her, placing his hand on the mattress on her other side, so she was effectivelytucked in to his side. He couldn’t wrap her in his arms like he wanted to, so this would just have to do. For now.

“I remember when my mom first brought Jack Tate home. He had a big smile, a big heart, and he was so excited about introducing me to his son. Elijah was older than me, so he was often out doing his own thing, but when he was around…he was nice to me…at first. I guess he kind of liked the idea of a little sister—the reality, not so much. I guess I annoyed him by just breathing, and he started resenting the fact that Jack didn’t always have extra cash for him to bum off him because any extra cash went to beer, lotto scratchers, and caring for his new wife and step-daughter. It didn’t take long for Elijah to start coming around…taking things. Like it was yesterday, I remember coming into my room after school one day to find him shoving my change jar into his coat pocket. I’d been saving up the change I found in the street on the way home from school or from around town…I wanted to buy my step-dad a tie for Christmas.” She chuckled sadly, like the sound itself was grieving. “The man had never worn a tie in his life, but I thought that’s what daughters did, ya know, buy their dad’s ties to wear to work.”

Fuck not touching her. He turned his body and enveloped her into his arms, pressing her face into his chest. Against his heart. A heart that only beat for her.

She came into his arms willingly, her body melting into his, as if remembering that it belonged to him. And his belonged to her. She sighed against his chest, and he tightened his arms around her, kissing her head, inhaling her vanilla and lemon scent from her silken hair. God…he fucking missed this; lying in bed with her, holding her, letting all the bullshit of the world spin out around them while they just…were. Together. Made for one another.

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