Page 24 of Prodigal Son

Broken by a dramatic groan from Axelle. “Yeah, okay, fuck this. If you guys are gonna do the whole alpha-female, super-bitchy rivalry thing? I’m out. Peace.” She slid out of the booth and headed toward the bar, wineglass left behind.

Eden watched her retreat, then turned back to Raven…who promptly burst out laughing, her sharp smile dissolving into something true and crooked.

Eden laughed, too, relief washing through her, dragging the hastily-stitched-together persona with it.

“God,” Raven said, posture relaxing. “Your face. I thought you’d faint dead away.”

Some of the laughter faded, becoming a low ache in Eden’s chest. “Guess I’m out of practice.”

“Yeah, no shit. I didn’t really believe it.” She drained the rest of her wine and reached for the bottle to refill it. “When Albie called me,” she explained, “he said you weren’t Little Miss MI5 anymore. Said he thought you’d lost your nerve for all that. That you wouldn’t pretend you were so far above us now.”

Her pulse hitched. “I never acted like that…Did I?”

Raven waved a hand, dismissive. “You didn’tsayanything, but I could tell you disapproved of all this.” Her next wave was an elegant flick of her fingers that encompassed the pub, the Hall, the club itself. “That little tight, pretend smile. I’ve always wondered about the women who attach themselves to one of these boys. Is it the thrill? Do they like the danger? Were their lives before absolute shit? Blinded by love? I don’t know. Maybe some combination, maybe none of the above. But you.” She aimed one manicured black nail at Eden’s face. “You weren’t comfortable. It was never going to last with you and Charlie.”

A slow numbness was creeping over her, replacing the layers of worry. She and Raven had never been friends – and she wasn’t looking for that now – but this still stung, somehow. Hope, whatever tiny particle she’d harbored when she approached the table, bled out.

“Well,” she said, flat, “it didn’t, so you were right. Congratulations.”

Raven rolled her eyes, and it was oddly good-natured. “You don’t get it. I’m notgloating. Charlie needed a good influence in his life, God knows, and I think you probably were. But he also needs this club – his brothers, they all do. And you and he were never going to agree on that. So.” She shrugged. “It’s a shame, really, but an unavoidable one.”

Eden sighed, exhausted suddenly. She reached for her wine and took a healthy slug. “I was never going to…I wouldn’t have…”

Raven sent her ago onlook.

Why was this hard to say? It had been a long time, and she’d locked all those emotions up tight. The words should have come by rote. But still…

“I would never have hurt him like that,” she pushed, grinding her teeth a little. “I would never have done anything in a professional capacity to hurt Charlie, or the club. Please know that.”

Another eyebrow lift. “You want my good opinion.”

“I want to get this job done. And while I do it, I want to think that the people around me think I’m better than a traitorous spy.”

Raven snorted, coy now. “Oh, darling, I never thought that.”

But therein lay the problem: Eden had no idea what she thought.

~*~

There was one stool left, and Albie needed another whiskey, so he slid onto it without any thought for who he was sitting down beside. When he had his drink in-hand, he took a sip and glanced over to see that he was sitting next to Eden’s American assistant/getaway driver. Axelle. Two Es, two Ls.

A half-full pilsner glass of amber beer sat in front of her on the bar. She traced delicate fingertips through the condensation on the sides. Gaze unfocused, withdrawn.

Albie wasn’t curious about her. He was not, as a rule, curious about anyone. He had talents, and since those talents didn’t include small talk or getting along with strangers, he didn’t ever put much effort into those things.

He didn’t owe her an apology for involving her in something dangerous, because Eden was the one who’d done that.

She hadn’t turned to him, yet, which meant she either hadn’t noticed him, so lost in her own thoughts, or she didn’t want to notice him. Was ignoring him, even, because probably, like most sensible women, she didn’t want anything to do with an outlaw biker – least of all one who made furniture.

Also, none of that mattered, because he wasn’t one to go for blonds. Or women his own height, who could look him dead in the eye without craning their necks or standing up on their toes.

He had absolutely no reason to open his mouth and speak to this girl.

And yet…

“You’re not with the others?” he asked.

Because he was a fucking idiot.

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