Page 30 of Sacrifice
"You're all betting on my sex life?"
"Love life," she corrects. "And yes. There's actually a pretty complex spreadsheet. Bodul's running it."
"I need new friends."
"You need to get laid. By Emil. Repeatedly and enthusiastically."
I flip her off and head for the shower, her laughter following me down the hall.
The shower does nothing to wash away my frustration, and by the time I'm dressed in jeans and a tank top—definitely not dressing up in case Emil's there—I've checked my phone three times.
Not for him.
Just... checking.
I kill a few hours cleaning my room, doing laundry, anything to avoid thinking about last night.
But when five o'clock rolls around, I can't put it off anymore.
The drive to the clubhouse usually calms me, windows down and music blasting, but tonight my nerves are shot.
I park next to Dad's bike, taking a moment to steel myself.
It's just family dinner.
Emil might not even be there. And if he is? I'll ignore him. Simple.
The clubhouse is busier than usual, more bikes in the lot, prospects stationed at the entrance, and is that—yeah, that's definitely a patrol walking the perimeter.
"Hey, Aren," I greet the prospect at the door. "Since when do we have door security for family dinner?"
He shifts uncomfortably. "Just following orders, ma'am."
Ma'am? Since when do prospects call me ma'am?
Inside, the common room is packed. Families everywhere, kids running around, women clustered in groups talking. It feels less like Saturday dinner and more like a lockdown.
"Saga!" Mom spots me from across the room, waving me over. She pulls me into a hug that lasts a beat too long. "How are you, sweetheart?"
"Fine, Mom. You?"
"Oh, you know. Busy with the shop." She pulls back, studying my face. "You look tired. Everything okay?"
"Just work stuff," I lie.
"Hmm." She doesn't look convinced, but lets it go. "Soren's outside with your father. He's excited to see you."
I make my way through the crowd, noting the tension under the surface.
Conversations are a little too quiet, laughter a little too forced.
Something's definitely going on.
I find Dad and Soren by the picnic tables, deep in conversation with Magnus and—fuck.
Emil.
He looks up as I approach, and that slow smirk spreads across his face. The one that makes me want to simultaneously slap him and—nope. Just slap him.
