Page 11 of Murder & Mayhem

I think it over for a second, appreciating that he thought to ask me first. “Yeah, I think that would be really good, actually.” I’m surprised I hadn’t thought of it. I’d feel a hell of a lot happier if I knew Luc could defend himself should something happen when I’m not around or if one of the kids can’t get to him in time. I pause at the entrance to the back hallway and turn to face him. “But, no pit fights, cage fights, or any other type of unsanctioned whatever-you-called-it fighting.”

“Deal,” he agrees immediately, grinning. “There’s no way Cain would allow that anyway at his age.”

It’s something Jon has mentioned to me before. At the time, I couldn’t understand why Cain would put such a rule in place. I’d ignorantly assumed that if the kids were as good as Jon claimed they were, Cain would want them in the fights to help bring in more money for the club. But now I can see it for what it was. Cain was providing these kids with a place where they could feel safe but where they could also be themselves. Having watched several of them in the ring, I’ve seen firsthand how much each of them craves the adrenaline rush that comes from a fight. Cain offered them that, within as safe of an environment as he could. What does that say about Cain, that he willingly brought in these lost, damaged kids and built the perfect sanctuary for them?

Not wanting to analyze it too closely—because it might mean, beneath that barbed exterior, Cain might have a heart after all—I dislodge that train of thought and give a brisk nod of farewell to Jon, assuming that he would be heading off to his room or something after our workout. So when he follows me down the back corridor instead, I pause. “Eh, what are you doing?”

His brows pull down in a frown. “Walking you to Cain’s office.”

“You really don’t have to do that. I know where it is, besides, I need a shower first.”

“No can do. Cain’s orders were for me to take you straight to him.”

My eyes widen in surprise as I gape at him. “So you’re basically planning on hand-delivering me to him, like I’m a bouquet of flowers?”

He gives an unapologetic shrug. “Boss’s orders.”

“Yeah, yeah.” With a roll of my eyes and a heavier stomp to my steps, I head toward Cain’s office with my dutiful shadow behind me. Not bothering to knock on the door, I shove it open, ignoring Jon’s soft chuckle as I step inside.

Chapter 5

Both Reject leaders are waiting for me inside the office, but it’s Cain who garners my attention with his furious scowl. Whatever openness was in his eyes last night is long gone now, without the disinhibiting effects of weed and alcohol to soften him.

Well, fine. I can forget all about last night, too. “You summoned me,” I bite angrily at him, crossing my arms over my chest and raising a brow, ignoring how utterly delicious the two of them look. I’d almost think they dressed deliberately to try and distract me. In fact, perhaps that was Oliver’s intention. Where Cain is dressed in his usual all-black outfit of boots, jeans, and Henley, Oliver’s appearance is jarring. He looks like he’s just rolled out of bed—hell, maybe he did—with his mussed-up hair, low-slung gray sweatpants, and a loose-fitting t-shirt. Although I’ve seen just how toned he is, and with the knowledge of just how drool-worthy his chest and abs are underneath that top, it is definitely threatening to interfere with the attitude I’m throwing in Cain’s direction.

“What the hell is this I hear about you getting a job in one of Antonelli’s sex clubs?” Cain’s sharp tone drags my mind out of the gutter as I narrow my eyes on him in warning. I had planned to tell both of them about my plan today, but I guess we aren’t going to be discussing it like reasonable adults based on the anger radiating off of him.

“You hired me to do a job, so that’s what I’m doing,” I argue rationally. It’s not like I discuss the process with any other clients. However, I can safely admit that this isn’t like any other job I’ve taken on as the Reaper. I’m not even sure I can technically call it a job. It’s definitely notjusta job, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let either of them call the shots here. They sought me out for a reason—because they need me. Now, they are allowing their stupidly ingrained primal instinct to protect women—because, admittedly, they are relatively decent human beings—prevent them from thinking logically. But what they don’t realize is that my femininity is what makes me the perfect secret weapon.

“How did you even manage to get a job in one of their clubs?” Cain asks incredulously. His lack of faith in me is offensive. He’s the one that hounded me for the Reaper’s identity, and here he is, treating me like a weak little girl who needs protecting instead of the feared Reaper that I am.

“I have my ways,” I respond vaguely, with a tight smile. Enzo called me during work yesterday to let me know he’d secured me a job as a dancer at Belle Donne. “Iamthe Reaper, after all.” I sense Cain needs the reminder of just whom he’s dealing with. When we’re discussing business, it’s the Reaper he’s dealing with, not Red, the stripper.

“And what’s your big plan? How is shaking your ass on a stage going to get you closer to Giovanni or his men?” His words are an angry snarl that I seriously don’t appreciate.

I quirk an eyebrow in challenge. “I saw Dante there once. I’m ho—”

“Why the hell were you at an Antonelli Club?” Cain growls, cutting me off.

I grit my teeth, struggling to keep a lid on my own temper. How does this infuriating fuckwit always manage to make my blood pressure spike?! “I was there for a Reaper job,” I hiss out.

His lips purse in disapproval, but Oliver intervenes—always the peacekeeper. “What club?”

Ignoring Cain’s smoldering glower, I turn to give Oliver my attention. “Belle Donne. I start on Thursday.”

“We’ll need a copy of your schedule.” I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. “It’s non-negotiable, Red. I get that you’re used to working alone, but we’re a team when it comes to the Antonellis. That’s how the Rejects work, so while you’re in the club, wewillhave people keeping an eye on the place and ensuring you’re safe.”

My mouth opens and closes a few times as I struggle to find a response to that. Unable to think of a good excuse, and honestly a little relieved to know I won’t be all alone, especially since I won’t be able to carry any weapons on me when I’m up on stage, I eventually just nod in acceptance. “Okay, I’ll get you my schedule.”

I can still feel the tension radiating off Cain, but he has the good grace to keep his trap shut. Barely sparing him a glance, I sarcastically snap, “Are we done here? I could really do with a shower.”

My words seem to act as some sort of homing beacon as the two of them drop their gazes to rake over my body. Oliver’s eyes are molten heat, whereas Cain looks like he’s torn between being turned on or pissed off. My leggings cling to my legs and hips, my toned stomach on display, and when I glance down, I realize my stance with my arms across my chest pushes the girls together, basically begging for someone to motorboat them.

“Yeah,” Oliver responds, sounding a tad distracted as he cuts across Cain’s short fuse—which looks like it’s about to burn out. “We’re done.”

Nodding, I ignore the lick of heat fanning my skin as I exit the office, closing the door behind me. A second later, I hear the explosion from within the room. There’s the sound of something hard smacking against wood, and Cain growls, “Seriously, O? You’re just going to let her walk into enemy territory?”

“Cain,” Oliver sighs. “Isn’t that what we hired her to do? If she was a guy, you wouldn’t be thinking twice about it.”

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