Page 125 of Say My Name

“What happened?” Roman grits out from the other end of the table.

“Nothing.”

“Dammit, Greer. Can you answer me? What happened?” Roman looks downright scary at his end of the table. His hands are balled into fists and his mouth scowls at Greer.

“If something happened, you need to tell us,” Devereaux says.

Greer sets her cutlery down. “Fine,” she huffs out. “It’s not a big deal, but there’s been letters.”

“Letters?” Roman asks.

“A few threatening hate letters.”

“Fuck.” Roman stands and heads into the house.

“You can’t hide these things from us,” Devereaux says to Greer. “How can we protect you if you’re keeping things from us?”

Greer kneads her hands together. “I’m sorry.” She scoots her chair back. “Maybe I should apologize to Roman.”

Devereaux nods and as soon as Greer follows Roman into the house, I let out a deep breath.

“Do you think the person sending the letters will act on their threats?”

“I don’t know. The Chekov’s and Ivanov’s are at war.”

“They’re bad news?” I ask, even though I know the answer to the question. It doesn’t take a cop to know that the Russian mob’s presence in Saint Pierce is one to be feared at all costs.

Devereaux places a hand on my thigh. “Very.”

Roman and Greer return and take their seats.

“I’ll be following Greer around,” Roman says as he places two pieces of toast on his plate.

Greer sighs. “You really don’t need to do that.”

Roman smiles at her. “Yes, I do.”

Greer quickly looks away from Roman and focuses her attention on me. “So, Chloe. Please tell us all about yourself.”

It’s my turn to fidget at her attempt to lighten the mood. “There’s really not much to tell. Moved here from Hanover, and I’m just looking to work my way up at Club Greed.”

Ledger and Roman raise a brow at me.

“Not like that,” I say, hoping the implication of me looking to sleep my way to the top isn’t what Devereaux thinks I’m doing.

Devereaux’s hand traces higher up my thigh. “I have some ways you can work your way up.”

My mouth falls open. “I can’t believe you just said that.” My cheeks flame, but I love the feel of Devereaux’s grip on my leg. So possessive. Like he’s secretly claiming me in front of everyone.

It feels forbidden.

It’s a game I like playing, so I spread my legs, confident no one knows what’s happening under the table. His hand slips under my dress, and I can barely focus on the food or conversation around me.

Devereaux keeps up with the flow of conversation like a champion, like sliding his hand into my panties at brunch is no big deal. Like this is an everyday thing.

My cheeks flame red hot and I can’t do this here in front of everyone.

“Excuse me,” I say and rush from the table.

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