Oh, that was clever. From the way Maddox’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, he realizes exactly how clever. If he insists on staying, he’s effectively undermining me and saying he doesn’t believe I’m capable of doing the job they assigned me after Lammas. It wouldn’t even hurt my feelings; I’m the first to admit that Monroe really needs two handlers—or half a dozen. But Maddox is too good at balancing our people to ever pull a stunt like that. “You get an hour.”
“You’re a peach.” She snuggles closer to me, her breasts pressing against my arm.
I honestly can’t tell if Monroe is just this touchy of a person or if she uses physical contact to set people on edge. It could be both, honestly. All I know is that she’s always touching me. “Drop us at the Goat, please.”
“Will do.”
We cross the bridge back into Raider territory, and a little of the tension bleeds out of my body. No matter what Sabine Valley says about handfasting and Brides, I can’t quite believe the tentative peace is anything but an opportunity for someone ruthless and ambitious enough to break the rules. Three weeks isn’t nearly enough time to weed out potential issues in the Raider faction, but at least we’re making progress there.
In the Amazon faction?
Enemy territory doesn’t begin to cover it. Every single person I encounter is aware of what we took from them. Their heir, their spare, their queen’s beloved younger brother. They would like nothing more than to stick a knife between my ribs and leave me bleeding out on the sidewalk. They’d even do it, if not for the carefully balanced juggling act that Abel and the rest of the Paines have put into place. I don’t have to know every detail to know their entire plan rests on the assumption that Monroe and Fallon are more loyal to their family than they are to their faction. That they don’t believe in acceptable losses.
At least, acceptable losses that include their family members.
But will it continue to be so?
I have no idea.
And that keeps me up at night.
Chapter 5 Monroe
I fall in love with the Goat the moment we walk through the door. It’s a tiny bar with sticky floors, one dirty window, and a bartender who looks approximately five hundred years old. I had expected something else, with it being only one block off Old Town. That little neighborhood within the Raider faction is polished to a shine, ruled with an iron fist by the three families who own the majority of businesses contained in that three-by-seven block area. They arguably hold as much power as the Paine brothers, though they don’t bother with ruling overtly.
That shit would never fly in the Amazon faction.
But this place? It’s something else entirely. I allow Shiloh to lead the way to the bar and slide onto a stool. She looks as deliciously understated as always, wearing what I’ve come to recognize as her custom clothing and hairstyle. It’s a little plain, but I can appreciate a woman who knows what she likes and sticks to it.
I scoot my stool closer to hers just to see her narrow those pretty, hazel eyes. “Since we only have an hour, we’re going to make this count.”
“Monroe.”
I like the disapproving way she says my name. I’ve come to crave it more than I likely should during our time together. When I decided to seduce her to irritate Broderick, I never expected to enjoy her company so much. She’s not the little church mouse I first assumed. The woman has a spine of steel, and I haven’t managed to bend it even once since she became my glorified babysitter.
Ah well, I have a little over eleven months left. More than enough time. I catch Shiloh staring at my breasts when she thinks I’m not paying attention; she wants me. She doesn’t want to want me any more than Broderick does, but the desire is there all the same.
I glare at the scratched bar for a moment. Broderick. That damned coward has been avoiding me since Lammas. I’ve allowed it for the time being, but I’m over it now. Three weeks is more than long enough for everyone to settle into this new rhythm of life.
Now I’m going to blow this fragile peace all to hell.
I smile at the elderly bartender. She’s a tiny Black woman who’s mostly bald, except for a tuff of gray hair hovering around her head like a stormy cloud. She glares at me. “Well? What do you want?”
“I like her already,” I whisper to Shiloh.
“I’m old, but I hear just fine.” She snaps gnarled fingers at me. “Order or get out.”
“Three shots of tequila. Each.”
“Monroe.”
The old woman cackles. “Guess you’re not so worthless, after all.” She grabs a bottle of tequila and pours six messy shots while Shiloh looks on in horror.
“You drink,” I remind her.
“A beer is not three shots of tequila.”
“Aw, love.” I bump my shoulder against hers. “This is just the appetizer. I said we’re going to make it count, and we will.”
She looks like she wants to argue but finally sighs. “Either Maddox or someone will be here to pick us up in exactly an hour. Don’t get any funny ideas.”
“I’m full of funny ideas.” I nudge three of the shot glasses in her direction and pick up my first one. “Here’s to the heat. Not the heat that brings down barns and shanties, but the heat that brings down bras and panties.” I down my shot to the sound of the bartender laughing.
Shiloh takes her shot without so much as a wince. I knew I liked this woman. She shakes her head. “That’s a terrible toast.”
“Do me one better.”
“I will.” She licks her lips and picks up the second shot. “May you work like you don’t need the money, love like you’ve never been hurt, dance like no one is
