Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Wrath hooks an arm around my waist and jerks me to his side.
“Lean on me,” he grunts.
I drape my arm over his shoulders, careful not to twist the wrong way. “You know, this might be easier if you carried me up bridal-style.” I fight to keep a grin off my face.
“It’d be easiest to leave you outside in the parking lot.” He nods. “Let’s go. One at time.”
We take the stairs slow. My leg throbs with every step, but Wrath’s bulk makes a solid wall to lean against and he’s surprisingly patient.
Not sure if I’m grateful for the help or annoyed for needing it.
“Awww, you two are the cutest,” Murphy snarks from below.
I pause at the second-floor landing, catching my breath.
Murphy jogs up the stairs like he’s Rocky, just to show off.
“Careful, ginger, or I’m gonna toss you right back down those stairs,” Wrath warns.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you carried him?” Murphy grins and holds out his arms like he’s cradling a baby.
Wrath shoves his shoulder, sending him ahead of us.
“No playing on the stairs,” Margot calls out from below.
Behind her, Rooster’s laughing.
She hurries up to meet us. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I gesture between Wrath and Murphy. “They were deciding who’s going to carry me the rest of the way.”
She snorts and crouches beside me, gently lifting the leg of my shorts to check the bandage. “So far, so good. But I grabbed extra supplies in case you pop a stitch.”
“Thanks.” I wave toward the stairs. “Can everyone else move ahead instead of gawking at me?”
Margot trails her fingers against the back of my knee, just a second, but it sends a pleasurable shiver over my skin, motivating me to move my ass.
She stands and tucks her hair behind her ear, maneuvering around us. “I’ll get the door.”
Murphy follows her, but Rooster lingers, keeping a few steps behind Wrath and me—backup in case I go tumbling down the stairs or something.
After what feels like a three-mile climb on one leg, we finally reach the top. That tug-and-pull sensation from earlier has graduated into a deep, grinding throb that sets my teeth on edge.
“Fuck,” I mutter, drawing in a ragged breath. “That sucked ass.”
Inside Margot’s apartment, Murphy’s already sitting at one of the stools at the counter.
“Make yourself at home, jolly ginger,” I grumble, kicking off the Crocs and hobbling over to claim the other stool.
He spins and flashes a smug grin. “Margot actually made us bread.”
“What?” I lower myself slowly, careful not to jolt my leg.
Margot turns, all sweetness and sheepish smiles. “Well, I didn’t know the intense turn the evening was going to take.” She stares pointedly at my outstretched leg.
Sure. Me getting stabbed is clearly the shocking part of the evening. Not her calmly slitting a man’s throat in front of my brothers.
“I thought it’d be funny,” she explains, lifting the lid on what looks like a small stainless steel spaceship. “Since Jigsaw’s code was using the oven to bake some bread.” She slips on potholders and wrangles a silver pan out of the machine. “If I actually made bread.”
Murphy leans in like a kid watching a magic trick, grinning from ear to ear as she flips the loaf onto a cutting board.
Margot glances up, her gaze flicking between Wrath and Rooster. A faint blush creeps into her cheeks. “Sorry I don’t have more chairs.”
Rooster lifts a hand in a don’t-worry-about-it wave.
“We’re good,” Wrath says, angling his head to get a better look at the bread.
Margot tilts her head, checking the apartment door. “Where’s Rock?”
“Waiting in the van.” Murphy checks his phone. “We better hurry.”
“Take this to go, then.” Margot drapes a towel over the loaf and slices through it slowly with a long, serrated knife. Each slice peels away from the blade, soft and steaming.
My mouth waters. Can’t remember the last time I had bread fresh out of the oven. The scent alone’s enough to make me forget about the throbbing in my leg.
“Hey, kitty,” Rooster calls in a hushed voice.
Gretel hisses her displeasure and slinks around the corner, belly nearly scraping the floor, tail tucked tight and ears flat. She darts a suspicious glare toward Wrath, then Murphy, then makes a beeline for me.
“C’mere, girl,” I murmur.
She sniffs at my foot, her whiskers tickling my ankle. With a pained grunt, I lean down and scoop her up. My thigh protests the motion with a sharp twinge.
She headbutts my chin once, then freezes, eyes sharp and alert, her head darting from side to side as she scans the room. No motorboat purring tonight. Just coiled tension and twitching ears.
Wrath jams his hands in his pockets and ducks his head, a smirk forming on his lips. “You have a black cat, Margot?”
If he brings up the Virginia charter’s pussy patch challenge, I’m going to push him down those three flights of stairs.