Sexy as Sin

Cillian (9:15 am): Delete that shit right now.

Reed (9:16 am): Then let me come over. Fucking talk to me.

Cillian (9:18 am): Come over

* * *

The rustling by the sink brings my attention up to Kat. The morning light kisses her face through the kitchen window as she rinses off the pan. Her hips sway as she dries it. I must be addicted to her, because even with the world crashing down around us, all I want to do is lay her on the table and fuck her until she comes undone with my name on her lips.

“Reed’s coming over,” I speak out loud, if for no other reason than one of us will know we have company soon and I can’t strip her down unless we want to get caught.

Her hair falls down her shoulder, exposing the thin strap to her satin nightie. “Right now?” she questions in a breathy voice and it’s only then I realize she may want to change. The fabric is thin and as my gaze drops to her chest, I note her nipples are pebbled.

“Yeah, you may want to change,” I comment as I lift the cup of coffee to my lips. I’m not given a chance to take a sip, though.

The knock at the front door is followed immediately with him opening it. “It’s me,” he calls out before shutting it. We can only hear him as I answer that we’re in the kitchen.

When he comes into view, it’s obvious he didn’t sleep for shit. His clothes are rumpled and the bags under his eyes add to the pathetic demeanor. The sight of him is exactly what women must see when they say he looks like a lost puppy.

“Hey.” Reed’s greeting is complete with a nervous swallow. My entire body tenses but I tell him hey in return. I don’t know if the man standing in front of me is my best friend or a fucking traitor.

He glances at Kat and respectfully averts his gaze to me, leaving her standing in the corner of the kitchen as he takes the closest seat which puts him straight across from me at the table and her at his left.

“You want coffee?” Kat asks and Reed nods, his gaze focused on the wilting flowers in the center of the table. With a deep breath in he gets right to the point. “It had to be a setup.”

“Who? Who would have even known I was heading in?”

“It could have been me they were setting up,” Reed offers but then hesitantly looks over his shoulder at Kat, still standing in the corner of the kitchen by the sink. Watching silently.

“Back when Missy—”

“Don’t bring up her name,” I say, cutting him off as my voice drops deathly low. Just the mention of Missy, a woman who was like a second mother to me, the woman who kept the club together and then ratted, makes my blood boil.

Reed is silent, staring back at me like he has something to say. He doesn’t say a word, though. “Who could be the leak? Who’s the rat now?”

“They’re saying it’s Kat, but I don’t think it is.”

“Who the fuck is saying it’s her?”

“Me?” Kat’s tone echoes both disbelief and fear. “I wouldn’t dare,” she says, barely getting out the choked words.

“Who the fuck said it’s Kat?” I say harsher, slamming my fist down to get their attention.

Reed looks me dead in the eye when he tells me, “Your uncle.”

“Fucking hell,” I say, gritting the words between clenched teeth. Everything runs cold and I look up at Kat to find her expression fallen and true fear in her gorgeous eyes.

“I’ll kill them before they think to say that shit again … let alone touch you.”

“It’s not her,” Reed says and then glances up at Kat to add, “I know it’s not you. We all know you wouldn’t.”

“Then why the fuck was her name even mentioned?” The cords in Reed’s throat tighten as he swallows. “Is it because of her father?” I ask, my anger barely contained. Before I can help myself, before Reed can even answer, my decision to go back there is final. Leaning over the table, I stare down Reed and ask, “How did you let this happen?”

“I think maybe you should calm—”

As my fist slams down on the table, I can feel the rage boiling. I’ve always had anger issues, my pops used to say I was temperamental. Prison only made that worse.

“They turned their backs on her the moment I left.” I still have the ring I was going to give her. The memory of it only makes the pain worse. “It’s a betrayal and it needs to be dealt with.”

“Cill, it’s—”

“We’re going back,” I say and my tone holds no room for negotiation as I meet each of their gazes. It doesn’t escape me that there’s worry buried inside each of them. When did conversations about the club get met with fear? “We’re going back.” It takes everything in me to keep my voice calm and lower it to add, “We’re going to do another vote and I’m going to put it all back to the way it was.”