“She hates being called chick,” I supply with a chuckle.
“Really helpful, Sparrow. Super fucking helpful.”
He asked. Not my fault he doesn’t like my answers.
“She tried to stab me in the balls,” he mutters. “Like I said. Bitch.”
“The chick went after mine, too.” A grin steals across my face. “I thought I was going to lose one of my nads. Maybe both. It was touch and go there for a bit.”
Sully scowls at me. “This shit isn’t going to work. I don’t like it.”
Sometimes Sully can be such a baby. He doesn’t like when Bryant keeps us tethered to him. He doesn’t like when Bryant sends us on jobs. He doesn’t want this life. Yet, he’s still here. Bitching about it every damn day to make me crazy.
Heathen makes a break, slipping from Sully’s grasp. I manage to grab the dirty beast before she escapes the tub, but not before earning myself the sharp end of her claws down my forearms.
A lot of cursing and struggling ensues, but we finally manage to get the cat washed and somewhat dried in a towel. The next time she makes her escape, we let her go. She bolts out of the bathroom and disappears, meowing loudly and in a way that sounds like a kitty version of a “fuck you both.”
We take a few minutes in silence to clean up our scratches before heading back to the living room. I’m a little surprised to see Scout’s made it home. What’s more surprising is that he’s sprawled out on the sofa on his side with a damp, purring cat curled up against his chest, staring at the double-sided custom quartz fireplace that’s lit and flickering despite the fact it’s like seventy degrees outside.
“Is that cat fucking purring?” Sully demands, slight outrage in his tone. “After I saved its damn life?”
Scout settles his palm on the bad cat’s back and strokes his fingers through its wet fur. The purring grows louder. “The cat is fucking purring,” Scout says in a mocking tone. “Don’t be mad, little bro.”
Sully’s not little and the same age as Scout, but his words always hit their intended mark, successfully rankling him. He flips Scout off before throwing himself into a recliner. His scowl is comical to me, reminding me of when we were little and he wouldn’t get his way.
Fuckin’ baby.
“You two look like twins,” Scout unhelpfully points out, darting his gaze between me and Sully’s matching outfits.
“We’re triplets, douchebag,” I grumble. “Just wait until it’s your turn to dress just like us. It’s kindergarten all over again.”
Scout’s features darken and my stomach tightens. Mentioning the way Mom used to love dressing us alike was probably a bad move. Triggering for damn sure. Sully stiffens uncomfortably. Neither of us are in the mood to stop a Scout psycho meltdown.
“Speaking of our job,” Scout says, speaking coolly as he glosses over my comment, steering the conversation to this bullshit Bryant signed us up for. “I went to mine today. I’m a pee-on associate a floor below the execs.”
I plop down on the end of the sofa, shoving Scout’s feet out of the way and shoot him an expectant look. “And? Learn anything useful?”
“So far, nothing.” He absently strokes the cat. “But, don’t worry, I’ll get there.”
His dark eyes glint in an evil way that never fails to unsettle me. Based on Sully’s silence, I’d say he feels the same. I’m secretly thankful Scout’s not going to be dealing with Landry. For one, she’d know something was up right away. At least me and Sully can pass for one another, but Scout?
Fuck no.
Neither of us is that insane and cold.
Plus, if he had to interact with Landry, he’d probably snap the first time she gave him lip. While I find it hot as hell, Scout will lose his mind. Then…
It will be Ash all over again. Our stepsister was supposed to be a game. We were to toy with her. Scout’s obsession changed everything. It took us to levels in a game we had no business playing.
If he were to zero in on Landry the way he did with Ash, it could fuck everything up. Last time nearly cost us our lives.
I catch Sully’s stare. He must read what’s on my mind because he offers me a slight nod. We need to keep this gig the way it is—Scout away from Landry so we don’t find ourselves repeating the past.
“I ordered some shit for Heathen,” Sully says, tossing his phone aside. “Maybe she’ll remember who saved her and reassess her loyalties.”
Heathen hisses at him.
What a bitch.
A loud bang in the hallway outside our apartment sends Heathen jolting from the couch and under a bookcase. In the next second, Scout flies off the couch toward the sound. It takes me a second to realize Scout has a black Glock in his hand to answer the door.