Sterling (Carolina Reapers 6)

“Great,” I said, shaking my head. “Wish me luck.” I turned for her door, closing it softly behind me.

I sure as hell was going to need it.

Caspian’s home in Reaper Village was finally starting to look the part. Pictures of our family in various stages over the years decorated the halls, and he’d had someone come in and decorate for him because I knew he was clueless when it came to selecting furniture. But the home was full of carefully selected pieces, all looking so Caz that I wondered who he hired. The person obviously was an expert.

I made my way through the house, waving to Langley and Persephone who lounged in the front room with their hulking husbands. The sliding glass door to the backyard was open, happy voices filtering inside from half the Reapers who dominated the space.

It didn’t take more than thirty seconds to spot him.

Looking ten degrees of amazing in a pair of jeans and a white thermal, he chatted with Briggs and Demon across the yard. I was surprised I managed to stop to chat with Caz—who stood before the grill—when everything in my body begged me to run across the yard and demand Jansen to talk to me.

Luckily, I maintained some shred of dignity. “Smells good, brother,” I said, patting his back as he flipped a half dozen steaks on the grates.

He wrapped me in a quick side hug. “I’m a master chef,” he said, then waved his tongs toward the tables on the other side of the patio. Each one was piled high with side dishes, drinks, and desserts. “Help yourself,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said, but my mind was so not on food.

Or my brother, for that matter.

They were on the man who was now staring at me from across the yard.

Those crushing blue eyes had the ability to shred me or save me.

Now or never.

I straightened my spine and headed his direction.

It’s fine.

Whatever he says will be fine.

I tried to grill the notion into my head, but I couldn’t stop my heart from trembling as I stopped before him.

“Hi,” I said, and the look he gave me…

God, the man had some nerve to look at me like that. Like he didn’t have a clue why I was seeking him out.

“How’s it going?” I tried again.

Brigg’s brows raised when Sterling didn’t say anything, and I flashed him an apologetic look. Because you know what?

Fuck. This.

I boldly reached out and grabbed Jansen’s arm, tugging him in the opposite direction. I knew full well if he didn’t want to follow me, he wouldn’t. But he did.

“I’m going to steal him for a minute,” I called over my shoulder to Briggs, who waved me off with the beer in his hand.

I traveled around the side of the house, opening the gate and passing through it. Jansen shut it behind us, and I nearly groaned when I spotted at least four more Reapers and their dates hanging out on the front porch. Worrying my bottom lip between my teeth, I spun to face him. “Where can we go to talk that won’t be overhead by the entire team?”

Something cracked in his steely gaze—maybe it was the wild desperation in my voice. He cocked a brow and pointed at a house just down the street. “I live two houses down.”

My jaw dropped. How had I not known that? “You live—” I cut myself off, shaking my head. I grabbed his arm again, hauling him to the home he’d pointed at. If any of the Reapers saw or cared, they didn’t let on.

Jansen quickly opened his front door, laughing under his breath as I hauled him inside his own place.

“You have to stop dragging me places,” he said, but there was the familiar tease I knew and loved in his tone.

“Well, you always come so…” My eyes widened as the words left my mouth, and I cringed slightly as I stopped inside his entryway.

“I think you mean I always deliver,” he fired back, tossing his keys onto a small wooden table tucked up against the main hallway wall.

Heat flushed my cheeks. I couldn’t argue with him. Couldn’t fire back some well-thought retort. I had no doubt Jansen always delivered. I was still reeling from the aftermath of what he’d done to me.

I glanced around his home, noting how the model was similar to Caz’s in build, but not in style. Where Caz had carefully selected pieces by someone who obviously knew what they were doing, Jansen’s home was filled with things that looked like him. Clean, comfy couches, rich wooden shelves, crisp paint. A complex collection of sharps and softs that was as exciting as it was inviting.

And it smelled like him. All mandarin and sage and God, why had I asked to come here?

“Your home is beautiful,” I said, folding my arms over my chest as we lingered in his entryway. A set of stairs rested just to my left, and I shivered at the idea of his bedroom being just up them.