Reckless Road (Torpedo Ink 5)

“Not yet,” Czar said. “One more thing. We can get to it fast, though, Steele. Code is overworked. He can’t get everything done, no matter how many computers he uses. He can have dozens searching for what we want or need, but he still has to program them and monitor them. He’s asked that we relieve him of the duty of treasurer. I propose we do so. Master is our resident wizard with numbers, and half the time he’s working with Code anyway. He can manage everything, decide our investments, and Code will still maneuver accounts when needed. Are any opposed?”

Czar looked around the table. “That’s it, then. Steele, you can have Delia escorted to the common room, and Absinthe, have Scarlet sit and visit with her. The two of you can vet her and make certain it’s safe for Breezy. Once that’s out of the way, we’ll all breathe easier.”

As they stood up, Alena touched the back of Destroyer’s hand. “I’m really sorry about Calina. We talked when we were children. She was fragile, but I didn’t realize . . .” She trailed off and turned her head away from him. “I feel bad that I judged you so harshly.”

“You were fragile as well, Alena. You were a child. We all were.” Destroyer shoved back the chair and spun around toward the door. “Thanks for fighting for me.”

FIVE

Player leaned against the wall of the empty building across from the grocery store, with most of his Torpedo Ink family hanging out with him. They’d come on the pretense of checking out the space in the building for Lana.

He glanced at her. At least he thought it was a pretense. Maybe not. He was so preoccupied with all the men crowding into the grocery store across the street that he wasn’t paying enough attention to Lana’s questions. She had declared her interest in deciding whether or not she wanted to set up a clothing store right there or somewhere else, or not at all.

Mostly, his brothers wanted to give him a bad time, not talk about space in buildings. Or, right at that moment, that was what it felt like to Player. Who knew there were even that many single men in the county who knew how to grocery shop? Or had heard about the new grocery store in Caspar? They certainly hadn’t been shopping there when Inez was running it.

He knew his brothers were teasing him—that’s what they did to one another to show support, most of the time. Just the fact that they were with him meant that what he wanted mattered, but his good mood had gone south when he saw the store was overrun by so many men. Some were actually shopping, or pretending to. Most were crowded around the counter where his woman—who didn’t have a clue she was already claimed—was happily chatting away with them while she rang up groceries.

Even from a distance and through the very clean storefront window, Player could see she was fast and efficient. He could also see one of the men was leaning far too close to her. The fuckin’ man was smooth too. A real snake. All melting charm. Probably didn’t swear. Certainly didn’t ride a Harley. Most likely owned the shiny black sports car parked right out front. Yeah, that was his ride. He was dressed in GQ clothing, not a hair out of place.

Player put a hand to his own wild hair. It was all over the place. It was long, and it fell past his shoulders in thick, out-of-control waves most of the time. It was light brown with what could pass for sun streaks but were really silver or gray. No one ever guessed that his childhood had put those strands of silver in his hair permanently. He rode a Harley, had a foul mouth and his colors were part of his soul. He was also a damn good shot with his gun. He could put a bullet right through that smiling mouth and take out those blinding white teeth.

“I thought you were here to be supportive, the way Ice was with Reaper when he was trying to win Anya. Or the way we all were with Ice when he was working to keep Soleil, but instead the lot of you are worthless. Go home.” He glared at them. His brothers. Wearing the colors and laughing at his predicament.

Yeah. He’d screwed up. Definitely. He was willing to own his mistakes. He’d hurt Zyah. She’d been crying when she left the clubhouse. Everything Code had uncovered about her had been good. He’d been a first-class bastard— inadvertently, mistakenly, but he’d been one all the same. He was totally willing to admit it and make amends.

Someone snickered. It sounded suspiciously like Maestro, but when he turned his head, Maestro was glaring at the sports car clown. For certain, Keys smirked. That was going to get him a beatdown because Player’s aggression toward perfect white teeth had to go somewhere.