Throne of Scars (Lost Kings MC 20)
“Oh, right.” Her voice quivers with a lack of enthusiasm.
“You’ll go with me, right?”
“To be your cover?”
“No. I want my woman by my side.”
She stabs her fork into a piece of pasta over and over. “Are you sure about that?”
“Serena, look at me.”
After a few beats of hesitation, she lifts her gaze.
“We already talked about this. Yes, I want you with me.”
“Okay. Then I’ll go.”
Now I feel like an asshole. I’d only been thinking about making sure no one disrespects her at the club. I hadn’t really thought about how uncomfortable it might make her to visit downstate. “Everyone will know you’re with me.”
“Do you think your parole officer will check up on where you’re staying?”
I’d been contemplating the same thing. “She might.”
“How about this, you tell me what weekend we’re going,” she suggests. “And I’ll find a place and make a reservation. We can stop there on the way down and check in. Make sure people see us. Then stop on the way back and check out.” Her eyes sparkle with excitement. “We can allude to staying in bed all weekend and that’s why no one saw us.”
“That sounds like a better trip.”
Her gaze skips away as if she agrees but doesn’t want me to know it. “Maybe next time.”
“No maybe about it. We’ll go somewhere just the two of us. Soon, I promise.” It’s a promise I intend to keep.
“I, uh, still want to keep this quiet, though,” she says, rubbing her stomach. “For now.”
Why the fuck does that bug me so damn much? It’s news I’d like to celebrate. But since I’m dragging her someplace I know damn well she doesn’t want to go, I won’t do anything to make her more uncomfortable. “Sure we can do that. Whenever you think the time is right,” I agree, even though it feels wrong.
Chapter Eighteen
Serena
Bliss is found in unexpected moments.
The buzz of a lawn mower prods my sleepy brain awake Sunday morning. I stretch and roll over to grab my phone. Nothing from Gray. He’s always worried he’ll wake me up.
Me: Good morning!
I wait a few seconds. No reply.
Stop being so needy, Serena. I throw the covers back and shuffle across the hallway to the bathroom. After that, I toss on an old sweatshirt, a thick pair of fluffy socks, twist all my hair into a knot on top of my head and pad downstairs.
On my way into the kitchen, I spot Emily at one of the front windows. She has one finger hooked in the drape, slyly pulling it aside to create enough space to peek through.
“What are you doing, Em?” I yawn as I change course and head toward her.
“Huh? What?” She jumps away from the window. “Nothing. Why? What’s up?”
Okay, that’s a weird morning greeting from Emily. “Why are you being weird?”
The lawn mower buzz increases in volume, then fades.
“Ohhh!” I draw out the sound to a naughty pitch. “Did you hire a hunky gardener to drool over?”
“What? No!” She takes a sip of her tea, trying to act casual, but her gaze wanders toward the window again.
Forget water and food, I have to find out what has her so frazzled. “No? Then why are you blushing and all worked up?”
She pats her cheeks. “I’m not worked up. Stop it.”
“You are.” I dash for the front door and yank it open.
At first, I don’t see anything or anyone. Only the drone of a small engine. But as the volume increases, a wide, yellow machine comes into view, followed by the shirtless man pushing it. Dex.
“He has quite a bit of ink hiding under his shirt,” Emily says, stepping up behind me. She taps my shoulder and cranes her neck to gain a better view.
“I’m not surprised.” Pleased I solved the mystery, I close the door and attempt to unravel my next morning mystery. “Why is Dex mowing your lawn?”
“Gray wanted to give me money.” She shrugs. “To cover rent for you, I guess.”
“Aw, really?”
“Yeah, made me feel sort of shitty for being mean to him.”
“Pulling a gun on him,” I correct.
“Po-tay-toes, po-tah-toes.” She flicks her fingers to the side. “I can’t take money from your boyfriend. That’s weird. But he insisted he wanted to do something and asked what I needed.”
Warm fuzzies stir over my skin. That sounds like my Grayson.
“I asked him if he knew someone who could do the lawn because Libby and I hate doing it. I thought he’d recommend someone, not come over with his friends and do it personally.”
“Wait, he’s here too?” My heart rate speeds up.
She tilts her head. “He’s out back working on the hedges.”
“Oh, dammit.” I hurry toward the kitchen. “He can’t be doing that. I don’t want him to re-injure his shoulder.”
I burst through the back door where the fast whine of a small engine greets me.
To my relief, Gray isn’t the one trimming the hedges. He’s supervising two younger guys—one I recognize as Remy. Gray’s wearing earmuffs, so I wave to get his attention.