King of Cups (Stormcloud Academy 2)

“You think,” he replied carefully, “we’re gonna have to neutralize him?”

“We might. But not now.”

“I mean, it might make sense to do it sooner rather than—”

“We don’t need that heat, Arvo. Not after all the shit that went down last year. The important thing is, I can’t have any surprises regarding that cocksucker.”

Arvo’s eyes narrowed and darkened, the way they always seemed to do when he got serious.

“You won’t,” he promised. “I’m on it.”

If I’d expected that pow wow to calm Biba down, I knew immediately after reentering the room that it hadn’t. She was sitting on the mattress, stewing.

“What’s the problem?” I asked. “The boys are on it. In twenty-four hours, this will be done.”

“That’s not the point.”

She was still staring at the floor, which pissed me off. I didn’t sign on for this: being stuck with a moody woman always in a fucking snit.

“Explain it,” I demanded. “Is this some point of pride?”

“If that’s what you want to call it. I don’t like having other people in my personal business, Zeph—especially Arvo. He gives me the fucking creeps with his . . . looks.”

I wanted to tell her to shut her trap, honestly. Arvo and Sol were going to work night and day to save her ass from prison, so maybe she should be a little grateful. After all, if she and Gail hadn’t been skulking around, sticking their noses where they shouldn’t, we probably wouldn’t be in this ridiculous position. Knowing what I knew about their fathers, I could only imagine the treachery they’d had in mind. I was raised on stories of Monforts and Quinns, of their self-righteous ways and how they’d interfered in the vital work of the Kings.

But screw it. Life is treachery. There is no grace to be had in this world, only safety through strength. Gail messed up; now she’s in a fucking urn. I only hoped Biba learned from her friend’s fate. She could be safe for the rest of her life, but she had to trust me.

Even so, I understood her. Pride is something I could relate to. God knows the Williams family had its share of skeletons, and we’d relied on some disgusting people to fix problems for us. It took deep inner fortitude to speak truthfully to the scum of the earth.

I sat behind Biba on the bed and began kneading her shoulders. For a moment, she tensed against my touch, but then she relaxed.

A good leader knows when it’s necessary to acquiesce to an unreasonable partner.

“It will be okay, Biba. It won’t be like this forever. Put yourself in my hands, and I will get you to safe harbors.”

“Promise?” she groaned.

“It’s what I do. In the meantime, you need to relax. Otherwise, you’ll drive yourself mad.”

My thumbs worked their way down from her shoulders, following her spine to the violin-string-tight muscles at the small of her back.

“That helps,” she breathed. “Ooh, that’s nice.”

Biba leaned back into me, letting her head loll on my shoulder. The scent of that familiar-yet-arousing citrus wash of hers filled my nostrils. A second later, I caught a whiff of something else. Earthy, tangy—the scent of arousal rising from between her legs.

“I know something else that will relax you.”

My left hand slipped between the folds of her blouse and took hold of her tit. It swelled with desire, capped with a hard, insistent nipple, which I pinched gently, yet hard enough to draw an excited gasp.

My other hand unsnapped the front of her jeans and dove without preamble down the front of her panties. Inside, it found a pussy drenched in anticipation.

“Oh, my god, yes,” she cried.

“I think you missed me last night.”

“I did—oh, yes, I did.”

“You won’t leave me again, will you?”