Every chair had a person, every corner . . . every wall . . . they were covered. Each of them belonged to either the Deep Shots or to the Badds. The ocean of faces was useless to me; I only knew a few.
Kain stood with his brothers. I also noted that while his sisters weren’t present, his mother was. She stood right behind Maverick in his recliner. My father was seated beside him, and right smack on the other side of the blue-eyed patriarch was someone I’d never met.
“Sammy,” my father said. “This is Frock Monroe, leader of the Deep Shots.”
Snap snap went my thoughts. Brick’s dad.
His attention hadn’t left me since I’d entered the room. This setting was supposed to be neutral ground. The Deep Shots wanted a white flag, to make it clear they’d had no part in the violent scene out on the road.
My dad motioned for me to come closer. Hesitantly I did, staring at Frock with mixed emotions. The red-bearded man leaned forward. His elbows rested on his knees, hands folded between them like he was praying. “You’re so much bigger than when I last saw you.”
Hairs lifted on my neck. “I’ve never met you before.”
Frock side eyed my dad. “You really did keep your family out of it.”
“Not entirely. My wife knew what I was involved in.”
Maverick shook his head in wonder. “I’m almost ashamed I didn’t realize it before. I know a thing or two about hiding an identity, and still, I never suspected that Sammy Sage was the daughter of The Bear—or that you were still alive, Bastian.”
The Bear? So that had been his alias. This was still too weird for me. Turning, I faced the leader of the gang my dad had apparently once run. “Your son tried to murder me. That’s all I know.”
Frock stretched toward me from his chair. “I want you to understand that I explicitly told Brick not to get involved with you.”
“You knew he wanted me dead?” I gasped.
“No. No.” His hands came up defensively. “I didn’t know his plans. I didn’t even know you were the girl he’d attacked. But I believed Kain when he came to our bar. His rage was real. So I told Brick, right after everyone was gone, to stop whatever the hell he was doing.” Shade crept into his pause. His tone was weaker now. “He didn’t listen.”
Confronted by a man that had lost his son, I struggled with a wave of sadness. “As awful as what he did was, I’m still sorry for your loss.”
Frock’s smile never touched his eyes. “Thank you.”
It was fleeting, but my father reached over to pat Frock on the knee. The other man gripped that hand, held it, and then they parted like seeds from a shedding dandelion.
Kain crossed the room, capturing my hand firmly in his. “Let’s get out of here.”
“That was all you needed me for?” I asked the room, resisting Kain.
Maverick breathed in deep, the buttons on his shirt straining. “No. Bastian,” he said to my father. “I wanted you here with Frock to discuss the future of the Deep Shots. The dissent in the ranks needs to be crushed right away.”
My dad said, “If you’re asking me to take over, I won’t. I’m done with that life.”
I was relieved to hear that. I wanted to hear more, but Kain was pushing me carefully toward the exit. He wasn’t interested in what this group would decide. Kain had been almost a hundred percent interested in one thing only these days.
Me.
“You know,” Kain said as we walked the bustling halls of his home. The place was full of all kinds of people now that Maverick wasn’t worried about some plot to harm anyone here. “Technically, you can step in if you want.”
My knees turned into cement, then quickly, so did the rest of me. Kain crushed my fingers. “Me? Why?”
“Your father was the leader,” he explained patiently. “He put Frock in charge when he left, but he was always viewed as the real leader—until his death. That was probably what began Brick’s madness, the fear he’d never get to control the Deep Shots if Bastian ever returned . . . or you did. But your father is here, he’s alive. And as his daughter, it’s your right.”
This revelation was almost laugh-worthy. Me? Lead a gang? I couldn’t stop it; I started giggling. “You’re joking. Do I look like I want to take over a group of crazy killers?”
“I’ll say this,” he replied, “I don’t want you to do it . . . but I don’t doubt at all that you could.”
I couldn’t blink. “What?”
“You’re a leader at heart. You’re tough, you don’t back down, and more than that, you take on the burden of everyone you want to help. You’re concerned about the people close to you. Combining that and your new ties to my family, and I think . . . in a way, you’d be perfect.”
Is he right? Compliments aside, there was more to controlling a group like this. People would be jealous of my power, I’d deal with threats and danger and a million other problems.
Kain brushed my fingertips.
But would it be much different than the danger of staying near Kain?
Gingerly, I clutched the bandages on my stomach. It had only been five days since my injury. The pain was a harsh reminder of this world I was dabbling in. Dabbling, I mused. I’ve been in with both feet first for a while.
I considered what I would say. “Gang Leader Sammy has a nice ring to it, in a twisted way.” With clear intention, I grasped Kain’s hand and held it. “I’m still adjusting to being near one group of crazy assholes. I think I’ll hold off from taking control of a second one.”
Kain didn’t laugh like I expected. Instead, he pushed me against a section of wallpaper. A maid who’d been rounding the corner saw us entwined; her face went red as she shuffled off.
She reminded me about what Fran had told me forever ago, the thing about their Badd Maids company. Maybe it was real after all. I wondered if that meant the girl was a real maid, a spy, or something else. Then Kain started nibbling my throat, and I stopped wondering anything at all.
There was still so much I wanted to learn about the Badds. The number of old secrets and bad blood ran deep. At least with an uneasy truce settling in, the Deep Shots would take a break from exacerbating those issues.
That meant I’d get some peaceful times with all of them.
With Kain.
Or at least . . .
That was what I hoped for.
“You know,” Francesca said, pointing a forkful of bank-breaking levels of salmon, “I was thinking.”
Thorne’s eyebrows rolled upward. “That’s surprising.”
She tossed the fork at him, and I lamented the waste of food. There’d been caviar wrapped up in the fish as well. “Shut up and listen,” she insisted, eyeing me closely. “It’s supposed to be very in for winter weddings, isn’t it?”
A flutter of paranoia moved through me. “Uh. Well, sure. I was actually thinking about my lineup for the season.” That thirty grand had gone a long way toward paying off my debt and giving me the breathing room for new dress designs.