Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Quinley smiled, putting a hand to her stomach. “Oh, a black-foot can never eat too much.”
Valentina barked a light laugh and disappeared.
Raya looked at Quinley. “You’re competing in a hamburger eat-off? With who?”
“Valentina’s son, Alex. Like her, he’s a wolverine.”
“Which means there is a chance he’ll win,” said Isaiah. Every head at the table swung his way and treated him with a pitying look. He lifted his shoulders. “What?”
They only sighed.
Isaiah went back to his meal, his hackles lowering now that Adaline had calmed down. He got that she was concerned for her sister, and he understood why she’d be so upset on hearing what had happened—she wasn’t the only one. But he didn’t like her taking any of that out on Quinley.
His cat, equally annoyed by it, would have swiped a paw at Adaline if Isaiah had allowed him to shift and warn her off. Though she’d now eased back, the feline still watched her closely.
Thankfully, though, the rest of the meal went smoothly. Everyone enjoyed their food, and his mate’s family suggested they eat at the diner again soon. Afterward, they walked back to the cul-de-sac, where both sisters had parked their cars.
Quinley wasn’t content to merely wave goodbye to her nephews, she grabbed them both, pulled them into a huge hug, and peppered their faces with kisses. He liked watching her with her nephews. She was so good with them, and he could all too easily imagine her with their own children.
After waving off her family, he and Quinley went inside the house. They spent a couple of hours lounging around, watching TV. And, in her case, snacking.
It was just as their movie finished that his cell rang. “It’s Tate,” he said as he looked at the screen of his phone.
“He probably wants to discuss enforcer stuff,” Quinley predicted, pushing off the sofa. “I’ll let my cat out for a run while you two talk.”
Isaiah frowned at her back. “Don’t let her go far,” he said even as he pressed the “answer” button on his phone.
“I won’t,” Quinley promised, heading for the rear patio doors. “She’ll stick to the backyard.”
Snorting, Isaiah put the phone to his ear. “Yeah?”
“Why did you just snort?” asked Tate.
“Because Quinley assured me that her cat wouldn’t go further than the backyard.”
An equally dubious snort came out of the Alpha. They both knew that her cat considered every backyard in the cul-de-sac to be an extension of her own. She wouldn’t pass the rear perimeter of any fence, but she would hop from yard to yard.
As always, it would annoy their neighbors that her cat had the nerve to prowl along their fences while looking them dead in the eye. These days, though, they didn’t try chasing her off. Partly because they liked Quinley too much to get annoyed by her cat’s antics at this point. But also because they didn’t want to find more icky “gifts” in their house.
Tate went on to relay several pride matters—some minor, some more serious. It was his way of ensuring that Isaiah still felt a close and vital part of the inner circle regardless of how he no longer spent as much time with the Alphas. Isaiah appreciated it.
After twenty minutes or so, the conversation reached its end. There was no sign of Quinley yet, though. Isaiah was about to go outside and release his own cat so that the animals could have some quality time together, but then his phone beeped. He saw that it was a message from Havana: Zaire’s back.
Feeling his jaw harden, Isaiah strode to his front window. Sure enough, the black-foot stood near the bottom of the driveway arguing with Tate, who was flanked by Farrell and JP.
Isaiah’s cat jumped to his feet, his fur puffing up in anger. Spitting out several curses, Isaiah headed outside, slamming the door closed behind him. He’d seriously had enough of this motherfucker.
Zaire’s gaze zipped his way at the slamming of the door. He rounded on Isaiah, his eyes whirling orbs of fury. “She was shot again? I overheard what happened, I couldn’t goddamn believe it had occurred a second time! You’re supposed to keep her safe!”
“Calm the fuck down,” clipped Tate.
Zaire scowled. “You expect me to be calm?”
Shaking his head in disbelief, Isaiah said, “You have got some real fucking nerve to act like Quinley’s wellbeing means anything to you.” It was honestly astounding.
Zaire actually appeared offended—which was quite frankly just as astounding. “Of course it’s important!”
“Yeah?” Isaiah squinted. “For years she dealt with all kinds of bullshit when part of the Crimson Pride. Everyone knew you’d one day rule it alongside Nazra; you had enough influence over them that you could have made it all stop. But you did jack.”
Zaire snapped his mouth shut, visibly floundering. “I told people that the rumors weren’t true.”