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The sound of the rumbling engines increased before they pulled into the drive.
A minute later, the side door burst open and they stomped into the kitchen.
Silas in the lead, Trevan right behind.
Those warm eyes of his found her. A soft glint of life flickered in them when Trevan found her at the table.
Her stomach somersaulted.
She bit down on her bottom lip to try to school the reaction.
She knew she wasn’t supposed to feel what she was feeling. Knew she shouldn’t watch him the way she’d been watching him. Knew every element of her being shouldn’t rise to attention whenever he walked in.
She just couldn’t help it.
It was simple physics, she guessed.
The connection, the bond they’d always shared changing in her.
Not in him, though. He always looked at her like she was his little sister, even though there was a special ferocity woven into it.
Something she could feel simmering in the periphery of who they were.
“There are my two ragamuffins.” Meems exclaimed it like they were little boys and not criminals.
Silas huffed as he strode across the kitchen in his work boots and pecked a kiss onto her cheek. “Ragamuffin, huh?”
“That’s right. A little scoundrel who’s good to the bone, and it’s high time he sees it.” Meems had been pressing it. Begging for Silas and Trevan to change. To stop the path they were following.
Discomfort trickled through Elena. She couldn’t picture it. Them doing the awful things the rumors claimed. It wasn’t like she hadn’t spent an inordinate amount of time scouring the internet for everything she could find out about the Iron Owls MC.
They were supposed to be the worst of the worst.
Violent and deranged and involved in the most horrible of acts.
Silas shielded her and Brody from it like they wouldn’t see through to his double life. Treated her as if she was just a child without a clue.
Hell, he kept her so locked down tight that she attended high school online. Her senior year had been spent right here at this table.
But she knew.
Trevan shuffled up behind her. She struggled to breathe as he looked down over her shoulder.
“Physics, huh? Brutal.”
“The brutalist.”
His chuckle was low. Skimming down her neck and lifting gooseflesh. “Nothing too brutal for you, Little Apple. Know you’ve got it. Smart as a fuckin’ tack.”
“Language,” Meems scolded, and Trevan edged back with a cringe and a laugh.
He sauntered over to their grandmother and planted a kiss on her head. “Sorry, Meems. Meant no disrespect.”
“No, I’m sure you don’t. Don’t suspect either of you do, but you can’t go on ignoring it, either. Gotta follow those hearts.”
Another subterfuge message.
Silas flinched, moved to the sink and filled a glass with water. Chugged the entire thing down.
