"They broke your rules, Hades. Publicly." As if I needed the reminder.
I shot him a glare as we strode across the shadowed park grounds toward the training building. "I'm well aware, Zed. They need to be punished for fighting in a neutral zone, but I just don't think I can afford to kill them."
Zed grunted. "Agreed. Fucking bastards couldn't have picked a better time to start this shit."
My thoughts exactly. With an internal sigh, I pushed open the door to the training room and pulled on my hardened face of death.
Cass and the four Reapers who'd been involved in the fight were waiting for me in the middle of the padded floor and I had to commend them for not flinching away from my cool gaze as I approached.
I stopped at the edge of the mats, not wanting to risk walking on the padding in my heels and possibly breaking an ankle. Cass met my stare and tilted his chin up in invitation like he was telling me to get on with it and make it quick.
Fucker thought I was going to shoot him and wasn't even scared.
I let the silence sit between us for a long, tense moment, and one of the Reapers shifted his weight uncomfortably.
"You're being taxed forty percent for the next four months. Ten percent and one month per infraction," I announced, my voice bouncing ominously off the walls of the vast room. "You can go."
The four bruised-up Reapers hesitated, giving Cass uncertain looks, but I was in no mood to be questioned.
"I said go," I snapped, my eyes narrowing at the gangsters in fury.
This time, they did as they were told, mumbling apologies and promising it would never happen again. But Cass? Nope, he didn't move a muscle. He just stood there, stubborn as a damn mule, staring at me like he had something to say.
The door slammed after the fleeing Reapers, and I raised a brow at the infuriating shithead staring me down.
"Did I stutter, Cass? Or has your hearing gone in your old age?"
He grunted a sound of amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching, and he shifted his gaze to Zed at my side.
"Mind giving us a moment?" he rumbled the question to my second, but it really wasn't a question.
Zed scoffed. "Yeah. I mind."
A sly look crossed Cass's face. "You worried Hades can't handle herself against me? Sounds a whole lot like you're doubting her ability, Zed.”
Zed jerked in alarm, shooting a lightning fast look at me, then back at Cass. Talk about a catch-22—either concede to Cass's request and allow a momentary power shift between the two men... or undermine my authority by doubting my strength
"Zed," I said, sparing him the decision, "go and check on Vega. I'll meet you down there.”
The storeroom that my security would have the Death Squad secured in was one of many underground cellars that had been used to store props, machinery, stock... all sorts of crap when the property had been a functioning amusement park. We planned to seal up a lot of them, but occasionally they came in handy, like when I needed a holding cell for disobedient gangsters.
"Hades—" Zed started to say, then cut himself off with a sharp nod. "Understood, sir."
He hesitated a moment longer, like he had more to say, then stalked out of the training room with his spine rigid and left Cass and I totally alone.
"Well?" I prompted when the silence stretched. "In case you failed to notice, I'm a busy woman."
Cass's eyes narrowed, and he swiped a hand over his long stubble. "You don't want to ask if I had anything to do with Vega's shipment being stolen?"
"If I did, I wouldn't be letting you off with a tax." And he damn well knew it. But there was no way in hell the Reapers were starting a gang war right now, not while they were in the middle of a hostile takeover of the Wraiths, so I wasn't going to waste my breath questioning him over it.
I'd get all the information I needed from Vega directly.
Cass nodded, then reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a key. "Here," he said. "I picked this up for you."
I raised a brow at his extended hand but made no move to step closer and take it. My days of meeting Cass halfway—or more—were done. If he was trying to make some kind of weak peace attempt, he needed to try a hell of a lot harder.
With a frustrated sigh, he strode across the training mats until he was right in front of me, then took my hand, turned it over, and placed the key in my palm.
"Fat Bob needs some work, and you need something faster." He muttered the words like they were physically hurting him, and I looked down at the key with curiosity.
"You're giving me a new motorcycle?" I let out a sharp laugh, recognizing the Ducati badge on the key. "Seriously?"
His brow dipped deeper as he scowled down at me. He stood close enough that I needed to tip my head back to meet his gaze, and I caught the lightning-fast glance at the mark on my neck.
"Yes, seriously," he rumbled. "Call it an apology."
Now both my brows rose, and I shook my head slowly. "I can't think of anything that requires a new motorcycle as an apology, Cass. Unless you've broken any more of my rules that I'm not aware of?"
He scowled, not buying my bullshit. Not that I expected him to; my voice had been loaded with sarcasm as I'd said that.
"You're gonna make me spell it out?" he growled, frustration tightening his features. "Fine. I'm sorry. The way I spoke to you yesterday was unacceptable, and I..." He trailed off for a second, like he was searching for the right words. "I regret that choice."
Bitterness carried my tongue before I could hold it. "You seem to be regretting a lot of things lately, Cass. Maybe stop being a colossal cunt-plug in the first place, and you won't need to live with so many regrets." I held the key out to him, indicating that I didn't want it. "Take your guilt gift, and shove it up your tight ass, Cassiel Saint. I have no interest in being bought."
He just scowled harder and folded his arms over his chest.
Fucking hell. "What are you, twelve?" I rolled my eyes and stuffed the key back in his pocket myself when he refused to take it. "I've got places to be. Turn the lights off when you leave."
I spun on the toe of my shoe, my hair fanning out as I turned, then started stalking my irritated ass toward the door. Just when I thought Cass couldn't be more insulting, he tried to erase his poor behavior by buying me a bike? What the fuck even went on inside his head?
"Hades, wait," he called out after me, but I didn't take orders from him. So I barely even slowed my stride as I flipped him off and continued across the room. He caught up to me as I reached for the industrial bar handle, his own huge hand covering mine and holding it still. "Just... wait. Can we pretend for a minute like I didn't throw a live goddamn hand grenade at this thing between us yesterday?"
Well shit, now he had my attention.
"Sure, Cass," I replied with a wry, sarcastic laugh. "Let's pretend." My back was still to him, his hand over mine against the door, so I tugged my fingers free and turned around. "But let's get something perfectly clear. A couple of lukewarm kisses is not a thing between us."
His hand still braced against the door, he was right up in my personal space. I didn't even attempt to push him away, either. I was fucked up enough that his push-pull bullshit was actually keeping me interested, and I quietly loved having him looming over me close enough to kiss.