CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

The following afternoon, Quinley cast an affronted look at the female sitting across from her in the diner. “I don’t know why you keep glaring at me like that.” It wasn’t called for.

Adaline angrily plucked the shaker from the center of the table and sprinkled salt over her meal. “I specifically told you not to get shot again. I was very clear on that.”

Oh, well if she was clear on that …

“But did you listen to me? Noooo.” Adaline sprinkled a little salt over the twins’ fries and then put the shaker back down with a thump. “It really wasn’t too much to ask.”

Sigh. Of course, Quinley wasn’t at all surprised by Adaline’s behavior. She’d known that both her sisters would be furious on hearing of the second shooting. Adaline was prone to overreacting when super angry or extremely worried—the sniper incident was bound to make her feel both.

That was why Quinley had chosen to spill the news in public. Her oldest sister was less likely to wave her dramatic flag around if they weren’t alone. An obvious choice of location had been one of the pride-owned eateries, since it would be safer. So she’d invited her family to meet her and Isaiah at the diner, and they’d happily accepted the invitation.

While they’d waited in the wide booth for their orders to arrive, Quinley had brought them up to speed. She hadn’t had to be mindful of her wording for two reasons. One, the twins—who were snugly seated between their parents—wore headphones; their attention glued to the screen of their tablets. Two, because the only people around them were Olympus Pride members; there wasn’t a human in sight.

Her plan had proven to be a good one. Rather than flying off the handle, Adaline had instead spent a whole ten minutes stewing in silence. Meanwhile, the others had posed questions at both Quinley and Isaiah, looking for more information.

Apparently, Adaline’s period of silence was now over.

“You said it wouldn’t happen again,” the woman snapped. “I took you at your word.”

Quinley exchanged a look with Isaiah, who sat as close to her as it was possible to be without them sharing clothes. It was clear to see by the tight set of his jaw that he did not like her sister’s tone. Her inner cat wasn’t too fond of it either.

Neither were the nearby Olympus Pride members, if their impatient expressions were anything to go by. Adaline’s words were loud enough that they didn’t get lost beneath the squeaking of stools, the clinking of cutlery, the sizzling of meat, and the music playing low.

The diner was as busy as always. Some patrons sat at booths while others were positioned on stools at the long counter. Waitresses moved back and forth, the rubber soles of their pumps making slight squeaking sounds against the checkered tile floor. Various food smells dominated the space, particularly that of hot oil, coffee, and frying onions.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” clipped Adaline.

Will sighed at her. “You can’t actually hold her responsible for what happened, Ade.”

“Oh, I can.”

“Not rationally,” Quinley insisted, forking some coleslaw. “Look, I know you’re upset—”

“‘Upset’ is a minor word for what I’m feeling.” Adaline angrily bit into a slice of cucumber.

“But that doesn’t give you the right to speak to Quinley that way,” said Isaiah, his voice cool and calm and laced with a velvety warning.

Will predictably stiffened, his protective instincts ruffled. But he didn’t try defending Adaline, likely because he knew she was in the wrong.

“Yeah, you’re being a total drama queen, Ade,” said Lori, sitting beside Quinley as she dug into her spicy chili. “When Raya got shot by my cousin years ago, you held him accountable. Maybe do the same here with Quinley’s shooter.”

Adaline blinked, her brow wrinkling. “Raya was shot?”

On Lori’s other side, Raya gawked. “You don’t even remember? A serious thing like me once having a bullet in my back just slipped from your memory?”

Adaline spluttered. “No. It was just a long time ago.” She paused. “Right?”

Her jaw hard, Raya shook her head. “Oh my God, you don’t remember. See, you totally love Quinley more.”

“Would you stop with that shit? I love you both equally.”

“I don’t know how you manage to keep a straight face when you say that.”

Waving the comment off, Adaline looked at Isaiah. “I do thank you for playing a part in killing the bastard who held the gun, but I can’t deny being angry that Quinley hasn’t been better protected. I know that isn’t fair or rational—”

“Oh, now you know you’re being irrational?” asked Quinley.

“—it’s just how I feel,” said Adaline, ignoring her interruption. “Your pride is doing the best it can to locate the Vercetti Pack, I know. But they came at her twice, Isaiah. Twice. That’s, like …”

“Two times?” supplied Quinley.

“Unacceptable,” Adaline stated.

Setting down his iced water, he looked at Adaline soberly. “Trust me when I say you can’t make me feel more pissed at myself for that than I already do.”

Her brows snapping together, Quinley looked at him. “What? So now you’re both going to be irrational?” Her agitated cat whipped her tail. “You’re not at fault for them targeting me.”

“No, I’m not,” he allowed. “But I did know that I was bringing you into the pride at a dangerous time. I did it anyway.”

Oh, Lord. “There’s always some shit going down in the world of shifters. We’re never totally safe.”

“Which is why I wasn’t going to let the situation get in the way. But I could have at least warned you before we mated. I didn’t even do that much, not thinking they’d go after you.”

“Any such warning would have made no difference. I wouldn’t have considered it a reason to not take you as a mate. So unless you would have delayed things nonetheless, the result would be the same. And if you had needed such a delay, I would have chosen a different guy to ma—”

“We’re not going to talk about that,” Isaiah asserted, lowering his face closer to hers, possession etched into his features. That look made her cat all tingly.

“Okay. But you get my point.” Quinley paused to drink some milkshake through her straw. “I’d rather be in the sights of the Vercetti Pack than be all safe and sound while bound to a different male.”

His expression softening, he dabbed a kiss on her forehead. “I know you would. And I don’t regret that I claimed you. How could I? But I can still acknowledge that I was selfish to do so when I had the Vercetti Pack gunning for me.”

Sliding his headphones backwards so they were hooked around his nape, Ren lowered his half-eaten patty melt to his plate. “Dad, can you pass the ketchup?”

“Sure, son.” Will handed the condiment bottle to him. “Liking your food?”

There was a bubbly squirting sound as Ren squeezed red sauce onto his plate. “It meets with our approval.” He offered the condiment to Corey, who paused his movie.

“Boys,” began Adaline, her tone all maternal patience, “remember we spoke about how you don’t need to speak for each other?”

“We remember,” said Corey, heaping ketchup over his fries.

Adaline exchanged an exasperated glance with Will.

Lori gently bumped her shoulder into Quinley’s, saying, “Recommending the chili was a good shout, it’s amazing. I’d totally eat here again.”

Raya hummed. “Same. We should make it, like, a weekly family meetup. Only without Adaline.”

“Hey,” Adaline complained, her frown deepening when the boys giggled. She snatched one of Ren’s fries in retaliation, and the kid promptly coughed all over it. “Ew, no!” she groused, dumping it back on his plate.

Corey gave her the sweetest smile. “Mom, can me and Ren have a strawberry sundae for dessert?”

“Don’t ask on behalf of your brother. He might not want a strawberry sundae.”

“I do,” Ren told her.

“Well, you coughed on me, so you don’t get one,” she teased.

“Speaking of desserts,” Raya piped up, “I’m so having pie after this. Maybe blueberry. Or lemon meringue. Maybe both.”

Right then, a figure appeared at the table. “Ah, Quinley, such cute little boys,” said Valentina. “These are your nephews, yes?”

“They are,” Quinley confirmed, smiling. “I tried introducing them to you at the party in the Tavern weeks ago, but they frequently disappeared to the arcade area.”

“What are your names?” the wolverine asked them.

Ren pointed at his brother and said, “He’s Corey.”

“That’s Ren,” Corey told her, tipping his head at his twin.

“I am Valentina. How old are you?”

“Eight,” they replied at once.

“And you are black-foots?”

“Uh-huh,” they again answered in unison.

Valentina’s mouth twitched. “You make me think of my Mila and Alex when they were younger. They are twins, too. They would finish each other’s sentences and would swear they knew what other was thinking. They always seemed to know when one was hatching plan to kill other.”

Corey giggled. “We like you.”

“And so you should.” Valentina pointed at Quinley. “Do not eat too much or you will be too full for hamburger eat-off tomorrow.”

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.”

“That wasn’t enough, though, was it? They didn’t leave her alone. You could have done more. You could have ordered them to back off. You could have shut all that shit down. But you didn’t.” No, he’d done the bare minimum … and then gone about his life without a qualm.

Zaire looked away, his jaw clenching.

“You sat back while a bunch of your peers—all dominants, all high in the hierarchy—bullied an unranked submissive who’d done nothing to deserve it. And then you fucking mated one of them. You claimed a woman who’d wanted to make Quinley miserable.” How exactly the black-foot could ever have brought himself to do that was beyond Isaiah.

“Back then, I didn’t know Quinley was my—”

“From the start, you let her down in every way possible,” Isaiah went on, striving to keep his cool when his cat urged him to rip this motherfucker apart. “And now you don’t even have the fucking decency to stay away and let her live her life.”

“I would if she was safe in this pride, but she clearly isn’t!”

“If that was the case, it would have not one thing to do with you.” Isaiah smoothly stepped forward. “Does Nazra know you’re here?”

Zaire’s eyes flickered.

“Thought not.” At this point, Isaiah would have felt sorry for her if it wasn’t for how she’d treated Quinley over the years.

“I want to know why the hell no one in this pride seems to give a shit about Quinley’s safety. Is it because she’s a black-foot? Or is it that she’s a submissive?”

“Unlike black-foot prides, we don’t think ‘submissive’ means ‘weak.’ She’s a valued member of this pride, and she’s under the protection of every single dominant. The only one standing here who’s ever looked down on her is you.”

Zaire’s head flinched back. “I have never looked down on Quinley.”

He was seriously going to claim that? “That’s bull, and we both know it. You’ve never viewed her as your equal. You see submissives as lesser shifters. Most dominant black-foots do.”

“How the hell would you know?” he sniped.

“Because she told me. She explained how it goes. Explained how obsessed you all are about status. Told me how the unranked and more vulnerable pride members reside near the border of your territory—they’d be the first to be slaughtered in the event of an attack, and everyone else seems fine with that.”

Shocked mutterings came from his pride members who were nosily observing from porches or front yards.

“The unranked are considered expendable, plain and simple. So maybe you get why I’m thinking you have some balls to act concerned over the idea that this pride might not be making her safety a priority. It was never a priority in yours.”

Zaire swallowed. “Black-foot prides operate differently—that is true,” he said, the words stiffly spoken. “But all our members are considered important.”

Havana huffed from her position a few feet behind Tate. “You sure have a weird way of showing that.”

Agreed. “The fact is, Zaire, that you never gave Quinley’s wellbeing a second thought before—”

“I didn’t know she was meant to be mine,” the black-foot upheld.

Isaiah shot him a skeptical smirk. “I don’t buy that. Not anymore.”