31. Penn

Chapter 31

Penn

I reluctantly let go of Reagan, like tearing off a bandage that’s not ready to be ripped off. My fingers linger just a second longer, grazing her shivering shoulders. Damn it. She’s only got a tank top on in this biting cold. I yank my hat off and set it on top of her head. Her hair spills out in angry waves from beneath it. Like a crown of defiance.

“Hold up, hellfire,” I mutter, reaching behind me to pull off my hoodie. One swift move and I’m bare-armed, the night air biting at my skin like a thousand icy needles. It reminds me that I’m alive.

The hoodie’s been through hell—faded gray, but soft as sin inside. I pull the cap back from its temporary home on her head and tug the sweatshirt over her instead. “There,” I say softly, my voice almost alien to me in its gentleness. The cotton swallows Reagan up instantly and something settles in me.

“Thanks,” she whispers, clutching the fabric around herself like it’s a lifeline, and damn if that doesn’t stoke some primal need in me to protect her even more fiercely.

Reese barrels toward me like a freight train, leaving my cousin behind. I brace myself for the impact, but she still manages to knock the wind out of me when her tiny arms wrap around my waist. Her head barely reaches my chest, and there’s something almost comical about how this pint-sized hurricane can disarm me so effortlessly.

“Penn!” she squeals, squeezing tighter than necessary.

“Whoa there, little hellion,” I say, patting her awkwardly on the back. My arm feels stiff, mechanical. Physical affection isn’t exactly my forte, but this is my wife’s sister. A little girl who, despite being damn near eighteen still maintains her innocence and something about that strikes the deepest chord in me. Iris and Oakley are basically my sisters, but they have their own grown ass lives and my brothers to take care of them. This sister needs my wife, and she’ll have me to be her fucking guard dog. “Didn’t know you liked me that much. I must be St. Pierre catnip, huh?”

“Shut up,” she mumbles into my shirt, but there’s a hint of a smile in her voice.

I look down at Reese and at least she’s got more sensible clothes on than Reagan, but not much. Leggings and long sleeves aren’t that much of a barrier.

I wait until Reagan has wrapped herself around her sister before I throw open the backdoor to my truck and grab a spare hoodie I keep in there. It feels weighty and I pull my gun out of the pocket. That’s where the fuck that bitch was.

“Reese,” I call out as softly as I can, so I don’t spook either her or my wife and when they both turn to me, I toss the emerald green SCU football sweatshirt her way. She catches it with nimble fingers and quickly slips it on.

Reagan’s eyes soften just a bit at me before she mouths ‘thank you’ and all I do is shrug. I’m not about to have either one of my girls freezing their damn asses off while me and Ramsey play clean-up crew.

“Ramsey, get your ass over here!” I call out, breaking the moment. Reese finally steps back to rejoin her sister. I turn to find Ramsey dragging his feet, hands shoved deep into his pockets, blue eyes glinting with curiosity and something darker. My little fucking mini me Blackwood.

The star hockey player in our family. The youngest Blackwood. Our uncle’s only son. Our little tech guru. A certified fucking genius and yet he’s got a demon in him that only I could recognize. One that I helped him nurture and control because I sure the fuck wasn’t going to tell my father about him or let him get his disgusting hands on my baby cousin.

No, Ramsey was mine to protect as well.

“Open the trunk of that fucking Audi,” I instruct, gesturing to the car parked haphazardly on the gravel road. The dead guy is starting to make the place look like a crime scene, which I guess it is. “We need to take care of…the situation.”

“Your wish, my command,” Ramsey replies with a mock salute, a smirk playing on his lips. He saunters over to the sedan, fiddling with the keys before popping the trunk open. The thud of the lid hitting the top makes Reese jump.

“Alright, on three,” I growl, grabbing the dead guy by his ankles. His body is already getting stiff, making this even more of a pain in the ass. I should have at least another thirty minutes before bitch ass rigor mortis starts to set in. Just my fucking luck this asshole has to be the exception to the goddamn rule.

“One... two... three.” Ramsey and I lift him in unison. The corpse is heavy, but we’ve done this enough times to make it look almost routine. It’s just a pain in the ass trying to fit a stiffening body into a small ass trunk like this one.

“Jesus, this guy weighs a ton. What was he eating, lead bricks?” Ramsey mutters through gritted teeth.

“Just shut up and get him in the trunk. I don’t give a fuck how we Tetris his ass in there,” I snap back, my muscles straining as we maneuver the lifeless body toward the open car. We dump him inside, folding his arms and legs in like we’re closing up a fucking tripod.

“Done.” Ramsey wipes his hands on his jeans, looking at me expectantly.

“Good. Now listen,” I say, stepping closer so only he can hear. “You take this car to Weston at the junkyard. He’ll make sure it’s done right. No mistakes, no loose ends.”

“Man, come on,” Ramsey protests with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Why do I always get stuck with the bitch work? Is it because I’m not a ‘Blackwood brother’ and only a cousin?” His voice is laced with playfulness, but there’s an underlying bitterness there. He wants in, he wants to prove he’s more. What he fails to realize is that I don’t ask people to help me with shit. This is me trusting him to do what the fuck I need done so I can take care of my wife because no way in fuck am I taking her with me to the junkyard. The last thing I need is Weston making some smart-ass comment and a jealous wife maiming one of my clean up guys.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes as I lean against the car, feeling the cool metal press into my back. “Look at the silver lining. At least you won’t have to hot wire this one.” A smirk tugs at my lips.

“Fuck you,” Ramsey shoots back, but there’s a grudging respect in his tone. “What about the Escalade? What the hell are we supposed to do about that?”

“Leave it,” I snap, annoyance creeping into my voice. “ We’ll grab it later. Right now, the priority is getting rid of the body and getting the girls out of here.”

“Great, I get to come out here again with you,” Ramsey mutters, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. He looks over at the girls, Reese specifically, and I smack him upside the head.

“Put ya eyeballs back in your head. She’s seventeen and I don’t give a fuck if you’re still technically in your teens. She’s too young for you right now and you have a job to fucking do,” I order, my voice low and dangerous. “And remember, discretion is key.”

“Always is with us, isn’t it?” Ramsey retorts, climbing into the deceased vehicle. He gives me a final nod before peeling out, tires kicking up dust and gravel in his wake.

I make my way back to Reagan and Reese, who are huddled together, their faces looking even paler in the frigid air. “Alright, let’s get out of here,” I say, trying to inject some semblance of calm into my words.

“Penn,” Reagan tries to say. “We need to talk. There’s?—”

“Not now,” I cut her off sharply, the tension ratcheting up another notch. “We can talk later in private. We move first.” Her eyes flash with anger, but she nods, grabbing Reese’s hand and leading her to my truck.

“Get in,” I order, sliding into the driver’s seat and gripping the wheel tight.

“Penn,” Reagan tries again, softer this time. “Please.”

“Later,” I repeat, starting the engine. Her hand suddenly finds mine, warm and trembling.

And with that, I drive off into the night, the weight of almost losing my wife almost drowning me.

“My dad, he’s making alliances with people who make you look like a saint. ”

“Lovely,” I reply, sarcasm dripping from every word. “So, he thinks we’re pawns in his little game of thrones?”

“Reese and I are just collateral,” Reagan retorts, her voice barely a whisper now.

“Women and kids usually are unfortunately,” I say, casting a glance at Reese in my rearview mirror. Her eyes are wide, with a small grimace on her face. “You okay, little hellion?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, hugging herself tighter. “He didn’t hurt me, not really. Just...my legs just ache from being shoved into the car and all the kicking I was doing.”

“That son of a bitch,” I mutter, feeling rage and protectiveness bubbling up. “He won’t be touching you again. No one fucking will. But first, I gotta get you both somewhere safe.”

“Safe?” Reagan scoffs. “You think anywhere is safe when our father’s involved?”

“Trust me,” I counter, meeting her gaze. “If you think I give one single fuck about your father and his scary business associates…you haven’t been paying attention to the game baby.”

“Like I have a choice,” she snaps, but there’s a flicker of something else in her eyes—something that looks a lot like hope.

“I’ll handle this,” I say, accelerating down the road. “One way or another.”

“Penn,” Reagan says softly, breaking the silence. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” I reply, my voice gruff. “We’ve still got a long way to go.”

Reagan’s father has put me in a tight spot, and it’s taking everything in me not to snap.

I focus on the sensation—her fingers, calloused yet tender, tracing patterns on my skin. It’s intimate, vulnerable, and completely unexpected. I’m not used to this kind of connection, not with anyone. But damn if it doesn’t feel good.

We drive in silence for a while, her hand still resting on mine, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I allow myself to breathe.

“You’re too good at this,” I murmur, trying to keep my tone light but failing miserably.

“Maybe I just know you better than you think,” she replies, her lips curving into a small, almost sad smile.

“Don’t get cocky,” I shoot back, but there’s no bite to my words. Just exhaustion and a strange sense of intimacy that shouldn’t exist between us but does, anyway.

“Too late,” she says, her thumb continuing its soothing dance over my skin. And for a moment, just a fleeting heartbeat, I let myself lean into it. Lean into her.

“Keep doing that, and I might just forget how pissed off I am,” I mutter, but my grip on the steering wheel loosens. It’s a small victory, sure, but right now, I’ll take what I can get.

“That’s the idea,” she murmurs, her voice low.

“Smartass,” I reply, but there’s a hint of a smirk on my lips now. Because despite everything, despite the bodies and the blood and the lies, she’s managed to pierce through the armor. She’s managed to reach the part of me that’s still human, still capable of feeling something other than rage.

“Someone’s gotta keep you in check,” she says, her fingers never stopping their gentle caress.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” I warn, even though a part of me hopes she does. I hope she keeps pushing, keeps breaking down these walls I’ve built around myself. Because God knows I won’t do it on my own.