She didn’t look like herself.
What the hell happened to her over in Italy? And why did it piss me off so much?
I could admit she looked hot as fuck—but she didn’t look like the Annie that cried at the drop of a hat.
The Annie I knew.
The one I hated.
Did that mean I was allowed to stare this stranger down? Drink her in and let her beauty consume me? Was she wearing pink lipstick?
Tank put his arm around her and squeezed. “Still shook up?”
She gave him a small nod then leaned into his chest. Fucking idiot looked ready to preen like a peacock all over the dinner table.
“Of course, she’s shook up.” I just had to start talking. “She could have died. I’m curious, do you report everything to the FBI, Tank, or only the things we let you report? Because bomb threats, that’s pretty huge, right?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “If you’re asking if I’ve been feeding them information, that’s a no. I only tell them what you allow me to tell them, and even then, you know I’m going to have to pick a side soon; they only believe the whole deep cover story for so long.”
“Complete shit that they even believe it now,” I admitted. “What with you coming over to family dinner—why are you here again?”
He grinned knowingly. “You asked that already.”
“Did I?” I reached for a roll. “Sorry was distracted by almost dying earlier and saving Annie’s life. You know how it is—” I snapped my fingers. “Oh wait, you don’t. Because you weren’t here then, but you’re here now.” I frowned. “I’m confused. Is it a convenience thing or—”
“Ash!” Dad barked. “Leave Tank alone. If you need someone to pester, take Junior downstairs and get a few hits in.”
“Great,” Junior grumbled. “Can’t I tap Maksim in? Ash nearly broke my jaw last week.”
I made a face. “Bullshit. You should have ducked and weaved.”
“I DID!” Junior roared. “You cheated!”
“Boys.” Tex pounded his fist onto the table, causing all the silverware to jump then resettle haphazardly. He poured himself a glass of wine. “Junior, I’m disappointed you’d back down from a fight. You growing soft now that you’re getting laid on the regular?”
“Oh God.” Nixon reached for his wine while his wife Trace snorted into hers. “Tex, could you not give me that visual of my daughter having sex? It makes me want to grab a steak knife.”
“Oh, we hid those.” Tex’s wife grinned. “You know, after Chase stabbed our son repeatedly in the back with one.” She lifted her wine glass. “Cheers.”
My dad, at least, had the decency to say sorry. Last year he’d been so pissed to learn that Breaker, aka Valerian, wasn’t dead and was cheerfully married to Violet, well let’s just say it was a shit show, and we all learned something very important that day.
When all else fails, a steak knife works just fine.
The rest of the dinner went by with awkward small talk about bombs. My entire appetite was gone; every single time I heard Annie laugh, I wanted to stab something.
I just couldn’t figure out if it was hate or something else.
All I knew is that I was minutes away from using Tank as target practice and gathering all the forks.
Tank looked down at his phone as it went off. “Speaking of bombs and work, am I telling them or not? It’s my superior?”
Tex leaned back in his chair. “Tell them. You can even bring the evidence in, and if they ask what the white horse represents, make sure you let them know it’s what we send someone when they’re a rat—which should also be a reminder to you about what happens to those who betray us.” He smiled and raised his glass toward Tank. “Cheers.”
“Right.” Tank grabbed his phone and then leaned down and kissed Annie on the head. “I’ll be back later to check on you, all right?” He shot me a dark look then left the table.
The sound of the front door slamming was like Christmas fucking morning.
I finally relaxed.
Assuming Annie would at least scowl at me, instead, she quietly ate the rest of her food and kept easy conversation with Izzy, never once looking in my direction.
Then again, she did hear me say something about hating her with my entire soul, but still, I always said shit like that, and she always came back for more.
What made this time so different?
And why the hell did I care?
I jerked to my feet and started gathering dishes. “Anyone else finished?”
The entire table fells silent.
I frowned. “What?”
My mom stood then leaned over and felt my forehead. “Are you getting sick?”
I batted her hand away in annoyance. “Ma, really? I help with dishes, and suddenly I’m sick?”
“You’ve literally faked your death at the dinner table in order to get out of doing dishes.” Izzy pointed out. “Twice.”