I froze. My shoulders bunched, and I fixed a careful smile to my lips before I turned back to face him. "Yep, sounds great," I replied quickly. "Text me the address?"
Zane grinned, giving Steele a smug look. "Can do. You two have a good night, alright? And if you need any help on a clean up—"
"We don't," Steele snapped, cutting him off. "It's handled."
Zane shrugged. "Always willing to help if you need it." His smile was that of a crocodile luring a goat closer to the water.
Steele scoffed. "I just fucking bet you are."
There was an awkward stand off then with Steele and Zane staring at each other like they could win something by refusing to blink first.
Fucking children.
My stomach grumbled, so I pushed my front door open further and stepped inside. "Thanks, Zane. I appreciate you setting that meeting up." I shifted my gaze to Steele. "You coming inside or what?"
His eyes narrowed at Zane in an unspoken warning, then he stepped inside my apartment and let me close the door behind him.
With the panel of wood separating us from Zane D'Ath, I let out a long breath before glaring at Steele.
"What the fuck was that all about?" I asked, making my way over to the kitchen and dropping our bags of food on the counter. "I thought you might stab him in the throat if he got any closer."
Steele grimaced. "Maybe." I rolled my eyes, and his lips quirked in a smile. "Just bad blood between us. He was being a shithead to try and get a rise out of me."
"Seems like it worked," I replied, folding my arms under my breasts.
Steele smirked. "Is he currently bleeding out in the hallway? No? Then not even close." He paused, his smirk melting into a concerned frown. "You know he's using you, right? They all are. Zane and the Reapers don't do anything out of the goodness of their hearts... because they don't have any goodness."
"You used to be a Reaper too," I reminded him, my voice soft as I braced my hands on the counter. I knew so little about his history with the Shadow Grove gangs. Why didn't I know more? Had I really been so dick drunk with Steele that I hadn't gotten to know him beyond what was right in front of me?
Then again, did his past really matter in the grand scheme of things? I knew who he was now... and I liked him. Even in spite of our current situation. Whatever had shaped him to be this person was interesting, but not a deal breaker. Was it?
"My point exactly," Steele replied, holding eye contact with me like he was daring me to flinch away. He was totally full of shit, though.
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, you have no goodness, huh? Sure. And I'm a three-headed unicorn who shits rainbows and farts glitter." With a sigh, I shook my head. "I'm just going to wash my face, then you can shower."
Making my way over to the bathroom, I tried really, really hard not to think about what had happened the last time Steele used my shower to rinse blood off his skin.
"I don't need to shower," he called after me as I ran my sink tap and inspected the mess coating the side of my face and neck. "Just toss me a washcloth or something."
I shook my head at my own reflection and destroyed one of my pristine white washcloths to wipe all of Hank's blood from my face. I hadn't been splattered by too much, but it still made my skin crawl, nonetheless.
When I was satisfied that it was all gone, I rinsed out the cloth and dried my face before heading back out to the kitchen.
"Get in the damn shower, Max Steele," I ordered my guest in a hard voice. "You're not getting bits of Hank all over my sofa, and it's straight-up unsanitary to eat with blood under your nails. Go."
He gave me a narrow-eyed glare but must have decided it wasn't worth the argument because a moment later he sighed and started toward my bathroom.
"I don't have any spare clothes," he commented, pausing halfway there.
I bit my lip, swallowing back the totally inappropriate excitement at his comment. Not now, MK.
"I'm sure you'll survive," I replied in a dry tone, totally unable to meet his eyes for fear he'd spot my arousal from across the room. "There are plenty of towels, and I've got a robe hanging on the