The Movement handled the extremists— countering their attacks, assassinating the big cheeses, wiping out entire factions. In sum, the group fought violence with violence.
The Movement often recruited unmated lone shifters, because these were people who could fly under the radar more easily than non-loners. Havana, Aspen, Bailey, and Camden had lived quiet, simple lives working at the center, but behind the scenes, they’d done plenty of jobs for the Movement.
The group had trained them in everything from combat to interrogation techniques. They’d given them a purpose, paid them well, and treated them like family. Then eight years later, they’d let them go, encouraging them to live lives free of missions. Aside from the key players, members were only allowed to work eight years of service. The group wasn’t willing to allow anyone to sacrifice a life with their mate to deal with bigoted assholes.
Only Corbin knew about their past work for the Movement. The group was careful to keep the names of their members, particularly the key players, secret. Sadly, there were shifters who’d sell those names to extremists or human law enforcement for the right price.
Crossing her fingers that Bailey wouldn’t be late, Havana returned to the kitchen and poured more coffee into her mug. She’d only taken one sip when there was a knock at the front door. That had to be Aspen and Camden—the bearcat had texted to say they wanted to be present for the next “talk” with Hyman.
Havana placed her cup on the counter and crossed to the door. She glanced through the peephole out of habit, and her body stiffened while her devil hissed. Tate.
A flare of excitement buzzed through Havana’s veins. A flare she quickly stomped on. He’d be here as her landlord, nothing more. Unless … he hadn’t heard about what happened last night, had he? If so, he was nosy enough to pry, and he’d be all Grr, you’re under my protection, why didn’t you call me, grr? It seemed unlikely that news of it had reached him, though.
Bracing herself for the impact of his full-on raw masculinity, Havana opened the door. Her stomach flipped as their eyes locked. She wasn’t perversely glad to see him. She wasn’t. Nu-uh.
Oh, how she bullshitted herself at times.
His gaze glittered with heat as it travelled the length of her, making her pulse quicken and her hormones clumsily trip all over themselves. Standing a few feet behind him, Luke and Farrell watched her closely.
“Can I come in?” Tate finally asked.
She should say no. She should turn him away. But that would be weak and cowardly. She could handle being around him. She’d have to learn to handle it, considering he was her landlord.
Havana slowly stepped to the side to allow him to pass. He told his bodyguards to wait in the hallway and then entered her apartment. Her devil snarled as he boldly walked into her living area like it was his own. Hmm, it would appear that the animal wasn’t going to forgive him any time soon.
Havana followed him, only stopping when she reached the edge of the fluffy rug. She loved to watch him walk. Loved how his long legs covered the ground with an unhurried, confident stride. All that predatory elegance and animalistic sexuality was hot as holy hell.
Tate sank onto the black leather sofa and draped his arms over the back of it. He glanced around, sweeping his gaze over the butterscotch walls, the cherry oak furniture, the abstract artwork, and the leather armchair.
He followed the path of his hand as he slid it over the arm of the sofa. She wondered if he was remembering the time that he bent her over it and savagely hammered into her. If the heated glance he shot her was anything to go by, the answer was yes.
His gaze briefly flitted to the large corner bookcase. “I’m not sure why a person would need that many books.”
“You can never have too many books—everyone knows that.” She tipped her head to the side. “Why are you here?”
His broody, super-intense eyes drilled into her so boldly it almost made her squirm. Almost. She was made of sterner stuff.
He swiped his tongue over his front teeth. “We need to talk.”
“We did that last weekend.”
“Not really. You said your piece, danced around my questions, and then you left.”
Well, yeah. Her devil flexed her claws, wanting him gone. Havana opened her mouth, intending to ask him to leave, but then she thought better of it. Tate had a one-track mind—he never conceded, never gave up, never backed down. The quickest way to get him out of her apartment would be to just let him talk. “All right. Say whatever you came to say.”
His eyes bore into hers, as if he was desperate to see inside her head. “I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what made you want to walk away all of a sudden. Your decision came out of nowhere, and I want to know what really led to it.”