“Hello, Olivia.”

Livy moved her gaze back and forth between Delilah and Oriana. After a moment, she asked, “Everything all right, Oriana?”

Gritting her teeth, Oriana bit out, “Yes. Everything’s fine.”

“Good. I’m going to be crashing here for a while.”

Oriana nodded. “Okay. I’ll let Mom and Dad know.”

“Thanks.”

Oriana walked off, and Delilah went to follow her. But Livy reached across and slammed one hand against the doorjamb, blocking her way out.

The little freak leaned in, going up on her toes to get near Delilah’s neck, and breathed in deep.

God, Del hated this bitch. Always had.

But at the same time, she wasn’t about to engage her, either. Del shoved Livy’s arm out of her way and took a step into the hallway. Livy seemed to be letting her go, but as Del passed, Livy snatched the closed knife out of her hand. She heard the bitch expertly open it.

Delilah spun around without thinking and found her own knife pressed against her throat. The freak’s head tilted to the side as she studied her.

“Threaten one of the kids again,” Livy told her, “and I’ll cut your throat and watch ya bleed out.”

“I think Toni might have a problem with that.”

“No, she won’t. And we both know it.”

And damn her, but Delilah knew the bitch was right.

They stopped at the hotel first to get Ricky’s travel stuff. He offered to meet Toni back at the house her parents were renting, but the look of panic on her face had him quickly changing that offer to immediately promising he wouldn’t leave her side.

So he opened the door first and walked in, sniffing to make sure there were no Packmates lurking around.

Toni leaned in. “Embarrassed to be seen with me by your girlfriend?”

“Ex-girlfriend, and no. I just don’t want you to face the Smith Pack Female Interrogation.”

“You made that sound like all those words were initial capped.”

“They are. I’m surprised you’ve never heard of it. There’s lots of girls in mental institutions across the United States who’ve faced the Smith Pack Female Interrogation.”

“Okay.” She pushed past him and walked into his hotel room. “This is nice.”

“Yeah.”

She looked up at him, her little nose wrinkling. “Isn’t it kind of expensive, though? To live at the Kingston Arms rather than getting your own apartment in Brooklyn or Queens?”

“Are those actual places?”

“Very funny.”

“And my sister will be bearing the hybrid freak of the hotel’s owner.”

“Hybrid freak?” she demanded.

“Don’t worry. I’ll adore the little bastard like the moon.”

She rolled her eyes and walked fully into the room. Ricky followed, closing the door behind him.

“Make yourselfcomfortable,” he told her, heading toward the bedroom. “I’ll be out in a bit.”

“Why did you get a suite?” she asked.

“I didn’t demand it, if that’s what you’re thinking. Brendon Shaw gave one to me and each of my brothers in the hopes we’d stop just showing up in his apartment upstairs whenever we like.”

“Did you?” she asked from the other room.

“Nope!” Ricky pulled out the trusty black duffel bag that had gone with him to all sorts of places all over the world.

“Isn’t Brendon Shaw a lion?”

“Yep.”

“So you fully understand that just having you show up in his house is a form of torture for a man who truly does consider himself king of . . . well . . . probably everything.”

“Of course we do. That’s why we do it. Plus he gets this really good Greek plain yogurt that just seems to taste better being eaten in his apartment than in ours.”

Ricky packed quickly and efficiently. He’d learned to do that a long time ago. Although he hadn’t traveled much out of the States when he was growing up, his father and uncles sent him and his brothers—sometimes together, most often not—to different countries to meet with other Reeds and to learn about basic defense. It was something the Reeds felt was important. Sure, most everybody called them the junkyard dogs of the Smith Pack, but the truth was they really believed in being able to defend the Pack—and definitely the Reed family—whenever necessary.

The Smiths ruled as a Pack, so to speak, because they were willing to destroy anyone who even thought about touching one of their own. But the Smiths were also wild fighters. Like that kid in the schoolyard no one wanted to fight because he’d pick up a shovel and smash someone’s head in rather than throwing crazy punches like any normal seven-year-old. The Reeds, however, prided themselves on being smarter fighters, just like the full-blooded wolves. They’d strike at night, find the weakest points, and do their best to ensure no—or at least less—“collateral damage.” Ricky’s grandfather once compared it to unleashing the berserkers (the Smiths) from the front while the Roman soldiers (the Reeds) snuck in from behind and destroyed the enemy.

The relationship between the Smiths and the Reeds had worked for centuries, ever since they’d landed on these shores a few years before those pilgrims ever did, and Ricky respected that relationship more than he could say. He didn’t see the Smiths as separate from him, but a part of his life just like his momma and daddy and siblings. And he knew the Smiths felt the same way. When Bubba Smith said things like, “Come after the Smiths and we’ll come down on you like hell itself opened its doors and let out the worst of its kind . . .” he wasn’t just talking about protecting blood relatives. He was talking about anyone considered one of the Smith Pack. That was the Smith philosophy.