Widow’s POV
By six that evening, I had decided Reaper could go f**k himself, and Crow could join him somewhere involving a deep hole and several tons of concrete.
I was celebrating the end of a spectacularly shitty day on my back porch with a cold beer and a cigarette. The cedar house stood quiet behind me, while the separate garage hummed with the sounds of my women finishing their work.
I took a long drink, hoping the beer would settle my temper, but it wasn't working.
Reaper had accused me of recklessness and questioned my judgment as though I were a troublesome employee who needed reminding who signed the paychecks. His annoying attractiveness did absolutely nothing to improve his personality. If anything, it made him more irritating.
My phone rang.
“If this is about another man
