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There’s no time to bask in the Big Guy’s validation because Liam’s hazels land on me with burning scrutiny, his stiff jaw screaming condemnation.
“Seems dense to chase something you already know ends with you starving, princess.”
How dare he fucking judge me. Prick.
“Goddammit, Graves.” Wells pushes his chair back from the table, more exasperated than makes sense for this conversation. It isn’t his battle. Unless he’s that upset on my behalf, which I doubt.
“Ivy’s right, Chief,” Liam says, glaring at me while addressing Wells. “Those guys are bad news.”
I whip my phone out of my pants pocket, texting my security team that I’m ready and to pull the car around. “Look at that; it’s time to go. Thanks for breakfast. Maybe at the next meal, we can rate sexual compatibility of my dating prospects.”
With that, I stand, pluck my purse, camera bag, and boots from the corner and rush toward the front door.
Unfortunately, because this house is so damn mammoth and Liam’s legs are so absurdly long, he catches up to me. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
I balk, completely flabbergasted as to who this guy thinks he is, while still scrambling toward the foyer. “I see I don’t rank with those worthy of your language overhaul, and it’s none of your damn business.”
“The hell it isn’t,” he snarls.
Spinning with what can only be described as the fervor of a cyclone, I reel on him, my dark brown hair curtaining my vision until I whisk it away. “I don’t know what your problem is, Graves, but where I go and whom I go with is of no concern to you.”
He grabs my hip and pushes me back against the front door with a thump, his heavy coffee-infused breaths hitting me like a spewed accusation. “While you’re in this house, everything you do is my concern.”
My heart thrashes wildly. Every fiber of my being is infuriated at his mere existence. And yet that ardent gaze searing me has my every nerve jumping in exultation. Another meal in this house resulting in an identity crisis.
God, I hate him.
“I’m not your houseguest, cheetah,” I sneer. “I’m Ivy’s.”
His grip tightens on my hip, and I swear his rosy lips twitch as his thumb dusts back and forth tenderly, which is an utter dichotomy to the venom glazing his voice. “And where you go and whom you associate with affects her safety. Either answer my question and play by our rules or get the hell out.”
Never let them see.
Tears prick the back of my eyes, but I’ll be damned if I let Liam Graves have even one. “Says the man whose life choices are actually putting her in danger.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Carver. They aren’t just my life choices. They’re Ivy’s too. She’s one of us now. She belongs in our world.”
That last sentence lands exactly as he intends. The message loud and clear—I don’t belong here.
My mouth opens for a vicious response, but I catch Ivy’s brimming blues, hand over her mouth. The sight of her anxiety breaks me. I used to be the one to wipe her tears, not cause them.
Wells steps forward, his voice a low rumble. “This fighting stops today. You’re both putting Ivy and the baby in danger with this goddamn stress.”
I nod, and my voice quivers as I whisper, “I need to go,” because he’s right. And I don’t know what to do about it.
“Where are you headed, Celeste?” Wells asks. Or demands. Much like Liam still boxing me in against the door, he’s leaving no room for me to avoid the question.
“Whispering Pines Stables. I’ll text Ivy the location,” I concede.
Liam steps back, but only a hairsbreadth. “That’s right, dollface. You go have fun while the rest of us work for a living.”
“God, you’re such an asshole,” I mutter, wrenching away from him and plopping onto the wooden entryway bench to shimmy into my boots, my arms shaking through the task.
“You can’t go now,” Liam declares, glaring down at me. “Not until one of us can go with you, and we have business to attend to this morning.”
Other than a side-eye glower, my attention remains on my tall honey-brown boots. Gage ushered Ivy away, but Wells and Ty still loom behind Liam, so I keep my voice hushed and steady. “I have my own security and play by my own rules. You want me out, discuss it with your girl, Graves.”
“You’re. Not. Going.”
