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“Aria, I’m serious. If I say—”
“Yes. Okay. Let’s just go now before he leaves.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The very fact that I’m presently not tied up in our bed with Kace refusing to let me go to the bar, should tell Gio how much this man loves me.
From the moment we exit the apartment in our coats as a shelter from the winter night, nothing can shelter us from the conflict ahead with Gio, and there will be conflict. Our short history as a couple with him has established that trend with screaming and whiskey throwing. I know it’s coming. Kace knows it’s coming. He a live charge of edginess, his energy ping-ponging from him to me and back again.
W
e lock up and head toward the elevator, and he holds onto me like he’s afraid someone is going to dash around the corner and grab me and run, touching me every way possible in that precise moment. Holding my hand. His arm around my waist. His hand at my back. I am no longer invisible and we both know it, but Kace is the only one who seems to see me for me, not my last name.
By the time we’re in the elevator, I decide his actions right now tell me three things: he really doesn’t trust Gio, he really doesn’t want to do this but knows how important it is to me, and the very fact that he is doing this for anyone says that he really trusts Blake and Walker.
I have this realization that despite all his money and power, all his fame and security, he doesn’t feel secure at all. He’s been alone on so many levels. He’s never had Christmas at home that I can tell. He’s never had a family holiday. The doors shut us inside, and I twist around to face him. “I’m not going anywhere. And we might not have our Christmas at home this year, but we will have memories this year to talk about forever, to cherish. And next year, we will have the biggest, most beautiful tree I can talk you into. And I might make you wear an ugly sweater. And I, we, we’ll—”
His hand closes down on the back of my neck and he drags me to him. “Yes. Yes, we will to all of those things. Well, except for the ugly sweater. And no. You are not going anywhere.”
The door dings open behind us and his mouth crashes over mine, hard and fast, but oh so passionately, before his lips part from mine, his hand stroking over my hair. “Let’s go do this, baby,” he murmurs, sliding an arm around me. And so we do. Two once-broken people, exit the elevator whole again, one with each other in ways neither of us thought possible. And as we cross the lobby, hand in hand, nothing good and right feels as impossible to me anymore—in fact, it all feels possible.
Adrian and Savage are waiting for us as we exit the building into a bitter cold, both in all black, standing side by side in front of the passenger door of the SUV. I sink deeper into my coat and decide they’re like two Terminators preparing to protect Sara Connor from another Terminator: my brother.
“Here’s the deal,” Adrian says when we join them, taking the lead over Savage this time. “Your brother, at present at least, appears to be at the bar on his own, outside of some random female admirers.”
“That feels rather normal for him,” I state.
“Appears to be alone,” Savage emphasizes. “He entered alone, but he’s in a massive club packed with hundreds of people inside. There’s no way to know if he met anyone or if this is a setup.”
I bristle. “My brother wouldn’t set me up.”
“In other words,” Adrian says as if I haven’t spoken, “we can’t know who met him there or followed him there.”
“But you’re monitoring his communications,” I remind them.
“He could have throwaway phones,” Adrian counters. “We can’t know he doesn’t. We can’t monitor what we can’t see.”
“And why meet your sister in a pickup joint?” Savage adds. “It makes no sense. I don’t like that shit.”
“I called him and told him I needed to see him urgently,” I explain, defending Gio. I can’t help it. He’s my big brother. “He was already there when he called me back. I could hear the music. And can we talk about this on the road?” I ask. “What if he decides to come to me and we cross paths? I need to see him before we leave for Europe.”
“We’ll talk more inside the vehicle,” Adrian says, and he and Savage step aside while
Adrian opens our door.
Talk.
I do not want to keep talking.
Not right now.
Kace urges me forward and I climb inside the SUV. To my surprise, the opposite door opens and Adrian slides in with us, effectively sandwiching me between him and Kace. He shows me a tiny white device that resembles an earbud. “This goes behind and in your ear. I’ll be the closest to you tonight at all times. If you need me simply say, ‘I need you, Adrian,’ or another option, one that tells me you’re in real trouble. ‘I don’t feel well.’ Understand?”
“Yes,” I say quickly.
“You can hear me in your ear,” he continues. “If I tell you to do something, you do it, without hesitation. You do it.” His tone and expression are pure steel and demand.
I’ve never been this close to Adrian, but at this distance, he’s far more than good looks and jokes. There’s a hard, dark quality to him, that reads as dangerous. But then, I’m sure all the Walker employees are, in fact, dangerous. That’s why we hire them: to be more dangerous than the bad guys.
Kace’s hand settles on my shoulder, possessive and demanding. “Aria,” he urges, his concern and resistance for this meeting palpable.
“I understand,” I say quickly. “I’ll listen.”
Adrian helps me insert the earpiece and then exits the vehicle to end up in the driver’s seat, while Savage is in the passenger seat. I’m not sure which seat makes which one more of the control freak. Adrian needs to drive. Savage needs to be free to do what he pleases. Kace is comfortable in the backseat where he can watch and act. I’m pretty sure Gio would be in the driver’s seat. In other words, anything he’s a part of, he’s planned. This should comfort me, but for reasons I can’t explain, it does not.
We pull up to the club just beyond the door on the opposite side of the busy road. Apparently, the club is in the lower level corner off a fancy high-rise, one nestled in between restaurants and shops. I’m eyeing the sign and the people milling about, scanning for Gio, when Savage twists around to eye us, his attention landing on me. “Try to call Gio and get him out of the club.”
I nod and quickly do as requested, punching in Gio’s number. It, of course, to no real surprise, lands in his voicemail. Grimacing, I leave a message. “I’m at the club but it’s loud inside. Can you come outside?” I disconnect and text the same message.
And then we wait. And wait.
We wait some more and my perpetual state of unease seems to take on a monster form, grabbing a blade and carving at my insides. Thank you, Gio. I try to call him again. And of course, his voicemail greets me. Frustrated, I shove my phone in my coat pocket. “I just need to go inside.”
Savage eyes Kace, but Kace focuses on me, angling in my direction, his hands on my shoulders, those intelligent eyes of his studying me, seeing too much. He always sees too much. He knows I’m feeling off-kilter, but he seeks that confirmation. “How are you feeling?”
Not good, I think but I say, “Like I want to get this over with,” which is also the truth.
“We can just wait here until he calls you back.”
“He might not call me back, Kace.” I press my hand to his face, the roughness of a dark, one-day stubble teasing my fingers, darkening his jaw while worry furrows his brow. “I need to give this a real try,” I say, reminding him why we are doing this, but also meeting him halfway. I owe him that. “After this, I’ll let it go. I’ll accept defeat. But he’s my brother. I have to try.”
He covers my hand with his and brings it to his lips. “I know. I know and that’s why we’re here. Let’s get it over with.” He releases me and turns to Savage. “Talk us through this.”
“Blake’s in a van with two other men one block down,” Savage says. “He has a view from the indoor cameras. We have men inside the club. My badass self, and Mr. Peanut Butter Cup here next to me, will follow you into the club. Adrian likes to beat up bad guys more than I do.”
“He’s not wrong,” Adrian says dryly without looking at us, and I believe him. I’d seen something in that man’s eyes a few minutes ago.
“I never am,” Savage jokes with a wink in our direction. “Bottom line. We’ve got your backs. So you’re walking inside just the two of you, but you’re not alone.”
I press my hand to my belly. “Why am I this nervous? I’m just meeting my brother.”
“Because he won’t answer his damn phone,” Kace murmurs, almost to h
imself, but he doesn’t expect a reply. He pops his street-side door open and exits, offering me his hand, and when I settle my feet on the ground, he says, “Leave your coat. They might not have a coat check.”
I nod and shrug out of it, even as he does the same of his. Once they’re discarded, my phone goes into my jeans pocket for easy access, and then I slide my Chanel purse over my head, crossing the strap around my chest. Once it rests at my hip, Kace’s arm is around me, huddling me into the warmth of his big body, just me and him, headed toward a dance club. Not a big deal and yet, it is.
It feels more like we’re headed into a warzone, just me and him, with a couple of Terminators at our back, against the world.
Except really, we’re just going to see my brother.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
We cross the busy street, the Manhattan night alight with activity, a virtual video game of glowing city lights, people bustling about, bundled up in winter attire. Street vendors selling random food. Men in funny boots dancing for a crowd. The club is the focus of it all, and as we near the door, music vibrates through the walls.
The tall forty-something doorman with tattoos all over his thick muscled-up shoulders and bare arms scowls at us and holds up a puffy looking hand. “ID’s.”
I dig mine from my purse and show it to him. Kace is next. The man grunts and says, “Twenty-five each.”
“That’s very expensive,” I say because it’s just the way I’ve been built. I don’t spend money on outrageous things.
The man’s beefy face scrunches up. “Pay or don’t play.”
Kace arches a brow at me and palms the man the cash before sliding an arm around me. “That’s very expensive?”
“Well, it is. They make their money on the alcohol and just because you have money that doesn’t mean we want to be robbed at the door.”
“We have money, sweetheart,” he says, as we travel a narrow, dark hallway, “and we can handle the fifty bucks.”
My nerve endings are prickling, almost in warning, but then, I’ve been trained all my life to avoid the unknown. Right now, we’re living the unknown. “I’d really like to be home right now listening to you practice, which you didn’t do today.”
