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When he opened the door to the freezer, I let my face slide into that cold mask that the rest of the world knew. "Mr. Bellandi!" One man started in as soon as I filled the room with my presence. Ryker stepped off to the side, leaning against his table where he kept his tools. His ass hit it, and he grabbed one of his picks that he normally used to insert under fingernails. The crazy fuck set to cleaning out under his own nails with it, and if I'd been in any situation where I could have, I'd have laughed my ass off at the horrified look one of the more bloodied men shot his way. "We didn't touch her. I swear!" the man blubbered on.
"Yeah? Tell me how it went down," I challenged, crossing my arms over my chest and staring down the four men strapped down to wooden chairs that Ryker would throw in the incinerator after he finished up. I listened to the most bloodied man rattle on through his story, admitting that he'd pointed his gun at Ivory, but realized who she was as soon as he got close enough. Every muscle I had tensed, picturing what her terror must have looked like as she stared down the barrel of a gun for wanting to help an old lady. I could imagine the slime ball in front of me probably had filthy thoughts while he stared at her. Knowing the way Ivory seemed to draw people into her orbit, had there been need of a hostage, they'd have taken her.
My Angel.
Visions of her broken and bleeding body flashed in front of my eyes, and I reached behind my back to grab the handgun I'd tucked in there before leaving the estate. As soon as I held it in front of me, flicking off the safety, the man began to tremble. "Please, please no." I stepped forward, pressing the gun against his forehead. The stench of urine struck me, his pants wet as terror undoubtedly took over.
"You scared my woman. Can you imagine how she must have felt now?" My voice sounded colder than normal, even for me.
"Yes! Yes, she must have been terrified," he blubbered.
"And yet, she didn't piss herself. One Hell of a woman, if you ask me," Ryker chimed in from the sidelines, watching with interest.
I smirked at him, silently confirming everything he suspected of Ivory. He'd meet her for himself soon enough, and it filled me with pride to know that my friends, my men, would lay down their lives to keep her safe. I'd come a long way from the scrawny little boy who'd had to leave her for her own good.
I'd burn the world down if it meant she was safe.
I pulled the gun away from his face, watching as it morphed with relief. I fired a shot into his thigh, relishing in the way he screamed out his pain. Blood welled from the wound, turning his jeans an even darker hue. "You shot him!" One other protested. "You fucking shot him." I nodded to Ryker, who set down his tool and joined me as I shoved the gun back into my pants after hitching the safety on. Stripping off my suit jacket, I tossed it over the back of one of the spare chairs we kept in the corner. I undid my cufflinks, rolling up my shirt sleeves. Couldn't get them bloody before my date.
My fist connected with the nose of the man who seemed to think a gunshot wound to the thigh was the end of the world. The sound of a nose crunching beside me meant Ryker had taken to giving the men a stern reminder of exactly who I was.
Who Ivory was by association.
"I'm feeling generous," I announced. "You get to live." I struck again, hitting the soft flesh of the man's belly. He groaned his pain, and I glanced out the side of my eye to see the man I'd shot panting so hard he steadily approached unconsciousness. "The only reason you're not dead is because you brought her back to me. I'm feeling thankful for that."
"Yes, Sir," the smartest one grunted, taking Ryker's next punch like a pro. We set to giving them a reminder they would never forget.
No one touched Ivory. No one looked at her wrong.
Or they'd end up dead.
Or beaten to shit at the very least.
Eleven
Ivory
My phone rang on the counter, and I jumped so hard I nearly sliced my finger off while chopping chives. That stupid man had me afraid of my shadow.
I wiped my hands off quickly, swiping the screen to connect the call even though I was really, really tempted to ignore it. "Hello?"
"Hey, Angel," Matteo's gruff voice said over the line. "I'm on my way to you."
I sighed, rubbing my temple in frustration. "I'm working. I can't go out tonight."
"I have a feeling you'll be trying that excuse often. What are you making?" I shoved down the twinge of excitement at the prospect of Matteo eating my food. I loved feeding people, to where I preferred cooking for dates and boyfriends rather than having sex with them. At least I knew I was good at cooking.
"Prime rib," I said hesitantly, glancing at the oven and roast that would be ready to pull out within a few minutes.
"What a coincidence," he said, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. "I love prime rib, and I can't imagine you'll eat it all yourself."
"I was planning on bringing some to Duke. His muse has been insane lately, and he forgets to eat if I don't feed him," I responded, wincing when Matteo's snort sounded over the phone.
"I'll just bet he does," he said mysteriously. "I'll be there in fifteen."
"Matteo!" I called out, hissing out an annoyed breath when he hung up on me again. I glanced over at my camera sitting on the dining room table, asking myself why I'd bothered with putting off cooking until so late that my pictures would suck.
Oh, right. I'd wanted the excuse to not go out with Matteo.
