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I can’t see their guns, even with the slim tailoring of both their suits. If I hadn’t seen the holsters, I never would have known. Sawyer is an inch or two taller than Grant and has a broader build, his attention to every detail makes him look perfectly polished and suave, not at all dangerous. Grant has a bit of a wild, unkempt look about him. His eyes are always hard until he smiles and that smile of his is more dangerous than any gun ever could be.
I follow Sawyer into the hall and over to his door. He unlocks and swings it open for me before pulling me to him for another deep and languid kiss. I melt against him as he lulls me into a feeling of safety. All too soon, he’s pulled away with a snarl.
Grant grabs me by the neck, his fingers firm but gentle as he pushes me back against the wall. His kiss is hard and demanding, taking everything I have within me to give him. The hand that isn’t wrapped around my neck kneads my hip to keep me from grinding my pelvis against his. When he finally gets his fill, he rests his forehead against mine.
“Be smart. Stay inside Sawyer’s apartment and don’t open the door for anyone. Lake and Nolan should be here in a couple hours.”
“I won’t go anywhere,” I promise them both.
“Bye Liv, help yourself to anything.” Sawyer gives me a soft smile as he gets on the elevator.
“Lock the door,” Grant says as the elevator doors close.
I walk into the apartment and flip the deadbolt to lock it. Right after I do, I get a text message from Grant, asking for visual proof that I’m locked away inside Sawyer’s place. I fight the urge to get sassy with him, this is the first time I’ve been alone without one of them in the time I’ve been back. I’m uneasy, and I know they are as well.
I go into the living room and turn the television on to a morning news program to zone out. I haven’t found the courage to google myself and Tripp again to see if he’s said anything more about my disappearance. I wish I didn’t have to think about him ever again, but I know that’s wishful thinking. At the very minimum, I’ll have to deal with him through the divorce proceedings, which I know he won’t make easy.
I lie down on the couch, and before I know it, I’m drifting off to sleep. The quiet sounds of a cooking segment provide a peaceful white noise. I don’t know how long I’m asleep when the sound of the door trying to open wakes me. I immediately run to the kitchen, grab my gun from the island and hold it the way Lake showed me.
After another few seconds of struggle, the deadbolt flips. In my sleep-fogged brain, I’m torn between standing my ground and running. Then I see Nolan step through the door, a look of surprise flits over his face when he sees the gun, but then he grins.
“Good girl,” he says as he pushes the door open for Lake. “Look at that stance, Lake. After only one lesson.”
Lake comes in and looks at me appraisingly. “Most intruders won’t have a key,” he says with a short-lived smirk. “Did something happen to scare you?”
“No, I was just sleeping. You startled me, I think.”
“I’m glad your first instinct was to defend yourself.” Nolan comes over and wraps me in his arms. “I missed you,” he says into my hair.
“I missed you, too.” I want to ask about what happened while they were gone, but part of me doesn’t want to know. I move from Nolan’s arms to Lake’s. “I missed you, too.”
“Same.” He squeezes me in his huge arms and kisses my cheek. “We were successful. Do you want to know what happened or just that justice was delivered?”
“I don’t know.” I lean back against the counter, putting just the slightest distance between us. “On one hand, if you did actually kill him in cold blood, I don’t know if I want to hold that knowledge. On the other, I feel like I need to understand who you guys are and your motivations for doing what you do. Especially when you’re doing illegal things.”
“The only motivation you need to know about, is protecting you.” Nolan steps up beside Lake. “We will avenge you, bringing forth the hammer of retribution on your behalf without giving anything a second thought.”
“I do want you to know that we never target anyone who isn’t doing something wrong.” Lake looks at me intently, his brown eyes a multifaceted molasses brown today.
“Who decides what is wrong?”
“We do,” they both answer at the same time.
19
SAWYER
I’m sittingbeside Grant at a table in the corner of one of his restaurants in midtown when Harold Davis comes in. He’s an average-looking, middle-aged man, the kind of guy that is a dime a dozen here in Manhattan. His eyes are shrewd though, and that has me paying closer attention. I stay quiet while Grant discusses his vision for the next restaurant and the logistics of what he needs in an investor.
Despite Grant’s charm and how easy it is for him to work people, Davis continues to insist that his people should be in charge. He claims to have the best connections down in Philadelphia, where Grant is looking to expand his empire. Every time Grant brings the conversation back around to what he’s looking for, Davis does the same thing, back to his talking points. It’s a master class of manipulation, but no one can pull Grant’s strings.
Eventually I intervene and ask for the paperwork Davis has brought with him, so I can look through the legalities. I settle back with a glass of water. Grant and Davis give each other just enough polite conversation to smooth over the tension of the meeting.
Once Davis leaves, Grant blows out a deep breath, looking at me for confirmation. “Something was off about him, right?”
“Definitely. Why was he so insistent on something so minor?”
“I don’t know, but we’re definitely not going into business with him.”
