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No shit. Metal’s wonderful and super-smart wife Felicity was still barfing her way through her pregnancy with twin boys. Everyone felt sorry for her, nobody could do anything, and trying to make it easier for her didn’t work because she always wanted to do her share of work, and more. She never ever complained. Metal had aged ten years over the course of the pregnancy. Everyone was hoping the boys would pop soon and put him out of his misery.
Those kids would be born into the ASI family and would grow up with a billion loving aunts and uncles.
Lucky kids. Pierce’s family in the States was small, but he came from a huge clan back in Ireland. When he went back to visit family in County Cork, a small army of munchkins hurled themselves at him as soon as he walked through the door, wanting to be thrown in the air.
He loved it.
“Keep us updated,” he said to the Queens and closed the connection.
Pierce looked at Riley, who seemed really happy for Felicity and for her friends. Not once had she mentioned family. Emma had said she was alone in the world, which seemed strange for such a beautiful woman. Not only was she beautiful, but she also seemed to lack all the toxic hallmarks of beautiful women that made them so difficult. She wasn’t difficult at all. In mortal danger, she hadn’t thrown a fit or even had a mood. At all times, she tried to be helpful, a characteristic she shared with the Queens.
No family, though.
No boyfriend, either.
That baffled him, too. How some guy hadn’t snatched her up and not let go was beyond his comprehension.
She’d been through hell. Well. Time to try to take care of her, since no one else was going to.
Pierce suddenly found himselfwantingto take care of her. Make her feel better. Above all, make her feel safe. If anyone wanted to hurt her, they’d have to go through him to get to her. He knew Jacob Black would be looking after her, too, and his company, but he felt that she washisto care for. Not a job, not a chore, not a responsibility, but a privilege.
His.
She was at the living room desk, head propped up on one hand, checking something. Right now she needed to have her head taken up with other things. Not by murder and lies and war.
He put a hand on her shoulder, feeling the delicate bones.
“Hey,” he said softly, placing a black credit card on the Swedish design desk. “We don’t know how long this is going to take and you had to leave everything behind. Twice. Take this card and order some clothes. Lots of them. Anything you want. Cashmere, silk. Armani, Dior. Whatever. Everything, from the skin out. And get yourself all the toiletries you’ll need, or whatever else you want. Spend lavishly.”
She looked up at him curiously and checked the credit card, in the name of Hugo da Silva. “Who is Hugo da Silva?”
“No one.” He grinned just thinking of it. “ASI was hired to take down a cartel and it turned out there was a huge secret bank account that the government couldn’t take over because they didn’t have the password, and they didn’t want it anyway. The guy who hired us wanted the win, but not the paperwork to take over the account. So he said,If you guys can crack the code, it’s all yours. Well, our Queens cracked the code in a couple of hours, and Midnight and the Senior had credit cards made out in fictitious names, for us to use in the field when we need something but have to hide our identity. We’re encouraged to use them. The Queens got a new car each, and let me tell you, our chief gearhead, Jacko, was disgusted when they all wanted a Prius. Long story short, that credit card is completely anonymous and basically bottomless, so go to town.”
She smiled. “Well, that’s quite a story. I’ll order clothes and … things, but be forewarned, my tastes run more to Lululemon than Armani, and to cotton rather than silk and cashmere.”
He gently squeezed her shoulder. “Anything you want,” he repeated. “And plan for a while. Have them delivered to this address. My friend’s name is Harrison March. There’s a doorman who will take delivery. In the meantime, my friend’s a foodie and he said his freezer is full and to use whatever I wanted. Any preferences for food?” He grinned. “I remember you’re not a vegetarian or a vegan.”
“God no.” Riley laughed. “I love meat. Not too wild about fish though. And after playingThe Last of Us, I’m off mushrooms.”
Ah. A woman after his own heart. “Gotcha. No fish, mushroom-free. You go order up a storm and I’ll have dinner on the table by the time you finish.”
“You a good cook?”
“You don’t have to sound surprised. I grew up in an Irish household where a pot roast was a small, black, charred thing, and my ma, bless her, put the vegetables on to boil before going to mass. I learned to cook out of self-defense, though in this case, it’ll be simply nuking stuff from Harrison’s freezer. Do you cook?”
“Not really. I can defrost and am an ace at ordering. I can do breakfasts though.”
“Good to know. So I’ll leave you to it. Again, order anything you want, in quantity.”
“What about you?”
“I’m more or less Harrison’s size so I’ll just use his clothes. He won’t mind. I’ll try not to get shot and put holes in the clothes. His stuff tends to be expensive.”
Riley leaned back and looked around the apartment. It was super modern, decorated expensively. The master bathroom was larger than many people’s living rooms, with a hot tub. The whole place screamed money and expensive decorators.
“Your friend …”
“Harrison?”
