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My friend.
People who don’t even know me.
The hate mail I often receive is terrifying. I can no longer ignore it and simply focus on the letters I receive from young girls who look up to me. Those letters used to get me through any bad day, but I haven’t read one in months. So many people blame me for Vanessa going to prison. They say I deserved what I got because I couldn’t share the victory.
The thing is, I worked hard to get where I am. I was pushed into competing for school; I didn’t always want to. My coaches, teachers, Mom, they insisted I had to be the one to represent the school. I was a child being manipulated, and now everything is my fault.
As we reach the park entrance, I see Lorde standing outside their vehicle, holding the back door open as he waits for us. Duke gets behind the wheel, the other man gets in the front, and Lorde helps me into the back before joining me and buckling my seatbelt.
“Safety first.” He winks when he catches me watching him. In the minutes since meeting these men, they’ve treated me with more concern than anyone in my life has. Which sadly leads me to believe that they’ll break my heart harder than ever before when they leave. Because if life has taught me anything, it’s that feelings like this aren’t meant to last.
* * *
Lorde
She still hasn’t said a word to any of us. Her eyes speak a thousand thoughts, but nothing has passed her plump, light-pink lips. Not a sound beyond a sweet whimper. Her hands fidget in her lap, and while I’m glad to be sitting beside her, I’d like to know where Duke is taking us because it’s not in the direction of our home/offices, and it’s not the way to her brownstone on the Upper East Side.
Since her school is behind us, I can only assume we’re heading towards either her father’s office in Manhattan or to a hospital to ensure she’s alright and isn’t hiding anything from us. Given the twinge of pain in her eyes when she turned the wrong way, I’d say she hides the fact that her wound still gives her fits. Though, I don’t believe it should be after having read her medical file. Which makes me wonder what the hell is going on and if she was able to recuperate the way she should have been.
“Does it hurt often?” I ask her, turning my body a bit so I can see her face and distinguish whether she lies to me or not.
She shifts her head towards me, her green eyes muddied with confusion. I want to ask her a million questions, but I keep them to myself for now.
Gradually, her head lifts up and down as one hand moves to cover the wound. “Daily?”I wish she would speak.Another confirmation. “Have you told anyone?” I have a feeling I already know the answer to this question. She shakes her head, and I ball my fists in frustration.
“You should have; something could be wrong. It shouldn’t be hurting this much. Not anymore.” She shrinks back slightly, lowering her eyes, and I want to curse myself. Feeling a glare from up front, I meet Duke’s scowling gaze in the mirror, not surprised to see him shooting bullets from his eyes, aimed directly at me.
“Will you let us take you to a specialist to get checked out?” I soften my voice, and she again gives me those beautiful orbs, nibbling on her lip before looking up front to Noble and Duke. Noble’s eyes haven’t left her since we got in.
Both men nod their heads, confirming silently that we all want the same damn thing—her healthy as possible.
Sol’s head lolls to the side, nearly bouncing off the window, so I place a hand on her shoulder and pull her into my side. She startles at first, unsure of what I’m doing, but once she realizes I only want to offer her comfort, she settles down and rests her head on my shoulder.
Her eyes close, and in another minute, I feel her body relax against me. In all my years, from a shitty fucking childhood to the Rangers to building our business, I never fucking felt like this.
Something has settled deep inside me, and it has everything to do with the slip of a woman in my arms. Her languid body trusting that I’ll take care of her while she rests, has expanded my heart’s capacity, made it stronger just for her.
“You have an idea about that injury, Lorde?” Noble asks me. I trained as an army medic about a year before we retired. I’ve seen my share of gunshot wounds, and from the description in her file, I can surmise there’s something more going on. Unless they left out details of the damage.
“Best guess would be infection, but she’s not exhibiting any tell-tale signs, so then I have to wonder about scar tissue under the surface.” His concern reflects in his eyes. “She doesn’t know your name.” Noble’s piercing eyes dart up to mine at my odd change in subject. I don’t know why I just thought of it.
“She will soon enough,” he growls, lust flowing from the pupils of his eyes.
The remainder of the ride is quiet, and as we pull into the underground garage of Titan Pharmaceuticals, I tense. I’m not sure why, but there’s something we’re missing when it comes to this family, and it all centers around Trident Titan.
Waking Sol up as we park, Duke turns the vehicle off and helps her out. We flank her, covering her completely, so we’re her first line of defense if there's an attack. I can sense her confusion about the distance we’ve put between us and her, but for now, it must remain that way. Until we’ve got a better idea of what we’re dealing with.
The elevator ride to the thirtieth floor takes less than a minute, and the doors open to the office of Titan himself. His is the only one on this level, along with a penthouse suite that I suspect he uses more often than not.
“Gentleman, welcome to Titan Pharmaceuticals. I’m Allen Scuttleworth. Right this way.” It’s apparent that he doesn’t see Sol between us, not yet, or he wouldn’t be so cool. Not with a girl like her around. Nobody would be.
Sol’s hand slips into mine, and I glance down to see she’s also looped her fingers into Noble’s belt. Duke has a hand on her back, as well. The realization of her seeking comfort from us flips my feelings to possessive.
“Ah! I hear you found the girl. Is she safe?” Titan greets us, his wife at his side. Stepping back, we revealthe girl, but she doesn’t release her hold on us.
“What are you doing?” her mother hisses as she spots our clasped fingers and her daughter’s hand on Noble’s back. “Well?” the older woman snarls.
“Calm down, Ursula. It’s been a traumatic enough day for our child. She doesn’t need you screeching down her neck already.” Which indicates that she does it often enough.
