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She takes it and glides after him, entranced under his spell. What bad dream have I found myself in? My jaw clenches. I can’t hear what they’re saying up ahead and rush to follow them with Callen. We’re the third and fourth wheels. Callen doesn’t care. He hums and twirls his gun around like it’s a toy.
I catch his wrist with enough strength to narrowly avoid breaking it and say, “Put it away. Haven’t you done enough damage already?”
It’s his fault we’re in this mess. He shoots first and asks questions later. His medical expertise is the only reason he’s still here. He’s a liability, and his actions have put us all at risk. Putherat risk.
“Fine,” Callen grumbles and tucks the gun away. “But don’t blame me for him stealing your lass.”
“He’s not stealing her,” I hiss under my breath.
Except why do I suddenly feel like the kid being picked last to join a sports team? Rose gazes up at Freddie like he’s a superhero who has swept her off her feet. Granted, he looks like one, but they don’t even know each other! Why doesn’t she act like that with me?Because you’re second best, my insecurity reminds me like a devil on my shoulder. I’m familiar with that feeling. Second best to Freddie. Second best to my perfect fucking family, who want me to attend charity galas, go hunting, and marry a climbing socialite. Whatever I do, I’m not good enough. Maybe Rose thinks I’m a disappointment too.
We all pile into the lift. It’s a squeeze with the four of us pressed together in the cramped space, but no one speaks. I attune my hearing to listen to her breathing. It quickens. The lift beeps as we reach the ground floor, cutting through the building tension.
Our house has three more floors for her to explore. This one is our kitchen and living space. The other, our bedrooms, and finally, on the top floor, our entertainment area with a bar, games room, and secret weapons arsenal. It’s the first time anyone other than a Duke has been inside our base.
“This way,” Freddie says, never letting go of her hand. He leads her into the living room. As they walk, he explains more about the building, like they’re taking a casual stroll through a museum. He’s acting like he owns the place. Technically, he does, but it’s still mine. Well, it was, until I signed over the deeds.
Freddie treats the Dukes like family, only he has a ruthless edge too. He never stops thinking about ways we can take the Dukes to the next level, but Rose has his undivided attention. He looks at her with an intense, obsessive passion, like he’s getting ready to throw himself in front of a bullet for her. My girl.
I unclench my fists. I’m not letting her go. Rose reuniting with Freddie changes nothing. She doesn’t date, and we made a deal. A deal for me to be there if she fucks anyone else.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Freddie offers. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Rose sits on the sofa, and he sits next to her, while I slump down in the chair opposite them. I may as well be on another fucking planet.
“I don’t know about any of you,” Callen says, sauntering to the mini-bar we installed earlier this year, “but I could do with a stiff drink.”
“Rose?” Freddie prompts.
“It can’t hurt,” she replies.
It’ll help with the shock. She’s a strong woman who can handle herself. However being pulled into a gunfight isn’t how she expected her night to end.
Callen generously pours the best Russian vodka and passes glasses around. Rose downs it in one.
Callen raises his eyebrows. “Another?”
Freddie begins, “I don’t think that’s a—”
“Yes,” Rose interrupts, thrusting her glass forward for a refill. She swills the liquid around her mouth, swallows, and exhales deeply. “So, are you going to tell me why you lied to me?” She narrows her eyes in my direction. “You’re supposed to be royalty.” Then her lips curl at Callen. “You said you were some kind of businessman.” She shakes her head and looks to Freddie for answers. “And you…”
“We are the Dukes,” Freddie says.
“You already said that,” she snaps. Her earlier fear vanishes and gives way to a rush of something else. Anger. “What does that even mean? Who are the Dukes? Are you a gang?”
“We run a security firm,” Freddie replies. “We offer specialist services.”
“What kind of services?” She’s a journalist. She won’t stop until she gets answers. “Do they normally involve killing people?”
“Killing people isn’t all we do,” Callen counters, “but they’re my favourite jobs.”
“Jesus,” she mutters, downing her drink. Can she understand now why I didn’t want to leave them alone together? “You are a monster.”
“We protect people too,” I intervene, trying to make us sound at least somewhat redeemable.
“Is that supposed to make killing people okay?” she hisses. “Most businesses handle confrontation in a board room, not with bullets!”
She thinks we’re the bad guys, and I don’t blame her.
