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The two little letters comprising that tiny word could drive a man insane, and not of the slow variety.
The time gives me the space to think while we wait on my would-be ally. It seems my life has been all action until recently, until I met Willow. Before her, Dom and I ran our own show here while trying to avoid my father. If I couldn’t, we worked at his bidding, proactive in our own territory, while holding up the family bargaining chip and Rhode Island seat of power.
Once I met Willow, she stole my attention in the best of ways, and I stopped working forward for a period and reacted. To everything. My world changed, hell, everything has changed. I have a pregnant sister, my healer has a baby, I’ve got enemies pushing their way into my every orifice, and I’m about to use my blood brother as a bargaining chip.
What the hell would my father say?
Do I care?
The answer to the latter is probably yes, and the words that flow through my head give me the solution to the former as though the Don himself stands at my shoulder.
Protect your own.
The ones I love. The people in this godforsaken warehouse, prepared to fight and die alongside me.
I meet Roman’s eyes where he watches every entrance to the place, turning his back to a new blind spot constantly, while seeking his sister with every alternate breath. The boy has grown, developed into a man sometime when we weren’t looking. Or maybe the truth had always been there, staring us in the face. All because he portrayed the mute, damaged boy, and that was what we all chose to see.
Clearly, Roman Hernandez has plenty to offer. Willow’s family is in capable hands.
He tilts his chin up, indicating the arrival of my friendly foe and his entourage—not too many, judging by the number of cars that drift silently along past the open door. Black sedans, an SUV, and a silver–I fucking kid you not–DeLorean that looks like it came from a future about forty years past.
Fucking Irish. I grin ruefully at Roman and he returns the gesture, flicking his knife at Enzo’s throat, sometimes leaving tiny nicks that create rivulets of blood to flow down my brother’s neck and sometimes not. The boy—or not so boy but younger man—doesn’t appear to be bothered by the blood trickling over his fingers where he slowly strangles my brother. At least, no more bothered than his sister, who edges her way closer to me with every minute.
Though we hold all the cards, the situation feels fraught, like any sudden movements will spring a trap that could end us all.
Everyone I love.
Protect my own.
With a silent nod to my father’s shade, I wind an arm around Willow’s waist and pull her into my body, pressing my lips to my temple. “I’m proud of him.”
She snorts. “Who, my brother? Or yours that I’ve never heard about? What other family members are you hiding? A love child?” She glares up at me, though I don’t have to look hard to see the fraying edges of her peace silently stolen by the ongoing threat to her family.
To us.
I comb my fingers through her hair and tug her head sharply back. If I can’t give her utter proof that we will be alive in the next hours then I’ll do the damndest to distract her in the best ways I know how.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” I tug her hair until her back arches and she gasps with the pinprick of pain I provide that is overlaid with a heady dose of submission intended just for her.
“You’re an asshole,” she grumps prettily, whining a little as she twists in my grasp. “Let me up.”
“Not yet.” I stare straight into her eyes. Know who owns you, little wife. An unspoken promise of who we are together, and what will come if we survive the next few hours passes between us. All that in the fraction of a second before I slam my mouth over hers in a brutal kiss that does its job, distracting us both as heavy, sure footsteps fill the warehouse, followed by the small army I expected.
“Can’t keep your shit in your pants for longer than thirty minutes, Rafe?” Konnor’s voice drips with disdain.
I straighten, pulling Willow to my chest and shielding her recovery from our harsh kiss. That moment is for her, and her alone. No one, especially not Konnor fucking Hennie, gets to share that space. Not now. Not until I’m sure.
Because ever since she ran from me and straight to him, I’ve harbored a doubt.
“Guess we’ll find out if this goes on much longer. I got you a gift.”
“So thoughtful.” Konnor’s eyebrows rise above his hardened, coal-black eyes. His thick hair is pulled back into a ponytail that hangs halfway down his back over his black, long-sleeved tee. Ink crawls from beneath the neckline and at his wrists.
“Thank you. I tried.” I smile at him, more a baring of teeth than anything else. “An exchange.”
His lips twitch beneath the half beard he’s growing. “For what?”
“Nothing at all. I give you something you lost. A replacement, as it were. To do with what you wish.” I close my mouth and let him think on it.
