“I can’t,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t trust my instincts. I can’t give you anything that you might want.”
“We’ll see,” I say, standing as someone knocks on the door.
Opening it, I accept the bags from a staff member that I ordered for her before shutting it again.
“Do me a favor and start stretching while I begin fixing your clothes,” I say, dropping to the ground. Pulling my sewing kit toward me, I feel her curious gaze on me. “Come on then.”
Olivia sinks to the ground and begins to push her body through stretches as she watches me. I begin to pull out the stitches on the clothes I bought to add more material for hidden pockets.
“You sew,” she murmurs. “Why were you making fun of me for knitting?”
“I never said that everything I do makes sense, and I also wasn’t making fun of you, not really,” I reply. “There are certain stereotypes you fit and others you don’t. The best way to get under my brothers’ skin is to keep them guessing. They hate to be proven wrong.”
“Many a time a person’s mouth will break his nose,” Olivia muses, making my lips twitch as she paraphrases an Irish saying back to me. It means that assumptions can lead to trouble.
She’s not wrong.
“So break their noses just for spite,” I wink at her, enjoying her slow smile. I would much rather team up with her than have her fight with me. I’ll do a lot to ensure that she stays alive.
The nonchalant way she talks about taking her own life scares the fuck out of me. Am I insane for giving her weapons? Maybe. It simply means that I need to give her more reasons to live.
“Give me your arms,” I say, watching the deep stretch she’s attempting to get with her legs almost in a split.
Holding onto her forearms, I slowly pull her forward until her breaths even out and she groans from the effort. If I’m honest with myself, I would confess that my dick has been rock hard since I found her. However, I’m going to lie to myself about how much I want her.
Coming on too strongly, despite everything that’s come before this in the heat of the moment, could make the little doe sprint away from me. I can’t explain why I’m so attached, exceptthat it feels as if I’ve been drifting my entire life until I met her. It’s only a few hours, and I know that it’ll only get more intense.
So, I’m jumping in with both feet to show that I’m on her side. In this house, she’ll need it.
“Your muscles are so tight,” I mutter watching as she struggles to lay flat on the ground with her legs splayed open.
“Not everyone is built like Gumby,” she grumbles softly, her eyes rolling up to look at me. I’m finding that I like her eyes on me. I haven’t hidden my scars from her, and she looks more curious than scared of them.
“You’ll wish you were when we start training,” I chuckle.
Let the games begin, Angel. I just need you to know enough to be able to survive. I’ll figure out the rest.
Chapter
Seven
MADDOX
The momentI lay down at the end of this hellacious day, my phone begins to ring.
“I pissed in someone’s Fruity Pebbles in another life,” I groan. It feels as if I’m making one mistake after another, and now a shit storm is on my doorstep.
Sitting up in my pajama pants, I grab the phone and answer. My father is demanding a video chat, a sure sign that things are about to get worse. My seventy-six year old father doesn’t appear a day over fifty, works out regularly, and prides himself on being at the gun range several times a week.
It’s survival along with vanity. Gazing at his salt and pepper hair once I accept the call, I am reminded of how much he looks like me. The strong nose, corded shoulders, it’s like looking into the mirror outside of the fact that I haven’t gone gray yet.
“Hello, Father,” I greet him. “When can we expect you in Minneapolis?”
“In a few hours,” he replies. “I’ll be by the house in the morning though. Can you explain to me why I saw Cian Sullivan drive through the gates of your home with a few others?”
People wonder why I’m so fucking paranoid, but it’s not paranoia if people are actually out to get you. In my father’s case, he simply wants to be in the know about our lives. We’re too private for his tastes.
The issue with this is that we don’t want him to know everything for our own sanities.
