“I’m bleeding on your suit,” I realized in horror.
“Fuck the suit, Dakota.”
My eyes burned, and suddenly, I was hit with a wave of gratitude so fierce, it nearly knocked me sideways. Which, granted, wouldn’t take much in my current state.
But seriously, here was Ryker. Researching crime family threats in his spare time like some kind of legal superhero. Keeping tabs on us when we were too stubborn or distracted to keep tabs on ourselves. And when I’d stormed off into the night like a dramatic heroine in a gothic novel, he’d actually followed me.
Not because he had to. Not because anyone asked him to. But because he cared.
And now he was carrying me against his warm chest, his arms solid and protective around me, like I was something precious instead of a bleeding mess who couldn’t even walk straight. The steady thrum of his heartbeat under my body was more comforting than it had any right to be.
“You know, you’re a really good guy, Ryker.”
“I try.”
“No. Like, really good.”
“If you’re hitting on me, stop. Axel will cut my balls off. He’s already pissed that Mathew likes you. Don’t add me to his hit list.”
I couldn’t help but smirk. “I’m not hitting on you. I just meant … thank you and all that.”
“Anytime, Dakota.”
“Ryker?”
“Hmm?”
“If you tell Knox about me getting punched, I’m afraid I’ll have to be the one to cut off your balls.”
He smirked. Shook his head. “You’re fierce—you know that?”
If by fierce, you mean concussed and bleeding, then sure.
The elevator dinged and opened.
Revealing a red-faced Axel with his hands around Mathew’s throat.
42
UPDATE: FAKE FIANCÉ IS CAPABLE OF TOSSING EX-BOYFRIEND ACROSS THE ROOM LIKE A RAG DOLL. #UTTERSATISFACTION
AXEL
What. The. Fuck?
The only thing capable of making me release Mathew’s neck was the sight before me: Dakota covered in blood. It stained the side of her head like spilled wine, cascaded in a crimson waterfall down her ear and throat, and pooled onto her designer gown.
I dropped Mathew and sprinted across the foyer, scooping her from Ryker’s arms. Her scent was tainted with the metallic tang of blood.
“Sunshine.” My voice came out rougher than I’d ever heard it. “What the fuck happened?”
“I’m fine,” she claimed, but her gaze darted between me and Mathew, as if—and you have to be shitting me here—she was more worried about the two of us fighting than whatever the hell was wrong with her.
“I can walk.” She tried to release herself from my grip, but I tightened my arms around her. Her body felt too light, too fragile. Like she might dissolve if I let go.
I carried her to the leather couch, laying her down against the cream cushions. Our dinner guests gathered around the edges of my living room, their designer evening wear suddenly obscene against the backdrop of her injury.
“Axel, I assure you, I’m totally fine …”
