“You’re not a problem. Go,” Tate says, lifting her chin toward the bedroom. “I’m waiting for a fashion show.”
“Great,” Iris mutters as she stalks toward my bedroom, struggling with the giant bag of clothes, butI do my best not to run to help her. She already feels helpless in this situation, and the last thing I want to do is make that feeling worse.
As soon as the bedroom door closes, Tate turns her stare on me. “What in the actual fuck?”
“I know. I know. It’s crazy,” I tell her, keeping my voice quiet so Iris doesn’t hear.
“Malakai is a nutjob.”
“Yep.”
“He’s so dangerous.”
“I know,” I tell her.
Tate scrubs her hands against her face. “She’s lucky she’s still alive.”
I nod.
“If she’d never met you and Gramps didn’t know him, she might not still be breathing.”
“Fate,” I whisper.
Tate sighs. “That’s some messed-up destiny.”
I shrug.
“What if Malakai won’t leave her out of it?”
My stomach turns at the thought. “Impossible.”
Tate stares at me without any emotion on her face. “For real?”
“He’ll understand.”
“For your sake and hers, I hope you’re right. I can’t believe her ex, who I knew was an asshole for leaving her at the altar, but this goes beyond anything horrible I thought about him. How stupid is he?”
“Dumber than we could’ve ever imagined. Iris isbeside herself.” I dump the remaining coffee in my mug down the drain and place the cup in the sink.
Tate moves around the island to stand next to me. “If anyone can keep her safe, it’s you, baby brother. I can tell you’re worried, even if you won’t say it.”
I turn, resting my hip against the counter. “I know Malakai. I know he can be an asshole, but I refuse to believe he won’t listen to common sense about her relationship to Lucas. If he doesn’t, I’ll put myself between her and anything his men will throw at her.”
Tate’s face pales. “You really like her, huh?”
“I do,” I tell her, refusing to lie about my feelings. “Something different about her.”
“Aw, my brother’s in love.”
“It’s too early for that.”
“I told you, you’re marrying her.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop, Tate.”
The bedroom door opens, and we turn our heads toward the other side of the loft. Iris steps out, wearing a black sweater and skintight jeans.
“You wear that better than me,” Tate tells her.
