I grit my teeth, forcing myself to focus. No time to get all weak-kneed over some guy’s cologne, even if it does wrap around me like a goddamn security blanket. There’s too much shit on the line.
“Well, aren’t you my knight in blood-stained armor…” I spit out, locking eyes with him. His gaze is so intense it’s like staring into the sun.
I freeze, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is. So fucking big. My heart’s doing gymnastics in my chest like it’s auditioning for the Olympics.
What the hell?
I jerk my gaze away, staring at a spot on the wall like it holds the secrets of the universe.
“A ‘thanks’ won’t kill ya, princess,” D rumbles, “Or is gratitude not part of your charming repertoire?”
Internally, I snort. Always heard Ivankov’s attack dog was about as warm and cuddly as a rabid wolverine. Guess the rumors weren’t exaggerating.
I know I should say thanks. It’s what normal people do, right? But the words stick in my throat like razor blades. Nobody ever helps without wanting something, and I’m fresh out of favors to give.
16
Wren
Ineed to see Em. Now. I fumble for my phone, surprised to find it intact in my pocket.
Em picks up on the third ring, her voice thick with sleep. “Wren? Where are you? We were waiting for you to have dinner…”
“I’m, uh… I’m fine, squirt,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Had some extra work at the bar. Sorry I didn’t call.”
I glance at the time on my phone and curse under my breath. 1 AM?Fuck.
“Listen, Em, it’s late. Get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she mumbles. “Oh, Lenny can’t wait to get his new laptop tomorrow.”
Shit. The laptop. The money. My stomach churns as I remember shoving that wad of cash at the Russians. How the hell am I going to explain this to Lenny?
“Yeah, about that…” I start, but my eyes catch something on the glass coffee table. Stacks of crisp bills. They look exactly like the ones I had in my pocket.
What. The. Fuck?
My eyes snap up to D, narrowing. He’s leaning back, but still close enough I can count his damn eyelashes. His gaze roams over me like he’s memorizing every bruise.
“Wren, you there?” Em’s voice comes over the line.
I press my lips together, fighting the urge to tell her everything. “Did… did John come home?”
The line goes staticky. “Hello? Wren, what did you say?”
I shift on the sofa, the leather squeaking like it’s narrating my discomfort. D’s eyes are locked on me now, drinking in every word.
“Don’t worry about it, squirt. I’ve got it covered,” I say, my mind reeling. “Get some sleep. Love you.”
I hang up, staring at the money, and to D.
He’s standing now, and Jesus Christ, he’s huge. Not just tall but built like a brick shithouse. His shirt’s unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing a tapestry of ink and scars. My eyes trail lower, following the dark hair disappearing into his waistband, down to the unmistakable bulge in his pants.
Fuck me, that’s the biggest package I’ve ever seen. My mouth goes dry, and I swear I can feel heat radiating off him from here.
Close your fucking mouth, girl.
I clear my throat, trying to regain some dignity. “Well, uh, thanks for… saving me, I guess.”
