My own teeth clench and I look away from him. “I could’ve handled myself.”
“No, you couldn’t. He had a gun to your head and his hand in your pants. Your own guards who were supposed to be here watching out, let him stroll right in the fuckin’ place.”
I close my eyes for a second. “Okay, fine. I believe you. So, you’ve been getting your creeper on and stalking me to keep me safe from myself, okay. What exactly do you want, Soren?” I ask him, voice low and fingers twitching at my sides.
He smells so fucking good. Better than the tourist, better than the stranger, better than Sasha. Better than anyone ever.
“Let me help you,” he says.
I open my eyes to look at him in confusion. “Huh?”
“You need more than someone just watching your back. You need someone who’s actually paying attention to what’s going on. You need protection,” Soren tells me.
“What, you wanna be my personal guard?” I ask, a short laugh escaping me. “Be for-fucking-real, Soren.”
“I’m serious,” he insists. “This isn’t a game. The Carvels could’ve been the ones who took out Michaelis.”
“I highly doubt it,” I reply, rolling my eyes. No longer feeling as anxious or shaky. Simply exhausted and unamused with Jackson’s stunt that’s left him ready for a pine box. “These guys?” I wave at him. “They’re maybe number five on the list of people I’m worried about, and that’s only because the Montellos are in Siberia now.”
“Number five still makes them a danger, and you a target,” Soren reminds me. He folds his arms and narrows his eyes at me. “I didn’t save your life just to have you walk back out there and get killed.”
I eye him. The way he says that, the tone of his voice being so much more serious than I even understand, makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
He stands there, broad shouldered and dark shaggy hair hanging over his forehead, and my cock throbs.
The presence of Jackson’s body should dispel that, but it doesn’t. Knowing that the fucker is dead after what he tried—and that Soren killed him for me—only turns me on more.
Even his blood becomes less of a vile smell and more of a sickly sweet one.
“I don’t know,” I say simply. “How do I really know I can trust you? Trust this whole thing that Eivor has you putting on?Giving us guards, putting your men in our club, trailing me for protection… Do you really think I’m that messed up that I don’t see how this could all fuck me over?”
Soren nods slowly. “You’re right. It could. I can’t even say that it won’t,” he admits. “But it won’t be because of me.”
I look at him and he looks back at me in silence for a moment.
Marko steps back in. “Sorry to… interrupt whatever’s going on here, but the cleaners will be here in twenty, Boss.”
“Good. Call in Tony and Greg. I want them mopping up the blood,” I order.
“They called us in for the shift?—”
“I don’t give a fuck. They didn’t tell me, so this shit happened. They get here in twenty minutes and they mop up the fucking blood or I spill theirs,” I snap at him.
“Got it.”
He disappears again, and I hear him cursing my name, but I’m too exhausted to bother chasing him down and kicking his shit in.
Soren is still looking at me.
“So?” I ask him.
“If you don’t wanna make a decision now…at least let me take you somewhere safe. Somewhere to get cleaned up,” he suggests.
I sigh and look to the side, not at Jackson’s body, but the bookcase nearby. It’s splattered in blood too.
None of this should have happened. My guards should’ve been there. I should’ve been able to handle my own. I should have had my gun on me.
They didn’t, and I didn’t.
