The tension radiating off her only increases as she stalks through the iron gate, up the stone walkway, and toward the massive front door without glancing back a single time to see if I’m following her.
As far as she’s concerned, I could have gotten lost on the drive over from The Grind, and she would have been happy about it. Her concession made because of Astrid’s suggestion doesn’t mean she’s fully on board with having me here.
She doesn’t like the idea of me helping with whatever’s going on with the Hawkes, but I can’t just stand by and pretend none of this bothers me.
Seeing how upset she is.
Witnessing how hard she’s working.
Knowing that she’s going to burn herself out if something doesn’t change.
It all drives me forward, even if her entire body language is telling me to get lost. Before she reaches the door, I grab her arm, halting her progress.
I haul her back against me and lower my lips to the shell of her ear, holding her tightly. “Please don’t waste your energy fighting me when you clearly have a bigger adversary to focus all this animosity on.”
She doesn’t really hate me.
We both know that.
The icy front she’s blasting me with is just another defense mechanism she’s using to keep me at arm’s length. To prevent me from getting close.
But it isn’t going to work.
Eventually, she’ll stop trying, but until that moment comes, all I can do is keep reminding her that I am not the enemy.
Her body relaxes slightly in my hold, but it’s the only hint I receive that suggests I may have gotten through to her. Because in the next moment, she’s wrenching herself free and opening the door. She steps inside without any announcement of our presence or invitation to me, but I follow anyway, nudging the door closed behind me.
The grand foyer of the mansion is exactly how I imagined it would look. Glistening marble, filigree wallpaper, fresh flowers on a small table, and my eyes immediately cast upward toward the chandelier that hangs in the center of two spiral staircases that lead to the second floor.
Given the excited menagerie of voices coming from our left, the rest of the Hawkes must already be here.
The girls all left The Grind well before us, with Bishop taking great care to ensure their security teams had them protected for the change of venue before she was willing to leave with me.
Now those men patrol the outside of the house, offering at least a modicum of comfort that we’ll all be guarded while this meeting takes place.
That doesn’t seem to help Bishop relax at all though. She steps into a large living room filled with so many people I can’t even take them all in.
All the conversations slowly taper off as the Hawkes turn to face her.
And me.
Dozens of sets of eyes roam over me, taking me in and sizing me up the same way Bishop did the first time she saw me. The women all appear surprised and interested, giving me at least somewhat friendly smiles, but the men just seem utterly pissed that Bishop has brought an outsider to a Hawke Family meeting that was clearly meant to be private.
I’ve been in some very uncomfortable places before, but this feels different. Somehow more dangerous, even though there isn’t a single gun pointed at me.
At least, not one I can see.
Bishop glances at me before facing all of them. “This is Gage Newhart. He stepped in to help one of the girls at the club recently.”
Some of the tension in the room evaporates, but it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface. They’ve all no doubt heard about what went down that night, which at least gives some explanation for my presence.
“Astrid thought he might be able to help with security, given what just went down today.”
The man seated in a plush leather chair in front of the fireplace with jet-black hair graying around his temples who I instantly recognize as Savage Hawke inclines his head toward me. “I hear you met Satriano.”
I rub my hand against the back of my neck and nod. “If that was the guy at The Grind today, then yeah.”
“Well”—he locks his icy blue gaze on me—“he isn’t exactly our favorite person.”
