“You don’t know that. You have no idea what that fucker has planned. For all we know, she’s going to show up to the date, and it’ll be a wedding.” Just the thought of Hannah walking down theaisle and Rowan or myself not being at the other end has tension bleeding into every muscle.
“We won’t let that happen. I promise.”
“Don’t make me promises you can’t keep,” I growl. “You didn’t see her last night. She was so fucking upset. What if Trent puts on a pretty show and makes her feel wanted just to beat her into submission once he has a ring on her finger?”
Like I said, the guy isn’t the worst of the bunch, but when you’re going up against human traffickers, it’s pretty easy to seem like an okay guy.
Rowan steps in front of me mid-pace and grasps my shoulders, holding me steady as he levels me with a stare. “Ash, I need you to calm down. We knew this was coming. We knew he would guilt her, and we knew she would buckle because that’s what he’s conditioned her to do. But we have a plan, and we will not allow her to be hurt or forced into a marriage she doesn’t want.”
I drag in an unsteady breath and force the blinding panic down.
“Our girl is loyal to a fault, you know that. And in this case, it’s both a blessing and a curse. Her obligation to her grandfather is to meet Trent, but her loyalty to you will mean it goes no further than that.”
I nod, but the anxiety beating behind my ribs makes it hard to breathe.
What if we got this close just to lose her?
What if everything we’ve done in the last five years was for nothing?
What if, after everything is said and done, she chooses someone else?
“I’m going to the gym,” I grind out. “I need to spar.”
“Don’t kill any of our fighters. We need them for the fight next week, and Kovu will be pissed if we don’t deliver.”
I clench my jaw but nod. I don’t make it a habit to kill anyone that makes us money, but right now my bloodlust is stronger than it’s ever been.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HANNAH
This is wrong.
This is really fucking wrong.
And yet I’m doing it anyway.
When my grandfather called this afternoon, demanding an answer, I was transported back to a time when I never had a choice. It was their way or the highway, and I was reminded of that at every opportunity, which is how I found myself saying I would meet Trent Bradley.
First of all, what kind of name is that? I can tell he’s a dick just from the double first name. Then I made the mistake of googling him.
What a douche.
A partner at one of the biggest law firms in New York who is not afraid to make it known what he thinks about women.
He’s on record saying he expects any woman in his life to sit at home and wait on him hand and foot. To be available for sex at any time of the day, even if she’s not in the mood. And to bear him six children.
Yep. Six.
I don’t even know if I want one child, and this guy is out here thinking I’ll give himsix?
Just the thought makes me want to turn around and go home. To call Asher and have him come over because he wouldnevertreat me like I’m only good enough to pop out kids and be nothing more than an available hole.
I climb out of the car my grandfather insisted I take to dinner, because no granddaughter of his would arrive to such an important evening in a taxi or Uber.
“I’ll wait around the corner, Miss Malone,” the driver says from the front seat, and I say a quick thanks before making my way to the restaurant.
A Michelin Star French restaurant with a menu full of things I have no interest in eating should have been my first warning before I decided to do a little more digging, but I had no choice in where we met, just like I’d have no choice in anything else if I allowed this sham to go ahead.
