“Good afternoon to you too,” Nick says, greeting her glare with a smirk. “It’s time to flap your wings.”
Her body stiffens slightly, barely noticeable, but I caught it. “Now?” Her tone is carefully indifferent, but there’s apprehension under it. Considering Daniel’s history with Story, I don’t have to think too long about what kind of shit he’s pulling with this girl.
“Now, little bird.” Nick gives the wrapper another crinkle. “Your new digs are all ready for you.”
“Great,” she drawls, turning off the TV with the remote and tossing it on the bed.
Unsure of what I’m doing here, I take in the girl as she slides off the bed. Despite the cold, she’s in a black T-shirt and a pair of cut-off jean shorts, showing off the tattoo that snakes up from her calf to her thigh. Her feet are bare, but a pair of flip-flops is on the floor by the dresser.
Nick bends to pluck them up, tossing them to her. “Someone lost shoe privileges,” he says to me, grabbing her bag off the mustard yellow chair. “Sweet little Lavinia here is a kicker.” He crams a toiletry bag on top and tosses a jacket to her. “It’s cold. Put that on.”
“Lavinia,” I repeat, the name ringing the bell. “As in Lavinia Lucia? As in Lionel Lucia’s daughter?” I take a step back, going rigid. “What the fuck’s going down here? Because Daniel is bad enough. Pissing off two Kings isn’t the kind of fire I like playing with.” Lionel Lucia is King to the Counts, a federal circuit judge, and not someone I want to be on the bad side of.
“The less you know, the better.” Nick throws the bag and I catch it. “But you don’t need to worry about Lionel Lucia. Let’s just say every part of the Royalty is down with what’s happening here. Got it?” I very seriously do not fucking have it, but when Nick says, “Let’s roll out,” I clutch the bag in one fist and feel for my pistol with the other, poised for the worst. She dawdles by the bed so he grabs her by the bicep, yanking her out into the hallway. Huffing, he grits out, “Why do you make me drag you around?” It’s said in a low voice, close to her ear, like he doesn’t intend for me to hear it. “Is this how you flirt? Because if you like it rough, you don’t need to try so hard, little bird.”
I follow, shutting the door and keeping close on their heels. The girl keeps trying to put distance between her and Nick, but he’s got a nice grip on her and keeps tugging her back.
“Keep close,” he tells me. “We’ll go out the back door. The van’s parked in the alley.”
It all seems like a simple plan.
We get Lavinia into the back seat, and I must be crazy—I must be seriously fucked in the head—because it’s like this instinct takes over. The Daniel instinct. The psych department at Forsyth could probably spend years dissecting it. This thing buried deep in my hindbrain that puts me into soldier mode. It’s what drives me to duck inside and yank the seatbelt over her lap.
One second I’m strapping her in, and the next, I’m flying away, dropping to my ass and clutching my shoulder. “Ow, fuck!”
Nick gives a lazy laugh. “Told you she was a kicker.”
I grab the gun without thinking, lurching to my feet. Because that’s the thing about Daniel mode. It doesn’t make allowances for ‘sweet little kickers’。 “You fucking bitch,” I spit.
But Nick is shoving me back, face rearranged into a stiff, emotionless mask. “Put that fucking thing away, Rathbone. If you hurt her—”
I rub my collar bone, teeth gnashing. “I don’t give a fuck about Daniel’s property.”
“She’s not Daniel’s property,” he says, voice a low hiss. “She’s the Kings’ property. That makes her untouchable until they say otherwise.” Nick’s gaze flicks down to the gun, eyes flashing as he places himself between me and the girl, hand resting on his own piece. “And trust me when I say they’re not the ones you should worry about.” He’s standing there all big and hulking, like he’d be glad to let the Bruin loose—the bear with all its claws—and it hits me.
Rolling my eyes, I tuck the gun back into my pants. Fuck. He’s into this girl. “So it’s like that.”
Eyes narrowed, he says, “Yeah, it’s like that,” and turns to shut her door. Before he can, a glob of spit smacks him in the face, rolling slowly down his cheek as he freezes. Nick blinks at her scowling face, barely flinching as he pulls the collar of his shirt up, wiping it away. For a long moment, there’s utter silence.