Chapter 37
Daniil
Something is off.
I can’t put my finger on it, but my gut is screaming that we shouldn’t be here.
I don’t know if there’s legitimately something to worry about or if I’m being extra cautious because Courtney has just agreed to stay here.
With me. To give our relationship a try.
I don’t even know exactly what that means going forward, but I don’t care.
All I care about is that she’s going to stay.
“That’s the langos truck,” Marcus points as we walk up the sidewalk. He and Harlow are holding hands, and though he appears relaxed, focused on his date, I know he’s equally focused on everything around us.
As am I.
I want more than anything to enjoy spending time together as a family, but that’s just not part of my life.
Not yet anyway. I’ve been ruminating some ideas since my talk with Sandor and Erik earlier, and it might be time to be firm with Erik.
Politics isn’t what I want. If that’s my only option, then maybe I need to find something else to do with my life.
Charity work or some other aspect of royal life that doesn’t include politics.
My Royal Protector duties are a big question mark right now. I haven’t actually protected anyone since I came back from exile. I can take care of myself and anyone I’m with, and though Marcus is usually with me as a matter of protocol, I don’t get duty shifts like the others.
That was my compromise with Erik—either I can be a full-time politician or a full-time Protector.
No way in hell was I going to do both. Sandor, of course, is the Limaji version of Superman.
He oversees the Protectors, coordinating training, identifying potential new members, and coming up with duty shifts.
He also works in Parliament as Secretary of Defense.
And of course, generally speaking, he and Lennox are full-time parents beyond the help of their nanny.
Courtney sidles up next to me, sliding her hand through my arm. “You have that weird little knot between your brows. I only see it when you’re deep in thought about something. Care to share?”
My knee-jerk reaction to that is to say no. Because I don’t want to worry or scare her. But is that disingenuous considering the trust I’ve asked her to put in me?
“Daniil?” She continues to stare up at me curiously, and I have to remember that Courtney isn’t just a beautiful woman who happens to be the mother of my child.
She’s also a skilled soldier who did multiple tours in the Middle East. She’s also trained as a bodyguard and private investigator, so she’s going to sense that something is up.
“I don’t know,” I huff, lifting my hands slightly. “My sixth sense is telling me something is…wrong.”
She doesn’t panic or look alarmed, merely cocks her head slightly. “What part? Our location, the outing in general, or something else?”
“Something else.” I meet her gaze even though we’re both wearing sunglasses.
“What’s going on?” Marcus is another person in my life who’s extremely intuitive. His posture is relaxed but since he’s not wearing sunglasses, I can see that he’s laser-focused on me. And Micah, who seems to be happy in his stroller.
“It’s just a weird feeling,” I admit. “It’s probably nothing.”
Marcus nods and then speaks into his headset. He’s always connected to someone at the palace, and I hear him ask for back-up. I chose to opt out of the ear piece today so I could focus on my family—but I’m wondering if that was a mistake.
“…no, just a lot of people here. If something were to happen, I don’t know that I can protect everyone.”
That’s nonsense since the only person truly in danger would be Micah. Marcus, Courtney, and I can take care of ourselves, and Harlow may not be a bodyguard but she’s been trained on what to do in an emergency just like everyone else who lives and works at the palace.
“Okay, why are we pow-wowing without me?” she demands, joining us. “If something is going on, I deserve to be let in on it.” There are times when she reminds me of Lennox.
“Are we going to go get langos or are we going home?” Courtney asks. “I’m okay with either but I feel like we’re making ourselves stand out by congregating here on the sidewalk.”
“Dax is on his way,” Marcus says. “He’ll be here in ten. Let’s go get some food. If anything seems off, we’ll leave.”
With a decision made, I relax a little, pushing Micah’s stroller and allowing the ladies to walk ahead of us.
They’re chatting about what to eat and scanning the line of food trucks, though I see Courtney turning her head from side to side.
It’s a casual, natural motion, so you’d miss it if you weren’t looking, but I know she’s on alert.
One of many things I love about this woman.
Love.
I haven’t used that word since Jesper and I got married.
And even then, I didn’t mean it the way I do now.
It was casual love, the kind you feel with a good, trusted friend.
We were sleeping together, obviously, but that was separate.
I’m almost ashamed to admit it was more of a friends-with-benefits arrangement for me, along with that piece of paper that made us legal.
I wasn’t cheating—I just wasn’t emotionally invested.
It wasn’t until we had the kids that I realized I wanted out. Erik’s return from the dead gave it to me and I never looked back. Not my finest hour, but I’ve vowed to do better if I got another chance at love. I’d be a better man and partner, no matter who I ended up with.
Which is why I haven’t told Courtney that I fell in love with her almost from the beginning. I didn’t realize it at the time but in retrospect, it’s been love all along. I just needed to come to terms with it before I could tell her.
Now I’m saving the words for the right time—the right moment in time.
“Langos for everyone?” Harlow calls over her shoulder.
“I’ll eat the baby’s!” Marcus yells back. “I want mine with bacon.”
“Aren’t you Jewish?” I tease him.
“It’s a cultural thing, not a religious one,” he shoots back, rolling his eyes since we all already know this. I just like to give him shit because he has the appetite of a teenage boy who’s just hit a growth spurt—even though he’s thirty-four.
“You want chicken or ham?” Courtney yells to me.
“Chicken! Two of them!”
She nods, turning back to the food truck.
People are starting to line up now, so we’re lucky the girls got in line when they did.
The langos truck is always popular, and though it’s not my favorite junk food, I don’t mind it.
The ladies seem excited about it, and during an outing like this one, I’ll eat whatever.
“You still feeling uneasy?” Marcus asks me.
“Not as much.” I look around at the throngs of people enjoying a beautiful summer day.
Normally, I’m completely at ease out in public, but today I’m with my son, and it feels…
different. I can’t explain it. So far, I haven’t been recognized, with a Las Vegas Sidewinders baseball cap on my head and my sunglasses on, but even if I was, locals are usually pretty respectful.
Tourists can be annoying but they’re also the least likely to recognize me.
There’s a guy with long hair, a leather jacket, and face tattoos in my peripheral vision that gives me pause. It’s not his look so much as his demeanor. Mean. Like he’s on the attack. And a petite woman tugging on his arm, trying to either calm or distract him.
“Marcus, come get these!” Harlow yells to him.
Before I can stop him, Marcus jogs over to where the ladies are juggling food and drinks for the four of us.
The long-haired man lets out a growl, shoving the woman away from him. She stumbles, falling to one knee and he yells something to her…in Georgian. Georgia is a neighboring country and most members of the Bojovnik Brat speak Georgian.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up but Marcus is too far away for me to call to him without others being able to hear what I’m going to say. And I definitely don’t want to cause any kind of panic.
Things are escalating, though, and I’m not going to be able to stay out of it much longer. Any type of abuse of a woman pisses me off, and when I see the long-haired guy backhand her, my blood starts to boil.
God dammit.
I need Marcus to handle this before I do something stupid.
I let out a low, sharp whistle and Marcus looks around, honing in on something as he scans our surroundings. As I knew he would, he’s immediately aware of the situation with the long-haired guy and the girl, and he slowly puts the drinks he’s holding on the ground before walking in that direction.
“Court!” I get her attention and she seems to recognize the seriousness of my tone because she rushes back to me.
“What—” She cuts off as Marcus and the guy with the long-hair exchange words. The woman starts to back away and then, as if out of nowhere, more men appear. In leather jackets. With face tattoos.
“Fuck,” I breathe. There’s six or seven of them and Marcus is good—one of the best—but he won’t stand a chance if they’re armed.
“Dan?” Courtney closes a hand tight around the handle of the stroller.
“Stay with the baby,” I growl, yanking out my phone and thrusting it at her. “Call Dax. Tell him to hurry.” Then I jog over to where Marcus is trying to de-escalate the situation.
They’re talking Georgian and Russian, but luckily, there’s enough Russian in the Georgian language for me to get the gist of the conversation.
“What’s going on?” I demand quietly in Georgian, hoping to catch them off-guard. I don’t speak fluently but I’ve been learning since we’ve been dealing with the Brat.
“Elitist pig,” one of them mutters. “Mind your own business.”
They know who I am.
This was a deliberate distraction.
I immediately swivel my head to where Courtney and Harlow are standing, Courtney talking heatedly into the phone. So far, no one is bothering them, which is good. If this is about me, I’m armed and can take care of myself. It would be better if Dax arrived, though.
“You should walk away before someone gets hurt,” I say steadily.
The guy who backhanded his girl smirks at me. “The only one getting hurt today is you.”
Marcus and I exchange glances.
We can handle this but it’s going to make a scene and cause a big ruckus, something we strive not to do. But there’s no help for that now.
“You want to dance?” Long-hair number one pulls a knife out of his pocket, swinging it in my direction.
I’d love to just pull out my gun, shoot them all, and be done with this, but that’s frowned upon. We can’t let the people of Limaj think we just randomly shoot people. Especially when no one’s been hurt. Yet.
“What do you want?” I ask quietly.
He smiles. “You’ll find out.” He thrusts the knife in my direction, and though I easily wiggle out of the way, his friends shove me back toward him.
I’ve had enough of this.
If I have to kill them, I will.
I yank my elbow back and up, catching whomever is behind me square in the jaw. He yelps in surprise and pain as Marcus uses a similar move on the person closest to him.
Then all hell breaks loose.
It seems like they’re suddenly crawling out of the woodwork like swarms of ants, more and more joining the melee. Marcus and I are tough, well-trained, and prepared for almost anything. Almost anything.
Someone has me in a choke hold and I kick out my legs, catching one of his accomplices in the balls. He goes down howling in pain and I would have laughed if not for the scream that pierces the sounds of the scuffle.
“Daniil!”
I twist, trying to turn toward Courtney’s voice, but the fucker who has me in the choke hold isn’t letting go.
“Fuck!” I jerk wildly, finally breaking free, but it seems like more guys have surrounded us.
“Marcus!” Harlow’s voice is filled with terror. “No, stop!”
“God fucking dammit!” I throw myself toward a small opening just as something burns in my thigh. I go down to one knee, adrenaline keeping me from giving in to the pain.
All I can think about is Courtney.
Our son.
Fuck.