Chapter 11
Kane was hanging on to his temper by a thread.
The thought of someone running her off the damn road pissed him off, but seeing that flash of fear in her eyes tonight—when her own father almost hit her—yeah, that had shoved him straight into full-throttle protective mode. And he hadn’t come down from it since.
“Did you get the make and color of the car?” Kane asked, voice low, controlled, but his jaw tight enough to crack teeth. He wasn’t just asking. He was hunting the bastards.
“It was a black Honda Civic,” Monica answered without hesitation. “It had tinted windows, so I couldn’t see how many were inside, but it had a blue under glow. Hard to miss.”
Kane nodded once, filing it away with the same intensity other people reserved for nuclear codes. “This is your brother’s house, right?”
“Yeah,” Monica said with a small shrug. “We all decided to stay here and leave for the funeral together.”
“Do you have security at your place?” He honestly hadn’t expected her to be this open with him. The first time they met, she would’ve rather chewed glass than talk to him. This calm, exhausted, trusting him without realizing she was doing it version of her threw him a little bit, but in a good way.
“Yeah,” Monica said, glancing toward the hallway before looking back at him.
“What system?” Kane asked, following her line of sight before locking back onto her.
“Knox.”
“Knox?” Kane frowned. “Never heard o—”
He stopped when he noticed the little girl peeking at them from the dark hallway.
“Is Knox here?” Dena hurried forward, eyes wide as she looked around.
“No, sweetie,” Monica said gently. “He’s at Mr. Cooper’s house. Remember? My neighbor?”
Dena nodded slowly. “The old guy?”
Monica laughed with a wince. “Yeah, the old guy. But maybe… don’t call him that to his face.”
Kane chuckled. So, Knox, her dog, was her security system. He grinned, then focused on the little girl who was watching him closely.
“Okay.” Dena accepted that, then zeroed in on Kane. “Who is he?”
“That’s Kane.”
“I like your eyes,” Dena announced, staring up at him like she was inspecting a new species of man. “Yellow is my favorite color.”
Kane actually smiled—soft and real, the kind he didn’t let many see. “I like your eyes,” he said, winking. “Green is my favorite color.”
“Really?” Her eyes grew even bigger. “My mommy had green eyes too. Did you know my mommy?”
“No,” Kane said quietly, his smile fading slightly. “I didn’t.”
“She died,” Dena whispered, the weight of it far too big for her tiny shoulders. “But Aunt Monnie said I can still talk to her. And I do… but she doesn’t talk back.”
Kane felt something inside him crack. For a man who’d seen more darkness than most, he didn’t think anything was left inside him to break. But this little girl’s pain shattered him anyway.
“Hey, girlie.” Monica swooped in fast, clearly steering the conversation. “What are you doing out of bed?”
“Daddy’s snoring again.” Dena frowned, as if his snoring totally offended her, then rubbed her stomach. “And I’m hungry.”
“Hungry?” Monica gasped dramatically. “Did I—or did I not—watch you inhale an entire plate of French fries?”
Dena giggled when Monica tickled her. “Noooo.”
“Okay, well, what is your tummy saying?” Monica leaned down, staring intently at Dena’s stomach.
“I want pancakes,” Dena rumbled in her deepest voice, and Kane couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at his mouth.
“Pancakes?” Monica sat up as if this required deep consideration. “Round or heart-shaped?”
“Heart-shaped!” Dena hopped like this was the greatest moment of her life.
Kane watched Monica, unable to look away. She’d been prickly, stubborn, a pain in his ass—and now here she was, soft and sweet with this kid. It was a whole new side of her, and damn if he didn’t like it.
“All right, heart-shaped it is—but then it’s straight to bed.” Monica tried a stern look but failed miserably. Dena giggled again, completely unthreatened.
Kane leaned forward, pulling out the chair just as Dena scrambled up. He stayed vigilant, ready to catch her if she slipped.
“Want a heart-shaped pancake?” Monica asked him from the stove.
Kane glanced at Dena, leaning conspiratorially toward her. “Do I want a pancake?” He whispered loudly, then shot Monica a look before leaning back to Dena. “Is she a good cook?”
Dena nodded so hard her curls bounced. Kane chuckled.
“All right,” he said with a wink to Dena. “But only if it’s heart-shaped.”
Monica snorted, but the smile she tried to hide warmed something inside him that he didn’t even realize could still warm.
It unsettled him so much that his instinct was to pull back, putting distance between them.
It’s what he usually did. He didn’t get close to others, and he definitely didn’t do relationships.
Dena sat, studying him like he was an interesting new creature she wasn’t sure belonged in her kitchen. “Do you have kids?”
Kane blinked. Not many people caught him off guard, but this tiny human managed it. “Nope,” he said. “No kids.”
Dena frowned as if she was disappointed in that fact.
“Are you Aunt Monnie’s boyfriend?” Dena stage-whispered, which was basically yelling with extra breath.
“Dena!” Monica nearly dropped the spatula, batter dripping everywhere. “Where did you learn about boyfriends?”
“School,” Dena said confidently. “I have a boyfriend.”
Kane smothered a laugh when Monica’s mouth fell open.
“Oh, God,” Monica groaned, pointing the spatula accusingly. “Does your daddy or Uncle Doug know about this boyfriend?”
“No,” Dena whispered louder than she talked normally, wearing a mischievous smile.
“Let’s keep it that way,” Monica muttered, cheeks flushed. She glanced at Kane, then quickly away. “And he is not my boyfriend.”
“So, what’s this boy’s name, Dena?” Kane asked, instantly liking the kid even more. And the drive to find the bastard who killed her mother, which was already high, spiked into something lethal.
“Matthew,” she whispered again for no reason at all.
“And is Matthew nice to you?”
“Sometimes,” she said as Monica returned with butter and syrup.
Monica froze. “What do you mean sometimes? What has he done?”
“Easy,” Kane said before Monica marched off to declare war on a six-year-old.
“He put glue in my hair,” Dena said, frowning, then smiled. “But Ms. Mason got it out.”
“He did what?” Monica snapped, eyes narrowing. “I’ll—”
Before Monica could say what she would do to a six-year-old boy, Kane stepped in quickly. “The pancakes are burning,” he said, nodding toward the stove.
“Shit!” Monica yelped, sprinting back.
“Ohhh, you said a bad word,” Dena whispered like she’d witnessed a felony.
“Sorry!” Monica called back.
Kane leaned closer to Dena. “Boys who put glue in girls’ hair are not good boyfriends. When you’re older, you’ll find one who’s nicer.”
“Really?” She looked more serious than some adults he’d interrogated.
“Really,” he nodded. “I would never put glue in a girl’s hair if I liked her.”
Dena thought this over deeply. “He smells funny sometimes.”
Kane bit back a laugh. “Stinky boys who put glue in their girlfriends’ hair are not cool?”
Monica set plates in front of them, her lips twitching like she was trying not to laugh.
“I’m breaking up with him,” Dena declared, drowning her pancakes in syrup.
“I think that’s the right call,” Kane nodded, taking the syrup she handed him.
“Me too,” she imitated him with a nod, and it was so cute.
He smiled with a chuckle as his eyes rose to see Monica staring at him, before she quickly looked away.
Kane finished his pancakes, listening to the two of them chat. He felt…relaxed. Content, even. A sensation so unfamiliar he almost didn’t recognize it.
When they finally finished eating, Monica kissed Dena’s forehead. “All right. Bed.”
“Can I sleep with you, Aunt Monnie?” Dena asked right before she yawned.
Monica raised a brow. “Are you going to put your cold feet on me?”
Dena shook her head, lying badly by the look of her sneaky grin.
Monica sighed dramatically. “Then yes. Go on up. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Okay!” Dena took off, then suddenly doubled back, throwing her arms around Kane’s neck before racing down the hall. “Night, Kane!”
Kane froze, blindsided. Jesus. That little hug hit places he didn’t know existed anymore.
“Sorry about that,” Monica said softly, her voice cracking. Tears filled her eyes. “She’s been through so much, and—”
“It’s fine,” Kane said, but truthfully? That hug messed him up more than any demon ever had. He stood, pulling out his phone. “Thanks for the pancakes.”
“You’re welcome.” Monica wiped her eyes, clearing her throat. “Um…there aren’t extra bedrooms, but I can get a pillow and blanket. The couch is comfy.”
“I don’t sleep,” Kane said casually, eyes on his phone.
“Oh.” Monica blinked, looking around like she wasn’t sure what to do with that. “I just…feel weird leaving you by yourself.”
Kane smirked. “I’m not going to murder anyone in their sleep, Monica.”
She snorted. “That’s not what I meant. It just feels rude to leave you alone.”
“No worries.” He lifted his phone. “I’ve got TikTok.”
Her laugh burst out. “Seriously?”
“No.” He chuckled. “But I do have calls to make. If I step outside, is there an alarm?”
“Yeah.” She replied, then covered a yawn. “The code’s 555444.”
“Goodnight, Monica.”
She gave a small smile and started toward the hall, but turned back.
Monica gave him a brief smile as she started out of the room, but then stopped. “What you did tonight when my father almost...” She shook her head as she looked at him. “Thank you, Kane.”
“You’re welcome,” Kane said, then watched as she disappeared into the darkness. A slow smile curved his lips as he realized she was no longer calling him Warrior, but by his name. He liked the way it sounded coming from her lips.
Heading outside, he punched in a number then put the phone to his ear.
“Hey,” Kane said, voice dropping into the lethal tone he reserved for work. “I need eyes out for a black Honda Civic. Tinted windows. Blue under glow. If you find it, take the occupants to the special interrogation room. Full undercover mode. Hold them until I get there.”
Whoever thought it was a good idea to run Monica off the road had no idea what kind of hell they’d just signed up for. Scare tactic or not, they’d threatened her. And that was something Kane would not let slide.