29. Ranger
Chapter 29
Ranger
D enver is quiet on the drive home, and I bite back everything I want to say. There will be no kindness in my words, no patience in my tone, and any conversation we have right now will erupt. It’s sparks to spilled gasoline, and we’ll both say something we regret.
So, I resist. I bite my fucking tongue. I do what she needs, and I act like a half-decent human being for once in my life, and it’s a bitter taste in my mouth, one I don’t dare swallow for fear it’ll become part of me.
Denver kicks off her shoes once we’re home and walks silently up the stairs. Wesson wiggles over to me, then follows Denver, and I watch her go. Still, I say nothing.
“It didn’t go well?” Martha asks from the archway to the living area.
I keep my eyes fixed on the stairs until Denver disappears from view. “It went fine.”
“Then why is she sulking?”
My hands close tightly over my keys. “I don’t know.”
There are two possible reasons. Either seeing Ethan has rattled her because she misses him—or because he knows the truth.
I don’t know which is worse.
Detective Sampson answers the phone after one ring.
“They brought him in because of some footage of him at Pulse,” Sampson says as I pull the refrigerator open, looking for nothing, just needing something to occupy my hands. “They think he might know something because he’s… well, it looks like?—”
“Like he’s fucking Denver.”
Sampson clears his throat. “Maybe.”
“He isn’t,” I rumble out the words. “Send me everything that fucker said in that interview room.”
I hang up and go to my office. Sitting behind my desk, I log into the security camera backlog, searching for the night Ethan was at Pulse. Squeezing my jaw, I watch the scene unfold. Axel arguing with Ethan’s friend. The man pawing at Denver’s arms, talking in her ear. Ethan striding into view and punching the man out cold.
My hands curl into fists when I see Ethan take Denver’s hand. She pulls away, likely for my benefit, and goes to the back room.
And Ethan follows.
“Fucker,” I mumble and switch to the back room’s camera.
But the footage isn’t there.
I return to the VIP view and watch Ethan walk into the back room with Denver, and then there’s nothing.
Someone deleted it. What the fuck happened in that room?
I’m out of my seat before I can stop myself. The unsaid words are choking me, settling like ash in my lungs, and I have to get them out. I have to say them, regardless of the outcome, because of one simple pathetic reason.
I’m jealous. I’m jealous of someone less than me because, for some reason, Ethan is under her skin. For some reason, he’s more than a passing intrigue, a vacation lay, a man who found her at a weak time and helped her.
He’s more of a threat than Wyatt ever was.
Bitterness bursts through my blood as I throw open Denver’s door.
Her room is empty. Her bathroom is, too.
And then the rage becomes panic, and the panic becomes fear, and tragic scenarios tear through my mind like bullets through flesh.
She’s left me.
I stride down the hall and check the main bathroom. Empty. I check Axel’s room. Empty. And with every door I throw open, a little more of my breath is stolen.
I reach my room, almost barreling through the door, and stop.
On my bed, curled up on her side, her arms wrapped around my pillow, Denver sleeps. Her red hair is fanned out on the pillow, her breathing is deep and even, and as I round the bed, I see tears in her lashes.
Not gone. Not out of my life. She’s as close to me as she can be without us actually touching, and I don’t know why that means more than if she’d come downstairs and crawled into my lap. But it does.
The heated words cool. The anger vanishes. The jealousy becomes curled, dead leaves that blow away. Because even if Ethan means more than he should, she isn’t with him. Even if she loves him, she loves me more. I know she does. She always has.
Her eyes open, and she watches me as I remove the pillow and lay beside her. She inches forward and cuddles into my side like she has for years. I settle my arm around her shoulders, and she sniffles.
“I have to tell you something,” she whispers, and I fight to keep the tension from my voice.
“Okay.”
“I was going to leave you.”
I close my eyes, the words cutting deep, but I say nothing.
“I made passports for Axel and me,” she continues, her voice raspy. “I had a place picked out. A fresh start. Somewhere without you.”
My swallow is thick. “With Ethan?”
She angles her head to look at me. “Without either of you.”
I can’t blame her. She never wanted this. Not just me, but this life. I may have only met Denver after her father died, but he told me things about her. It was rare that he brought her up, likely worried that this exact thing would happen, but when he did talk about Denver, he worried. He worried that she’d run one day, that her desperation to be normal would overtake her common sense.
“Why didn’t you go?” I ask.
Her eyes shine. “Because it’s always been you, Ranger. Even when it was Wyatt, it was you. When it was Ethan, it was you. Even when I hated you, I loved you.” Her lips tremble, and she touches my face. “I think you broke me because you’re broken, too, and our pieces just mixed together until I couldn’t see where you ended and I began. And I hated it. I hated it for so long that I didn’t stop to wonder why I despised it so much.” A tear falls down her cheek, dangling from her jaw. “And it isn’t because of you. It’s because I didn’t want to accept that maybe this is where I’m supposed to be. And I blamed you for it. But now I know.” She swallows. “I know that as much as I’m made for this life, I’m made for you, too.”
It’s startling to go from hardened rage to this. Minutes ago, I was willing to tear through a city to find and keep her, and now she’s giving herself to me, and I don’t know what to do with the feeling.
I’ve never been loved. My mother was incapable, my father wasn’t around, and Angelina was trapped. I never allowed Axel to feel anything more than resentment toward me because I knew I’d disappoint him in the end anyway.
But Denver loves me. And in doing so, I learned how to put aside the jagged pieces of my life that carved me into the monster I allow others to see. She loves me, and it makes me into something I’m terrified to be—a better man.
“I love you,” I say, and I mean it more than any other time I’ve said or felt it.
“I love you too. Even if sometimes I hate you.”
I smile, and she does, too.
Denver rests her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes.
We lie in peaceful silence. This is the beginning for us. The start of our forever.
Almost.
“Does Ethan know?”
Denver is quiet. “Yes.”
“Do we need to fix it?”
She pushes herself up on her elbow. “You’re letting me decide?”
I don’t want to. Every instinct in me is telling me to drive to Ethan’s house and put a bullet in his head. He could take Denver from me. If he tells the police, it would be all they need to pursue her even harder than they already have.
But I told her I trust her instincts, and while they need some work, I need to step back. I nod.
She chews her lip. “No, we don’t need to fix it.”
Weakness or smarts, I’m unsure, but I nod again. “Then we do nothing.” Denver rests her head back on my shoulder, and I run my fingertips down her arm. “But if he does anything that jeopardizes you, Denver, I won’t hesitate.”
She pauses before speaking. “I know.”
It isn’t long before she falls asleep again. I remain awake, fighting against the current of instincts that tell me to kill Ethan Defender. He’s a loose end. I fucking hate loose ends. But I’ll push her away if I do it.
Untangling myself from her, I pull the covers over her shoulder before leaving the room. I pause on the stairs, my hand on the banister.
The clock on the mantel in the living area feels louder. The smell of floor polish is more prevalent. The house is totally, uniquely still.
Something is wrong.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My watch says it’s after six, so Martha will have left for the weekend. Axel won’t be home; he hasn’t been here in days.
But someone else is here.
I reach the bottom step and cross the foyer slowly. Movement in my office stops me at the doorway.
A man is standing at the bookcase behind my chair. His back is to me, and he pulls out a book, flipping it open casually.
“You’ve chosen the wrong house to break into,” I say.
The man turns, the book open in his hand. He’s in a suit, with dark hair pulled into a low bun and blue eyes bright with amusement.
And I already know who he is.
“Ranger,” Wilder Harland says, slapping the book closed as he faces me. “It’s so good to meet you face to face.”
I step forward, and the cool metal of a gun against my temple stops me.
“This is spectacularly dumb of you,” I say.
Wilder scrunches up his nose. “I prefer to think of it as bold. Your security sucks, by the way.” He places the book back on the shelf and pats the back of my office chair. “Please. Sit. You’re the man of the house.” I remain motionless. There are three guns in this room. One strapped beneath the desk, another in a drawer, and a third on the bookcase to my right.
“If you’re wondering about weapons, Jonno swept the room,” Wilder says, nodding at the man with the gun at my head. “Now, please sit, or I’ll go upstairs and introduce myself to Denver.”
“Fucking touch her?—”
Wilder waves his hand. “Yes, you’ll kill for her, blah, blah. I just want to talk.”
He rounds the desk and sits in one of the chairs opposite it.
I take my place in my office chair and get a better look at the man who has been harassing me for months. He’s slim but strong, though I have no doubt I could snap him in half, and I will.
Wilder sighs. “See, was this so hard? All you had to do was agree to a meeting.”
I watch him with disinterest. “You’re a rat, Wilder. I don’t work with rats.”
“The McEwans had it coming,” Wilder says, shrugging. “They’re arrogant, and I dislike pushy people.”
I arch a brow. “Isn’t that slight hypocrisy on your part?”
He chuckles. “I suppose. But I do it with much more flare.”
“Not what your brother thinks.”
Wilder’s smile vanishes. “What the fuck do you know about Colt?”
“I know he’s less than happy with how you’ve been behaving,” I say, reaching for my cigarettes. I offer him one, but he continues glaring as I place one between my lips. “In fact, I heard that since you’ve been dicking around in California, he’s been fixing your mess by promising to keep your boney ass in line.”
Wilder’s cheeks redden, blotches of heat climbing across his neck.
“The McEwans are doing as Colt asks because they’re scared,” Wilder bites out. “They know we’re stronger than them.”
I chuckle, snatching a match against the box. “From what I’ve heard, Colt is the strong one, not you. He’s spent years building relationships with the Irish and Italian families. Word is, he’s not exactly unfriendly with the Russians, either. It isn’t easy keeping those kinds of ties strong. And you’re single-handedly fucking them up for him.” I light the cigarette and shake out the match. “So, you tell me, Wilder. Which of the Harland brothers is strong? Because it isn’t the both of you.”
Wilder slams his fist against the table, and I grin, letting the smoke from the cigarette curl around my lips.
“You won’t be smiling when I kill you,” he says, and I laugh. “I’ll make you watch Denver die first.”
I exhale. “Wilder, this threat is getting old. You’re not going to kill Denver.”
“I certainly hope not.” Denver’s voice has my attention darting to the door. She’s still in her t-shirt, but she’s no longer teary or quiet. Her gray eyes are bright, her expression unamused as she observes the scene.
Run, little bird. Run.
Wilder might be pathetic, but he’s panicking, which makes him dangerous.
But Denver steps into the room and unfolds her arm, placing her phone on the desk between Wilder and myself.
“You left your phone upstairs,” she says, positioning herself by my side, her arm on the back of my chair. “So, what’s all this about?”
Wilder is looking at Denver’s legs. My lip curls, but she speaks before I can.
“My eyes are up here, man bun.” God, I love this woman. “Ranger, there are two men out front, three out back, and two more—” She pauses as two men enter the office. “Two more are right here. What a party.”
This isn’t good. It’s far from good. I can’t protect her, and I can only assume that my men on the grounds are dead.
“This is Wilder Harland,” I say, gesturing at our guest.
“Oh,” Denver purrs out the word. “The fuck-up from the East Coast. Isn’t that how Colt described him?”
I’ve never told Denver about Colt, so she must have been listening to the conversation before she revealed she was here.
Wilder bristles, his wild eyes darting between us. Denver rests her hand on the back of my neck and taps four times. She’s already told me how many men, so she’s signaling minutes. She must have called Cal, and he’s on his way.
Four minutes may not seem a lot, but in a situation like this, it’s a lifetime. It’s seconds to pull a trigger, and we have no weapons.
Denver taps my shoulder visibly and climbs into my lap, her back to my chest. Hard, cool metal presses into my stomach.
My love for this woman knows no bounds, and there’s something extremely sexy about a woman who has a gun tucked into the back of her panties.
“Are you here to apologize, Wilder?” she asks sweetly, settling into my chest comfortably, her smile sweet. “For wasting so much of my husband’s time.”
She is getting fucked so hard after this is over.
Her phone starts ringing. The phone Wilder thinks is mine. Denver leans forward, her shirt riding up, revealing the gun.
“Oh,” she says. “I think that’s for you, Wilder.”
My gaze flicks to the screen.
It says COLT HARLAND calling.
Wilder stares at the phone, temporarily frozen by his brother’s name. His brother calling me, or so he thinks. Betrayal stalls him. Confuses him.
I pull the gun from Denver’s underwear, and she throws herself from the chair.
The first bullet hits the man behind Wilder. Blood sprays across the bookshelves as he jerks back.
The second bullet fired hits me. White hot pain bursts through my muscles, and my shoulder jolts back, but I keep the gun raised and fire twice more at the other men. Wilder ducks, darting toward the door as another of his men enters the room, pulling his gun from his jacket. It’s aimed at me before I can move.
“Think fucking twice,” Denver breathes.
She must have snatched up a gun from one of the fallen men, and now it’s pressed into the man’s temple.
Her shoulders rise and fall rapidly, her hand steady but her eyes wide.
I hear Cal’s shouts from beyond the office.
“Denver,” I say softly. “You don’t have to.”
She doesn’t move her attention from the man. His hands are up, his jaw tight, likely accepting his death. He won’t be missed. She’ll never know his name. He was going to kill me and still would if he could.
I step around the desk, wrapping my hand around Denver’s gun-holding hand. I kiss her temple. “You don’t have to.”
She relaxes her arm as I pull her to me. I shoot the man through the temple, and she jumps at the sound, pressing her face into my shirt.
Her chest jerks with silent sobs, but no tears fall when I cup her face. “Are you okay?”
She nods quickly. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” I say, kissing her. “Why was Colt calling you?”
She swallows, her body trembling. “He wasn’t. I changed Cal’s contact to Colt’s name and told him to call me.”
Clever fucking girl. I kiss her again and lift her into my arms. She wraps her legs around my waist, and the quick kiss becomes more. She relaxes in my hold, and my hand snakes up the back of her t-shirt, her skin hot against my palm. Her trembling ceases, and fire ignites in my blood as her tongue finds mine.
“Is everyone—” Cal pauses at the door. “Is this really the time to do this?”
I reluctantly end the kiss. “Where’s Wilder?”
“He scampered away, but JJ is on his tail,” Cal says.
Fucker. “I need men for the grounds, double the usual number. When you find Wilder, take him to one of the warehouses.” Denver stares down at me with flushed cheeks, eyes wild with heat. “But first, get everyone out of my house.”
Cal sighs. “Thank you, Cal. I appreciate you leaving a date, coming here, and saving our lives, Cal. You two don’t appreciate me.” Denver smiles as Cal walks away, still mumbling to himself.
“Why are you sending everyone away?” she asks.
“Because I plan on fucking you in every room in this house,” I say. “And I don’t need an audience for that.”